Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three bikers walking toward them. One had blood on his face, while the other two were limping. Some guys just never learned.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
When they were within striking range, he lunged at them. It was a tactical move, and got the desired reaction. The bloodied biker jumped backward, while one of the limpers halted. Only one of the bikers kept coming forward.
Lancaster feigned throwing a punch, but kicked the biker in the groin instead. The man doubled over in pain, leaving his chin open for a knee, which snapped his head back. He crumpled to the pavement in an inglorious heap and did not move.
The second limper knew karate, and took a little longer to subdue. He managed to get a roundhouse kick in, and Lancaster briefly saw stars, before sweeping the biker’s legs out from under him, taking him down. As his vision cleared, he heard a stream of curses, and spun around to find Echo spraying a can of Mace into the face of the bloodied biker, who appeared to be blinded. She emptied the can, and he stumbled away, screaming in agony.
She tossed the empty can away, then picked up her paper bag.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Her baby still hadn’t made a sound.
With Echo acting as copilot, he drove east on State Road 54 and eventually got onto the Suncoast Parkway. A few miles later the parkway ended, and he merged onto the Veterans Expressway, and headed south toward Tampa.
Echo rode shotgun and sang to her baby. Instead of caving under pressure, she had shown character. Although her future was uncertain, he knew she’d come out okay.
“What’s your son’s name?” he asked.
“Hector. We named him after his daddy,” she said.
He wanted to ask the father’s status, but knew that was none of his business.
“ICE took my boyfriend away six months ago,” she said, as if reading his mind. “He’s living in Mexico, trying to figure out a way to come back to Florida, and be with us.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“My boyfriend is smart. He’ll figure out a way. Where are you taking us?”
“To a hotel near the Sarasota airport. Once I have you and your baby in a room, I’ll connect with my people at Team Adam, and have them send a private plane to fly you to the horse farm in Tennessee that I told you about earlier tonight. You’ll be safe there.”
The Veterans Expressway had an express lane that ran for most of its length. He wasn’t keen on using it and paying the additional toll, but did so anyway, wanting to concentrate more on talking to Echo than maneuvering his car in the heavy traffic.
“I want to ask you some questions about Lexi,” he said. “Are you okay with that?”
Echo rocked her baby in her arms. “Sure.”
“You said that Dexter kidnapped Lexi. Why do you think he picked her?”
“I asked myself that same question,” she said. “Why take Lexi, and not one of the other dancers, or me? I think it was because Lexi was alone. She didn’t have any family or a boyfriend. When she didn’t show up for work, no one missed her.”
“Except you.”
“Yeah. Lexi babysat for me a few times. She was nice.”
“Was Lexi the first girl to be kidnapped? Or were there others?”
“I think there were others.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I heard stories about other dancers disappearing. The girls were like Lexi, and didn’t have anyone in their life, so no one reported it.”
It was a common refrain when people went missing. A victim without family or friends would disappear, and soon be forgotten. And the sad part was, it happened every day.
They did not speak for the rest of the way. He went on to Spotify and played a list of favorite Jimmy Buffett songs that he’d compiled and shared with other subscribers. Echo seemed to enjoy the music, and he caught her softly singing along.
Before reaching their destination, they drove across a four-mile-long bridge called the Sunshine Skyway. It was so long that it stretched over three counties, and Echo pressed her face to her window, oohing and aahing at the spectacular view.
The Sarasota-Bradenton International Airport serviced national and international flights. Expedia showed eight nearby hotels, and he chose the Knights Inn because the rooms were accessible from the street. After pulling into the hotel, he parked by the front entrance and killed the engine. He handed her the keys.
“I’m going inside and booking you a room,” he explained. “I want you to lock the doors when I get out. If someone suspicious gets near the car, beep the horn.”
“Okay.” She hesitated. “I don’t have money for a room.”
“I’ve got it covered. Did you eat earlier?”
“No. I brought formula for my son.”
“But nothing for yourself. I’ll get you something. Back in a few.”
He started to get out, and she grabbed his wrist.
“I’m frightened,” she said.
“Don’t be. I’m going to get you and your boy out of here. You’ll get to start your life over, and not worry about the past.”
She flashed a hopeful smile. It quickly faded, the reality of her situation creeping in, and erasing hope. He tousled her son’s hair, then hopped out of the car and closed the door behind him. No sooner was it shut than he heard the doors click.
Inside the hotel’s brightly lit registration office, he found a clean-cut night manager who looked like he’d played football in college and, when the pros hadn’t come calling, decided to go into hospitality management. His eyes were cold and unfriendly.
“Can I help you?” he asked stiffly.
His radar went on full alert. He took a Team Adam card from his wallet and placed it on the counter. With his fingertips, he slid the card across the marble counter, and waited a beat so the night manager could read what it said.
“My name is Jon Lancaster, and I work with Team Adam, which is affiliated with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children,” he said. “There is a young lady sitting in my car who was nearly a victim of an abduction earlier tonight. There will be a private plane coming to the Sarasota airport to get her out of here. In the meantime, I need to book a room for her. Do you think you can help me out?”
The night manager stared at the card. “Is this legit?”
“Feel free to call the 1-800 number,” he said. “The operator will put you through to a hotline. Whoever answers will verify who I am.”
“Hold on.”
The night manager punched the number into his cell phone. Lancaster stepped back from the counter and waited. Forty million people around the world were victims of human trafficking. Many of the victims were young women, who were sold into slavery. No country was immune to the problem, not even the United States of America.
There were seven global organizations dedicated to stopping this problem. These organizations spent a large portion of their budgets educating the airline and hospitality industry on how to spot traffickers, since hotel and airline people came in contact with traffickers and their victims on a regular basis.
When a person in the airline or hospitality industry spotted a customer they believed was engaged in human trafficking, it was hoped they would call a toll-free number, and report their suspicions. To help facilitate this, the airline industry distributed pamphlets to its employees, as did the hotel industry.
This pamphlet spelled out telltale signs of trafficking. A teenage girl traveling with an older male was one sign. A lack of luggage was another, and the girl’s inability to communicate with the people around her. The male paying in cash for airline tickets or a hotel room was another giveaway.
Not every hotel got these pamphlets. But those hotels situated near airports that serviced international flights always got the pamphlets, because more often than not, traffickers on international flights made layovers with their victims.