Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) (21 page)

Mr. T laughs. “Good for you.”

“Yes.” I hold my glass up like I’m making another toast. “Here’s to holding out for you.” I feel like hurling at this thought, but I am determined to get that drink down him.

He takes another drink. “You’re quite a girl, Serena.”

“Thank you.” Now I look at my glass and am surprised to see it’s only half full. Hopefully it’s not enough to really make me drunk. That would not be good.

“Go ahead and finish it,” he urges me. “I think it’s helping you to relax.”

I giggle and point to his drink. “Is that helping you relax?”

He chuckles like this is funny, and then to my relief, he downs the last of his drink. And now I pretend to be sipping on mine, but I’m really worried that I’m starting to feel light-headed. So I stand. “Hey, do you have anything to eat up here?” I walk back over to the bar area.

“Oh yeah, sure. There’s cheese and olives in the fridge. Maybe some fruit, too. And some crackers in that cabinet. I’ve arranged for us to have a late dinner … after we get to know each other better.”

I continue chattering at him as I help myself to his food, and I can tell by his slowing responses that the pills are starting to take effect. But not wanting him to be suspicious, I keep talking and even go back to the chairs, offering a piece of cheese to him. But he just waves his hand. However, he is slumping in the chair now.

I keep on talking, just the way Ruby told me the girl in the book did, only I speak a little slower. Maybe I hope to hypnotize him as I ramble on and on, telling him of how I once dreamed of being a model and how my elderly neighbor was helping me, how she used to be a professional model but manages a clothing store now. “She thought I might have what it takes.” I walk back and forth, showing him some of the moves she taught me.

“But then Mrs. Norbert fell and broke her hip,” I continue slowly, noticing that his eyes are closed. “It was pretty sad. She had to go live with her daughter and …” I pause to see if he’s even listening, but he appears to be soundly sleeping.

Suddenly I’m worried that I could be watched, but I don’t want to blow it by looking around for a security camera. Instead I pretend like he’s still awake. “Now, Mr. T, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” I put down my half-full glass. Then I go off in search of a bathroom, hoping there might be a way to sneak out a window. But even though I can get it open, when I peer down I see that it’s a straight drop down to the front circular driveway. Even if I could scale the stone siding, it would be dangerous and I suspect a surveillance camera might be out there.

I flush the toilet for effect, then wander back out to check on my host. He seems to be completely knocked out. I actually wonder if I’ve given him a dose big enough to kill him. I hope not. I’d rather he go to prison than die.

I look out the window that overlooks the pool, but seeing the dogs down there like Scotty told me, I know that’s not a good idea. Next I explore behind a door and find a big closet with built-in drawers and dozens of men’s suits and shirts and things. But no windows, and as far as I can see, there is no way out of here. I go look in another closet that, to my surprise, seems to belong to a woman. Does Mr. T have a wife? And if so, where is she? And what does she think about his secret life? Does she even know?

Like the other closet, I assume this one has no window, but then I notice something up near the ceiling behind some hat boxes. I pull out some of the built-in drawers, and using them like stairs, I climb up until I can see that it is indeed a window — a long, narrow one, but it does open. By now I’m pretty sure that if there are surveillance cameras in the master suite, they must be turned off. Maybe for Mr. T’s privacy. But even if they’re not, I’m going to try to make my break.

Praying that I’m thin enough to fit through the narrow opening, I squeeze my head out and look down. Thankfully, this window is not facing the front street or the backyard. It seems to be on the side of the house and about six feet below is a section of tiled roof. I go out the window backward, easing myself down feet first onto what look like slippery tiles.

With a prayer, I begin my descent, sliding out the window until I’m holding to the edge of it and getting my feet securely on the tiles. Now I crouch down, looking around to see if there’s a camera nearby or if anyone down below can see me.

Satisfied that I’m still in the clear, I work my way to the side of this overhang, the end that’s toward the street since I want to avoid those dogs. When I get to the edge, I can’t believe my luck. Directly below is some kind of garden structure with flowering vines growing over it. I’m not sure if it’s strong enough to support my weight, but it’s a chance I must take. I ease myself onto it and it seems to be holding. Feeling like a monkey, I work my way out to the street side and then swing down, landing in the grass.

I don’t pause to think, I just take off running. My plan is to get several houses away from here. As I run, I pray that God will show me which house to stop at. I start to head up to a big brick house with an American flag flying out front, but something stops me. I have nothing against flags. But something just doesn’t feel right.

So, trying not to look too conspicuous, I turn and continue on down the street, pausing by a tall white house with a pair of pink flamingos in the front yard. These plastic birds look out of place in this fancy, upscale neighborhood. And yet they’re inviting. Hoping these people have a sense of humor as well as good hearts, I run up to the door and ring the doorbell.

… [CHAPTER 20]………………

C
owering in the shadows of the covered porch area, I glance up and down the street to see if anyone is watching or coming after me. Everything looks perfectly normal, and yet my heart is pounding in my chest like a bass drum.
Please be home,
I pray silently,
please be home!

An older woman opens the door, peering curiously at me. “Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” I say breathlessly. “But I need your help. I’ve been kidnapped and — ”

“Are you serious?” She frowns doubtfully at me, peering over my shoulder. “Is this some kind of joke? Candid camera?”

“No joke,” I say quickly. “I swear to you — as God is my witness,
it’s true.
My name is Simi Fremont. I was abducted from the LA area a couple weeks ago. My mom’s name is Ginnie Fremont and — ” I start to cry. “Please —
please
— help me before the men come after me again.”

Just like that, she grabs me by the arm, jerks me into her house, and locks the door behind me. “You better be on the up-and-up,” she says sternly. But now I’m bawling uncontrollably. It’s like all the emotions I’ve been holding inside me are bursting out and I can’t stop myself.

The woman goes for her phone. “I’m calling 911 right now,” she says like it’s a warning. “So if this is a stunt, you’d better — ”

“No, please, don’t call 911. They’ll send out the police and I’ve heard you can’t trust them — some of the police are involved in human trafficking and they’ll just send me — ”

“Human trafficking?”
Her eyes grow wide.

“Yes. And one of your neighbors is involved.” I point down the street. “I don’t know his name. He goes by Mr. T and he’s connected to the traffickers. They take girls to him. I just escaped his house. Please, please, just let me call my mom.
Please!
”

“What’s her number?”

I tell her Mom’s cell number. And just like that this woman is dialing and then talking to my mom. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Moller,” she begins calmly. I listen with pounding heart and disbelief as she explains what I just told her. “Really?” She looks genuinely surprised. “So it’s true that she was abducted?” She listens with a horrified look, then hands the phone to me. “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry.”

“Mom!”
I sob into the phone.

“Simi! Is it really you?”

“Yes. I’m in Oregon. Somewhere near Portland, I think.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. But I’m still in danger. And you need to get help for me.”

“Did you call 911? Do you want me to — ?”

“No. That will get the police — and some of them are crooked. It’s a human-trafficking group that kidnapped me. They’re a huge organization, Mom. You need the FBI or — ”

“Yes. We’ve been speaking to some FBI agents.”

“We?”

“Michelle and Trista and I have all been working together. Everyone in the church has been praying. Now tell me where you are, Simi. What’s the address?”

I look at Mrs. Moller, who has flopped down into a chair. She’s fanning her face with a magazine as if she’s in shock. “Can you tell my mom where I’m at?” I hold the phone to her.

She takes the phone and gives Mom the information. Then she hands it back to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask Mrs. Moller.

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I say to Mom. “I’m so afraid. What if they come down here and find me?”

“Just stay on the phone,” she says. “Trista is here with me. Right now she’s calling the FBI on her cell phone. Agent Barclay’s been helping us.” I can hear Mom talking to Trista, and within seconds we are having a three-way conversation with my mom talking to both me and the FBI agent at the same time. He asks questions and we’re all exchanging information back and forth.

“And I want to give you the address of the house where I was held captive,” I say urgently. “I told them I’d send help.”

“Yes,” Barclay says eagerly. “We can really use that.”

I tell him the name of the town and address as well as some description of the house and the locks and the girls who are kept there. “But they’ll be out tonight. I don’t know what time they’ll get back.”

He assures me they’ll do surveillance.

“And some of the girls want help. But they feel trapped and scared.” I tell him their real names — the ones I know — and where they came from.

“This is excellent,” he tells me. “Very useful.”

“I have more names too. And. Oh yeah, I nearly forgot — there are twenty-three women and children being held captive in the basement. And they looked half starved. I gave them what food I could find, but they must be very hungry.”

He assures me they will be rescued, and Mrs. Moller puts a hand to her forehead and gasps.

“Where are you now?” the agent asks. “I mean, inside the house?”

I look around. “I guess it’s the living room.”

“Can you get into a safer room? A room with a lock where you can wait until our agents get there?”

I quickly relay this to Mrs. Moller, and she leads me up to a master bedroom where she locks the door. Then to be even safer, we go into the bathroom and she locks that door as well. For the first time in days, I’m thankful for locks. I explain to the agent where we’re hiding and he continues to ask questions about the location of Mr. T’s house. I describe it to him, saying it’s about four houses down from Mrs. Moller’s.

“Is it on the same side of the street?”

“Yes.” But when he asks north or south, I don’t know.

“Let me speak to him,” Mrs. Moller says suddenly. “I know the house Simi just described. It’s north of my house — five houses down. I don’t know the couple personally, but their name is Thompkins. Also you should know that this is a gated neighborhood. You need the pass numbers to get in.” Then she gives him the code as well as more specific directions to her street. “Yes, I’ll put Simi back on.” She hands the phone back to me.

“When will help get here?” I ask anxiously.

“The team’s been dispatched, Simi. But it’s going to take about ten minutes. We want them to be very discreet. Agent Anderson will come to the door. She’s a tall blonde woman in her thirties. We want to get you and Mrs. Moller out first — before we deal with Mr. Thompkins.”

“Oh, yeah …” I say slowly. “That reminds me.”

“What?”

“I — uh — well … to escape I kind of drugged him.”

“Drugged him?”

“One of the girls at the house gave me sleeping pills to put in his drink. I crushed them and put them in his gin and tonic. And he fell asleep.”

“What kind of pills? Over the counter? Prescription? Barbiturates?”

“I don’t know. Ruby called them sleeping pills, but the girl she stole them from is a serious drug user.”

“Which girl?”

“Kandy Kane. I don’t know her real name.” I describe her as well as the pills. “And there were about twenty I think.” Now I’m worried. “What if I killed him?”

“We’ll dispatch an ambulance for Mr. Thompkins.”

“Oh … okay.”

“Don’t worry about it, Simi,” Mom jumps in now. “You were just doing what you needed to do to get away from them. Even if he dies, it’s not your fault. Do not blame yourself.”

We talk awhile longer, I answer more of the agent’s questions, and Mom occasionally says something, and finally after what seems like hours, he tells me that the FBI car is pulling up to the house. “It’s a gray SUV,” he says, and I relay this to Mrs. Moller and we go out into the bedroom and look out a window that overlooks the street. “I see it. It’s pulling up in front.” I watch eagerly. “A blonde woman is getting out.”

There’s a long pause and Agent Barclay tells me that Agent Anderson has given the all clear. “Go with her,” he tells me. “You and Mrs. Moller act as if you’re simply going out with a friend.”

We do as we’re told, and within minutes we’re being whisked away. Tears of relief are pouring down my face and Mrs. Moller hugs me tightly. “You were so brave, dear. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you for letting me into your home. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Now I explain how I was praying for the right house.

She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad God led you to me.”

“It was the pink flamingos that made me knock on your door.”

She laughs. “My sister put those there for my sixty-fifth birthday last week. It was a joke, but I decided to leave them there a bit. Just to aggravate the neighbors.”

I call my mom, reassuring her that I’m okay. And Mrs. Moller calls her sister and before long they are dropping her off at her sister’s house, where she will spend the night. Agent Anderson promises to keep her informed about when it’s safe to return to her home. We hug and I thank her again.