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Authors: Colleen Shannon
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in on the articles showing beneath Emm’s notes. “ ‘Human Trafficking Texas Task Force Offers Rewards,’” she read off the title.
Impressed in a way she seldom was upon first meeting someone, Emm shoved her notes and articles back into her briefcase. “Great deductions.” She looked the tall woman up and down, noting the conservative gray suit and plain white cotton blouse that boasted no adornment. Even the buttons were hidden. “Your parents were from England, because there’s a trace of it in your voice. And you have to hide how smart and capable you are because you’re a woman in a man’s field.”
Those gray eyes flickered in surprise, and it was obvious few people ever used Ms. Doyle’s own deductive reasoning against her.
Emm smiled warmly. “In that way we’re kindred spirits; men dominate my field, also.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card, which she offered.
After reading the card, Abigail smiled and reciprocated with her own card. Emm read, “Dr. Hermione Abigail Doyle, Consultant.” Below that, in smaller print, was the title, “Forensics, Texas Rangers.” The address was in Austin.
Emm carefully stuck the card in the zipper pocket of her purse. “It might be helpful if we compared notes. Would you be available for lunch?”
Ms. Doyle hesitated. Somehow Emm knew this imposing woman was not married, not only because she didn’t wear a ring but because she probably intimidated the heck out of most men.
“I can’t share much with you.”
“I know. But I can share with you. I have a feeling you catch things other investigators might miss. Most importantly, we both very badly want to see this human trafficking ring broken into bits, do we not?”
Ms. Doyle didn’t bother to deny either assertion. She motioned a hand before her. “Lead on, Ms. Rothschild.”
Emm led the way to the parking lot.
CHAPTER 4
I t was almost five when Ross finally took time to eat his take out sub sandwich, now stale, but he hardly noticed. He was growing increasingly frustrated at the progress—or, more accurately, lack thereof—of the human trafficking investigation, no matter how much money they threw at it. Public awareness of the problem had finally brought in billions in federal dollars and more than six hundred million from State of Texas funds to purchase gunboats, drones, listening devices, weapons, surveillance cameras, and even seismic equipment to help them locate tunnels at the porous 1,241-mile border between Texas and Mexico. Hundreds of new Border Patrol agents had been hired, and the governor had once even called in the National Guard to battle the flow of illegal immigrants.
However, though the unaccompanied minors fleeing Central American violence were trying to get into the US, as opposed to the young women being smuggled out, the modes of transport were very similar and often involved the same coyotes and gangs. And both were highly lucrative for the myriad criminals and Mexican nationals involved in the trade, with money greasing palms all the way down the line from cartel boss to paisano . It was literally impossible to keep up with all the potential links because they were so fluid. By the time they had proof enough to arrest a source, like the independent big-rig driver who’d been stopped at the border with drugged women hidden in the false bottom of his cargo bay, the conduit moved to another location and another trafficker.
As he scarfed down the last of his sandwich, Ross glared at the towering pile of files leaning against his office wall. On the rare occasion when he got to send one to the dead files after it was marked, “Case Closed,” it seemed three sprang up to take its place.
In 2009, the TxDPS had established a special Ranger division known as the Ranger Reconnaissance Team. They had authority throughout Texas to conduct in-depth, military-style covert investigations designed to infiltrate and stop the drug cartels. Rumor had it they even had
Impressed in a way she seldom was upon first meeting someone, Emm shoved her notes and articles back into her briefcase. “Great deductions.” She looked the tall woman up and down, noting the conservative gray suit and plain white cotton blouse that boasted no adornment. Even the buttons were hidden. “Your parents were from England, because there’s a trace of it in your voice. And you have to hide how smart and capable you are because you’re a woman in a man’s field.”
Those gray eyes flickered in surprise, and it was obvious few people ever used Ms. Doyle’s own deductive reasoning against her.
Emm smiled warmly. “In that way we’re kindred spirits; men dominate my field, also.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card, which she offered.
After reading the card, Abigail smiled and reciprocated with her own card. Emm read, “Dr. Hermione Abigail Doyle, Consultant.” Below that, in smaller print, was the title, “Forensics, Texas Rangers.” The address was in Austin.
Emm carefully stuck the card in the zipper pocket of her purse. “It might be helpful if we compared notes. Would you be available for lunch?”
Ms. Doyle hesitated. Somehow Emm knew this imposing woman was not married, not only because she didn’t wear a ring but because she probably intimidated the heck out of most men.
“I can’t share much with you.”
“I know. But I can share with you. I have a feeling you catch things other investigators might miss. Most importantly, we both very badly want to see this human trafficking ring broken into bits, do we not?”
Ms. Doyle didn’t bother to deny either assertion. She motioned a hand before her. “Lead on, Ms. Rothschild.”
Emm led the way to the parking lot.
CHAPTER 4
I t was almost five when Ross finally took time to eat his take out sub sandwich, now stale, but he hardly noticed. He was growing increasingly frustrated at the progress—or, more accurately, lack thereof—of the human trafficking investigation, no matter how much money they threw at it. Public awareness of the problem had finally brought in billions in federal dollars and more than six hundred million from State of Texas funds to purchase gunboats, drones, listening devices, weapons, surveillance cameras, and even seismic equipment to help them locate tunnels at the porous 1,241-mile border between Texas and Mexico. Hundreds of new Border Patrol agents had been hired, and the governor had once even called in the National Guard to battle the flow of illegal immigrants.
However, though the unaccompanied minors fleeing Central American violence were trying to get into the US, as opposed to the young women being smuggled out, the modes of transport were very similar and often involved the same coyotes and gangs. And both were highly lucrative for the myriad criminals and Mexican nationals involved in the trade, with money greasing palms all the way down the line from cartel boss to paisano . It was literally impossible to keep up with all the potential links because they were so fluid. By the time they had proof enough to arrest a source, like the independent big-rig driver who’d been stopped at the border with drugged women hidden in the false bottom of his cargo bay, the conduit moved to another location and another trafficker.
As he scarfed down the last of his sandwich, Ross glared at the towering pile of files leaning against his office wall. On the rare occasion when he got to send one to the dead files after it was marked, “Case Closed,” it seemed three sprang up to take its place.
In 2009, the TxDPS had established a special Ranger division known as the Ranger Reconnaissance Team. They had authority throughout Texas to conduct in-depth, military-style covert investigations designed to infiltrate and stop the drug cartels. Rumor had it they even had
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