I went to step past Landon and he reached for my ankle. I shook his hand loose, pivoted and kicked him in the jaw, my instep coming up right under his chin. His head snapped back and he went over like a bag of sand.

“I told you you might not be able to talk,” I said, then looked at the shorter one. “You gonna try something stupid?”

He was still clutching his knee, tears streaming from his eyes, but he managed to shake his head.

“Probably the ACL and the MCL,” I said, pointing at the knee. “You’ll need surgery. You get up off the ground and I guarantee you you’ll need surgery on both of your knees.”

I left them there writhing in the street.

TWENTY

The front door was askew and I knocked on the doorframe as I took a step inside. The floor was covered in white tile and the whitewashed walls were peppered with what looked to me like expensive artwork. There was a small table in the entry way and I could see into the living room off to my right. Two small leather sofas, a flat screen TV and a square glass coffee table. Everything was neat and orderly and expensive looking.

A small, compact woman entered from the other side of the living room. Long dark hair swept up in a neat bundle on top of her head, wearing faded jeans and a purple T-shirt, her feet bare. She wore little makeup and was free of the fake tan the two I’d left in the street sported. She was maybe ten years older than me and she immediately looked wary.

“Can I help you?” she asked, stopping short of the glass table, keeping all of the furniture in between us.

“Are you Janine Bandencoop?” I asked.

She didn’t answer immediately, as if she was weighing her options. But then too much time passed and we both knew she was Janine Bandencoop and she couldn’t deny it.

“Yes,” she said. “You are?”

“Joe Tyler,” I said, then gestured back toward the front door. “Whoever the two were that met me out front are lying in the street. Both will need a doctor.”

Concern settled on her face and she took a step toward the table. “What? My sons?”

“I guess,” I said. “I asked if you were home. They lied and said you weren’t. It went downhill after that.”

“I’m calling the police,” she said.

“Please do,” I said. “I’m guessing we’ll need them eventually, anyway.”

She didn’t move for a phone. “Who are you?”

“I told you,” I said. “I want to know if you were involved in my daughter’s abduction from Coronado Island in San Diego.”

Her thin eyebrows attempted to furrow together in concern but it took her a fraction too long. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. I want you out of my home right now.”

I didn’t move, just stared at her, my expression impassive.

“And I want to see my sons,” she said.

“You wanna see them?” I held up a finger. “Hang on.”

I went back out the front door and they were both where I’d left them. I grabbed Landon by the foot on the leg I hadn’t mangled. I looked at his brother.

“I’m taking him inside,” I said. “You stay here. Got it?”

He nodded, grimacing, still hugging his knee.

I tugged on Landon’s leg and he moaned, the lights still trying to come back on his head. I pulled him up over the curb and through the gravel. He started moaning louder, making whiny high-pitched sounds that were unintelligible. I knew his jaw was broken and he couldn’t move it. I got him to the porch, pulled him up over it and dragged him into the house until I had him right near the glass table.

I dropped his leg and looked at Janine. “Here you go.”

She folded her arms around herself and shivered. “Jesus,” she whispered, her eyes widened in horror.

“His knee is spaghetti and his jaw is broken,” I said. “The other one’s in the street. He’s in better shape, but he’s afraid to move.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, the anger beginning to rise up. “But if you think…”

“Shut the fuck up, lady,” I said, waving my hand. “And if you feed me any bullshit here, I’ll start breaking more bones in Landon’s body.”

Landon, hearing his name, whined again, sounding like a beaten dog. He tried to move on the ground, but I stepped on his damaged knee and the whine kicked into high gear.

“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop!”

“I want to know if you were involved in my daughter’s abduction,” I said again, lifting my foot off Landon. “Not quite ten years ago. In San Diego.”

She stayed quiet.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it out. “I’ve got a federal agent on speed dial. She specializes in missing children. You either start talking or I make the call. You’ve got three seconds to decide.”

She chewed on her bottom lift for a moment. “Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I already told you. My daughter. Almost ten years ago. San Diego.”

She closed her eyes. “It’s hard for me to recall…”

“Figure out a way to recall, Janine,” I said, my voice rising. “I’m about out of patience here.”

She opened her eyes, licked her lips and glanced at her son on the floor. “I need more details. I’m involved in many…transactions.”

“Let’s start there,” I said. “Tell me about your transactions.”

She took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the sofa closest to her. “I run a private adoption agency.”

“So you’re licensed?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

I didn’t say anything.

“People come to me with children that need homes,” she said. “I find them homes.”

“Who brings them to you?”

“Just depends,” she said. “Most times, they request anonymity.”

“You don’t run background checks? Ask for birth records? Anything?”

“As I said. They request anonymity.”

“So you have no idea where these kids are coming from?” I asked, incredulous. “And then you just find some family for them?” I paused. “And you must pay for them. The ones that are brought to you. Then you make it up when you sell to the loving families, correct? Maybe charge double what you paid?”

She didn’t say anything.

I was shaking. I needed to get control of myself and my temper or I’d learn nothing. But sitting there, looking at a woman who did this, made me sick to my stomach.

“How do they find you?” I asked. “The people who bring you children.”

“There are channels,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap. “Just depends.”

“Like which segment of the child trafficking world they are coming from, right?” I said, frowning. “Using big words doesn’t change what you do, lady.”

“I’m helping families who can’t have their own children,” she argued. “They are families desperate for children, families that give them good homes.”

“Or unwittingly take in abducted kids,” I said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She stayed quiet.

I shook my head, trying to shake the anger out of me. I needed to stay focused, remember why I was there. I could let other people deal with the details of her operation.

“A young girl named Elizabeth Tyler,” I said. “I don’t know how or who brought her to you. But you sold her to a family in Minneapolis. The Corzines.”

“I don’t sell these children. I match them…”

“Spare me,” I said, holding up a hand. “You buy and sell children. If you’re paying for them, then you’re looking for kids who need to be placed, to use your bullshit word. You may not be the one snatching them, but you’re just as guilty. So fuck you.”

She sank back into the sofa.

“There may have been a story involving an explosion and the death of her parents,” I said. “It was bullshit. But she was then sold to the Corzines in Minnesota.”

We sat there in silence for a minute or so. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to remember or if she was trying to figure out a way out of her living room. She still hadn’t confirmed anything about Elizabeth, so there was still a possibility that she wasn’t involved in her disappearance. Worst-case scenario was that I’d found a child trafficker and could shut her down.