Lisa Harris - Deadly Exchange

“It’s closed now, but this is one of my favorite places to walk through, though I confess I don’t have a green thumb. At all,” she said, breaking the silence between them for another inconsequential discussion. “I bought some tulip bulbs once and thought I’d grow some out on my balcony. A year later, there’s still just a pile of dirt in the flower box.”

“That’s a shame, because I saw photos of this place on the plane, and the flowers were stunning,” he said.

“They are. This flower market has been floating on the Singel canal since the mid-1800s. The tulips, on the other hand, were first imported into Holland as far back as the sixteenth century, and their bulbs were even used as money at one point. I think it’s why I love Europe. I never get tired of the centuries-old architecture and history.”

“I need to come back one day when I have time to explore.”

She stopped along the edge of the canal and looked up at him. “My father’s missing, and I’m babbling about flowers. I just don’t know how to deal with this.”

“We need resources.” Levi paused, clearly as desperate for answers as she was. “I have a friend who might be able to help us without involving the authorities.”

“Who?”

“He’s an old military buddy who runs a multinational corporation. He’s the one who set up our company’s risk assessment. Because a lot of his employees travel internationally and regularly do business in hot spots, he’s able to handle crisis management and kidnapping and extortion threats.”

“And you think he could put an end to this?”

“I think it’s worth trying.”

Kayla hesitated, still not willing to risk her father’s life by getting someone else involved. “Let’s check out Mercy’s apartment first. If she’s not there, we’ll talk about calling your friend.”

* * *

On any other day, Levi would have loved exploring the city. While he’d traveled extensively, Amsterdam had never been one of the cities he’d visited. The canals, old bridges covered with parked bicycles, the tall old houses...

He glanced at Kayla’s profile as they headed toward the tram, not surprised at all that she’d ended up here working with formerly trafficked women. She’d always been compassionate, with a heart for others. And it seemed that all these years later, that compassion had only grown.

There was only one thing he wasn’t sure how to handle. If she didn’t agree to get help, he was going to have to consider doing it without her blessing. Because he knew enough about the situation to realize that they were in way over their heads. If they didn’t get support from the authorities, the chances of her father’s abductors making good on their threat rose substantially.

“Do you think they’re out there watching us?” she asked, rubbing her elbow.

“It’s possible.”

They could be anyone. The man standing on the corner carrying a briefcase. The twentysomething sailing past them on a bike. They could be in the crowd watching the street performers or drinking coffee next to the canal. Absolutely anyone could be watching them. Stalking them.

He stopped beside Kayla in front of a blue-and-white tram; she quickly paid the fare for him, then scanned her ticket in front of a card reader. They headed toward the back of the tram, past blue chairs and a handful of passengers. As far as he could tell, no one was paying attention to them, but there was no way to be sure.

“Do you have any idea why someone would target Mercy in particular?” he asked as they slid into a couple of empty seats.

“She never spoke much about her past, though there was a man she mentioned once that she was afraid of. It sounded to me as if he was obsessed with her, but I have no idea who he was or what he looked like. I don’t even have a name.”

“How long has she been with your program?”

“She came to us about three months ago, originally from Nigeria. She came to us broken but eventually decided to stay and work with the program.”

“So you’re one of her mentors.”

The automated voice on the tram announced their destination.

“This is our stop.”

Five minutes later, they entered an apartment building and walked up a steep set of stairs to the third-story apartment. Kayla knocked on the door of number five.

Nothing.

“I’m assuming no one’s home. The girls have a class tonight and normally aren’t back until after eight,” she said, knocking again on the door. “I have a key, but I never thought I might have to use it. Not for this.”

When no one answered the second knock, she pulled the key from her bag and opened the door.

Kayla froze in the doorway. “Levi...they’ve already been here.”

Levi stepped into the space behind her. The small living room and kitchen area had been trashed, leaving no doubt that whoever was after Mercy had made it here first.

“Why would they break in?”

“I’m assuming the same reason we’re here. Trying to see if they can figure out where Mercy is in case motivating you doesn’t work.” He stepped over a pile of books scattered across the floor. “How many girls live here?”

“Five. Evi, my co-worker, told me that all the girls are accounted for except Mercy.”

“And if they had Mercy, they wouldn’t need your father.” He stood in the middle of the room, not wanting to touch anything in case they decided to get the police involved. “I know this is tough, but you’re doing some incredible things with these women. Don’t forget that despite everything that’s going on.”

She shot him a half smile. “I won’t, but this...this is a reminder that these women had become nothing more than commodities.”

“Why don’t they just go to the police themselves?” he asked.

“Because prostitution is legal here, they are given contracts, but then they have to pay them back and the terms are impossible.” She caught his gaze. “The girl that was recently found dead? She was convinced she couldn’t go to the police because they weren’t to be trusted and nothing we said could change that. I don’t want that to happen to Mercy.”

He followed her as she walked through the living room toward one of the bedrooms.

“This is Mercy’s room,” Kayla said. “She shares it with one of the other girls.”

A couple of the dresser drawers weren’t completely shut. There was a pile of clothes on the floor between the two twin beds, and the closet clearly had been gone through.

“Mercy doesn’t have a lot of things, so while I’m not 100 percent sure, it looks to me like she left in a hurry. Her suitcase is gone, along with her toothbrush and other personal things.” Kayla turned to Levi. “She had to have known someone was after her. And when they couldn’t find her, they went to plan B.”

“But why didn’t she call one of you?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Has she been acting strange? Jumpy?”

“No...nothing that I noticed.”

“Where might she have gone if she were scared?”

“Normally, she would have called me or Evi.”

“What about other friends in the city?”

“I don’t think she has many. Most of the girls don’t make friends. They’re slow to trust. That sense of survival isn’t easy for them to shake.”

“So we have to figure out where she might have gone,” he said. “Because if we do, we’ll have a chance at finding her and your father.”

The floor creaked above them.

“What’s up there?” he asked.

Kayla shook her head. “There’s an attic you can access via a staircase in the back of the house. We’re planning to remodel it and make it into a fourth bedroom eventually, but for now, it’s just used for storage.”