wheel and not his wife or one of his kids. It’s too dark for me to see who’s driving.
The Mercedes hops onto Lake Shore Drive and heads south, back toward the south suburbs. I keep pace with the vehicle, careful not to lose him in Chicago’s congested traffic.
“What if he realizes we’re following him?” Ian asks.
“Black sedans are a dime a dozen in Chicago. He won’t notice.”
I follow when the Mercedes pulls off an exit. We’re driving through a shit part of town now, rundown and depressed. If someone’s conducting criminal operations, this is the place to do it.
I glance at Ian, who’s gripping the door handle. Every inch of him radiates tension. I hate that he’s here with me right now, because I have no idea what we might walk into, but leaving him at home would have been even riskier. At least by keeping him with me, I know where he is and what he’s doing.
Johnson pulls through an open chain-link gate into the parking lot of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse covered in gang graffiti. I spot two unmarked white work vans parked inside the loading bay of a cavernous brick building. The Mercedes parks in front of a side door. It’s dark out, and I can just barely make out Larry Johnson as he gets out of his car and walks inside the building.
I park across the street beneath a broken streetlight and shut off the engine.
“Now what do we do?” Ian whispers.
Despite the severity of the situation, I smile and reach for his hand. “Now we wait.”
“For what?”
“For an idea of what’s going on. I think there’s more here than we realize.”
A few minutes later, another car pulls into the lot and parks next to Johnson’s Mercedes. Two men get out of the vehicle, and one of them pulls what looks like an unconscious woman out of the backseat, throws her over his shoulder, and disappears inside the building.
Shit. The enormity of what we’re witnessing hits me. This isn’t just a kidnapping. This is human trafficking. I reach for my phone and call Jud.
He answers immediately. “Tyler, what the hell’s going on?”
“I think we found Layla at an abandoned warehouse on the south side. It appears we’ve uncovered a human trafficking ring. I just watched a man carry an unconscious woman into the building. I think there’s a good chance Layla Alexander is here, too. Possibly more women.” I give him the address.
“I’m sending units and a SWAT team,” Jud says. “Tyler, you need to get out of there. You can’t be seen. Let us take it from here.”
I end the call, not wanting to waste time arguing with Jud. There’s no way in hell we’re leaving—not without knowing if Layla is in there and what her condition is. Ian would never stand for it and, frankly, neither would I.
After I tuck my phone into my jacket pocket, I reach for Ian’s hand. “SWAT is on their way. Now we sit tight.”
Ian has a death grip on my hand as he stares at the building, his gaze pained. His chest rises and falls, hard and fast. I know this waiting is killing him.
“I should have taken her concerns about Sean more seriously,” he says quietly, so much self-recrimination in his voice. “If only I’d listened to her.”
I turn to face him, but he’s hidden in the shadows. I doubt it’s a coincidence that the streetlights on this block are all out. I’m sure the bulbs were intentionally destroyed.
“Whatever happens,” I tell him, “it’s not your fault. We all wish we’d done better for Layla. Right now, let’s just focus on finding her.”
“If it’s a trafficking situation, then she’s probably still alive, right?” he says, sounding hopeful.
“Right.”
Moments later, headlights blind us as a half-dozen police cars arrive on scene and surround the warehouse. They come in silently, no blaring sirens to tip off the traffickers. A tactical van pulls in behind the squad cars, driving right through the open gate. The rear door of the van opens, and a unit dressed in night combat gear disperses and approaches the building in tight formation.
Almost immediately, we hear a volley of gunshots.
Ian lifts his door handle, but I reach over and capture his hand. “Not yet.”
“What if she gets hurt in the raid? What if—”
I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “Have faith, baby. These guys know what they’re doing. They’re trained for this, and they’re her best chance for survival. If