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Brannon opened her eyes and locked gazes with Lincoln. “We need to go back up.”
    Her partner hoisted to his feet. “Now?”
    She glanced at the clock, then shook her head. “Not right this second. I’d like to start patrolling the area in about forty-five minutes, though. We’ll start around the Smokemont station and double back to here.”
    â€œIn this weather?” Steve tapped the weather satellite screen again. Big clumps of red and yellow covered the entire park’s perimeter. The blizzard had arrived in full force.
    â€œThe Dolphin can handle the blizzard.” Brannon ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down the wisps that had escaped the scrunchie.
    â€œCan you?” Steve met her gaze. He wasn’t doubting her abilities, just asking as her supervisor.
    She took no offense. “Of course I can. This storm is nothing compared to some of the typhoons I had to fly SAR in when I was in the Coast Guard.”
    â€œOkay, then.” Steve reached for the mike. “You guys go gas up the chopper, and I’ll keep trying the radio.”
    â€œI’ll copilot.” Jefferson all but bounced with excitement.
    â€œNo. You aren’t trained in park rescues yet.” Brannon glanced at Lincoln. “You up to it?”
    â€œLead the way, sweetheart. I’m right behind you.”

FOUR
    Friday, 7:00 p.m.
    Suburb South of Townsend, Tennessee
    MAI STARED OUT THE cracked, dirty window, her body shivering in response to the cold. The oil lantern on the dresser emitted a dull glow over the room, but it did not provide warmth. What happened to freedom? The backs of her eyes burned, but she would not cry, not again. She touched the bruise on her cheek, a constant reminder of how tears were not allowed.
    Snow fell so hard she could not see more than a couple of centimeters from the window. The moonless night settled around the run-down building. The wind sounded like screaming through the walls with cracks large enough for small rodents to slip through. A layer of snow covered the ground outside the small building that housed more than twenty-five girls like her. The men who came called it a brothel. Mai was not sure what the word meant but knew what they would call her back in Thailand.
    She had so wanted to be American. Did everything she could to fit in. But she never learned about the hell she lived in now.
    A vehicle screeched to a halt outside, sliding on the ice in the driveway. Outside lights came on, lighting the pathway to the road. Mai pressed her nose against the icy windowpane. The side of the large white van opened. Milt—she would not allow herself to think of him as an uncle—stepped out and strode toward the building.
    Mai moved to the opposite corner of the room she shared with five other girls. She was alone now, the others “entertaining.” Could Milt be returning for her so soon?
    The door slammed so hard the windows rattled in their chipped wooden frames.
    Mai ran to the window and stared outside once more.
    Milt trudged through the snow and opened the back of the van. Girls about her age and younger spilled out. Dressed in tattered and threadbare long shirts, their feet uncovered, they shuffled toward the door. Several slipped and fell, only to be yelled at.
    More girls like her—tricked into coming to the United States with empty promises.
    Mai lifted her hand to bang on the glass, to warn them to run—run far away. She balled her palm into a fist, then dropped it to her side, hiding it in the folds of her own tattered and threadbare long shirt. Milt would beat her if he caught her.
    How many had already learned what they were to do here? Mai swiped a silent tear from her face.
    Loud voices echoed down the hallway. Six bedrooms lined the hallway right next to the office, as Madam Nancy called it. At the end of the hall was the working corridor holding twenty rooms. These had nice furnishings and heat, but the girls were not