“This is good,” the detective said. “Really good. We’ve been tracking a trafficking ring through truck stops for six months. Your information might crack it open.”
“What about Macy?”
“And Mrs. Patterson?”
The detective smiled. “We’ll be having a conversation with her very soon.”
I went to visit Macy three days later. The safe house was outside the city. Secure. Anonymous. Six other girls there. All trafficking victims.
Macy was in withdrawal. Shaking. Sick. But alive.
“Why’d you help me?” she asked.
“Because you asked me to.”
“That’s it?”Continue reading…
