Page 35 of Night Hawk
She did, but her heart screamed not to leave something so personal behind. It would become a piece of evidence, likely to be trotted out in court and put on display. But it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Rader and Hibbard had to pay for their crimes, and that meant putting everything back where they’d found it.
“Let’s go through the other boxes,” she said. “And take pictures of everything.”
Clay nodded. “You take the pictures. I’ll do the boxes.”
“I need to look at everything too. An item might mean something to me that you’d miss.” She squeezed his arm. “But thank you for trying to protect me from anything else we might find.”
He rested his hand over hers. “It hurts to see you suffer like this, especially when I can’t do a thing about it.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with my personal baggage.”
He took her hand in his, his big warm fingers wrapping around hers. “I don’t mind. I just want to help.”
Tears pricked her eyes for real this time. He was being so kind, she wanted to sink into his arms. He would hold her. No doubt. Give her a chance to collect herself, but allowing that would send the wrong message. She withdrew her hand and went back into the garage. Still, she was desperately craving Clay’s strong arms around her, offering comfort. Something she missed after losing her dad.
Sure, she hadn’t visited him very often, but a hug from him had made things better. But she wouldn’t blur the professional line they’d set. Especially not with proof that her dad was involved in the investigation. It might turn out to be an innocent involvement, but he was connected all the same.
She reached into the box for the photo, jewelry, and brush set and arranged them on a nearby workbench.
“What do you think these items mean?” Clay asked from behind her.
He was close enough that his breath tickled her neck and too close for her fragile state. He could simply put out his arms, she’d turn and be in them.
Focus.She dug her phone from her pocket. “Everything is personal. Maybe they’re souvenirs from trafficked girls.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Except for the picture.” The deep timbre of his voice settled around her like a comforting blanket, like the hug she was craving.
She snapped several photos and checked her phone to be sure she’d clearly captured every item. Once done, she shoved her phone in her pocket and started to put things back in the boxes. Clay helped, grabbing the photo, which she appreciated. They returned the boxes they’d reviewed to their proper places and moved to the next stack.
Clay opened the top one and set aside tattered clothing. His focus remained on the box, and he let out a low whistle as he lifted out a stack of pictures. He fanned out the pile, revealing close up shots of young girls, mostly teens, of all ethnicities, shapes, and sizes.
Terror flooding from their eyes was the one thing they had in common. Pain. Sharp. Horrific.
Toni’s stomach roiled. Unable to speak, she clamped a hand over her mouth and watched as Clay counted the photos. Some were aged and yellowed. Some were dated in the eighties. Some early nineties. Others didn’t have a date stamped on them but looked more current.
Clay kept counting. The numbers grew quickly.Ten. Twenty-one. Thirty.Forty-eight.
Each snap of a photo onto the box tightened her stomach, and she had a hard time breathing again. She gulped the musty air, and waited for the final number.
“Fifty-five.” Clay shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger.
She steadied herself with a hand on the workbench. “This is horrible. So horrible.”
Clay clenched his jaw. “As much as I hate to do it, I’ll lay them out and take photos.” He moved past her to the workbench. “Then we can have Erik search the internet for matches. I wouldn’t be surprised if the results come back as missing or runaways.”
Toni nodded but had no idea what to say. Had her father known about these girls and didn’t stop it? Worse yet, was he part of it? No. He couldn’t be. She didn’t believe he would do such a thing. But other people might.
With six of the pictures lying on the scarred and gouged wood, Clay took the first photo. The flash lit up the room and seemed to show her the light.
The best way to help these girls wasn’t to get nauseated or lose her breath. Helping them meant identifying them and finding justice for whatever horrific actions were taken against them. No matter who was involved. Finding her dad’s killer or finding out what he was involved in was secondary. These lost souls looking at her in horror were top priority now.
“I’ll keep going through the box.” With renewed purpose, she dug into the items and found female clothing, small-sized, most of it slinky and sexy. She felt dirty just touching the garments, but she would tough it out and take pictures just like Clay was doing.
“Finding anything of interest?” he asked, not looking back.
“Suggestive clothing.”
“We need to—”
