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much easy money was to be made… Well, they decided to change the game.”
    “But why kill the girls?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that policemen were involved.
    “Most likely because the girls could identify them,” he answers. “Or at the very least, confirm that their kidnappers were native Frenchmen.”
    I let this sink in a moment. I know there are dirty cops. That’s not a surprise. But what is a surprise is that cops would go as far as to kill innocent young girls to protect their own identity. “Who came up with this brilliant scheme?” I ask, fighting a sudden urge to find those responsible and tear their throats out.
    Vlad reads the emotion boiling in me. “I doubt we’ll get the chance to meet the leader,” he says. “I understand he’s on vacation somewhere in the Mediterranean. Distancing himself from the fallout now that the plan has gone so wrong.”
    “So why are we headed for Niaux?”
    “Niaux is located in the foothills of the Pyrenees. There is a cave there where prehistoric paintings have been discovered. It’s quite a popular tourist attraction. That’s where the kidnappers have been taking their victims.”
    “To a tourist attraction?”
    “Nearby. And when you think of it, it’s quite a smart plan. Niaux is far enough from Marseilles to be eliminated in any area search for the girls. No one would think to look so far from the abduction sites.”
    “And all the girls’ families were unaware that their daughters were missing,” I add quickly, “because the kidnappers were careful to leave text messages explaining their absences. It gave them plenty of time to get the girls out of the area.”
    Vlad nods. “Then, when the girls are killed, their bodies are taken back and dumped near Marseilles. Adding to the suspicion that immigrants are involved.”
    We travel in silence for some time. The countryside is beautiful—layered in shades of green only springtime can produce. How can such a lovely country produce such monsters? Men willing to kill, then blame it on an innocent population who wants only to achieve a better life for themselves and their families.
    I have to admit, though, it’s an old story.
    “Are you going to tell me who your snitch was?” I ask finally.
    “Snitch?”
    “Informant.”
    “Ah. No. It’s better no one knows.”
    But my instincts tell me I can figure it out. “It’s one of the kidnappers, isn’t it? Someone whose conscience finally got the better of him.”
    That elicits a snicker. “Conscience? No. Something much more appealing to one such as he. I offered a huge reward for information. Circulated the information through my underbelly—”
    “Underworld,” I correct.
    “ Underworld contacts. It worked.”
    “I take it he won’t be among those we find with Cecily today,” I say wryly.
    “No. Today he is elsewhere.”
    “Lucky for him.”

Chapter Seven
    The road winds upward now, through gently rolling, glacier-carved hills. I find myself wondering about Vlad. How easy it was for him to find out where Cecily was and how in one day, we will close down this kidnapping operation.
    But not before three girls were killed.
    “Were you serious about what you told Trish? Were you really so self-absorbed that you were unaware that three young girls had been kidnapped and murdered?”
    The look Vlad sends me is scathing. The heat of his sudden anger sends a scorching bolt through me. “Are there not murders of innocents taking place in your country every day? Do you involve yourself in them? I read the newspapers. There are serial killers at work in every state of your union. What are you doing about them?”
    Heat floods my face. He’s right. I have no right to criticize him. He’s involved now because I asked him to be. What sends a chill through me is that if I hadn’t been here to ask, what would have happened to Trish’s friend?
    Vlad reads my thoughts and his temper cools. Perhaps it has been too long since