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notice boards in various stations, but that would be the extent of their investigations. Cigarette Hands would be left to carry on taking young girls, raping them, and selling them until the traffickers did something that either got them arrested or killed.
    Anger hit her, sudden and with full ferocity. What the fuck was wrong with all these men? Between Monster, Cigarette Hands, the useless detective, and even the neighbor who had stuck his nose in where it wasn’t wanted, it felt as though they were all in some kind of conspiracy where they’d each do something to screw her over whenever she tried to move on.
    But she couldn’t just let this drop. The faces of the girls she’d shared the space of the container with haunted her every time she closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand the thought more were out there, hurt, abused, and terrified, and the police were doing nothing to find them. How was she supposed to continue with her life, knowing Cigarette Hands was going unpunished?
    A decision lodged firmly in Lily’s heart.
    If the police wouldn’t find them, then she would.
    The idea both terrified and exhilarated her in equal measures. Could she do this? Track down the place where she’d been held and find Cigarette Hands and his crew at the same time? She wouldn’t need to do anything; just locating the port and the shipping container would be enough to take back to the cops. At least then she’d be giving them something substantial to go on. The police could take it from there, rescuing the girls, and arresting the traffickers.
    Lily took a shaky breath.
    If she was going to do this, she would need to get a gun for protection. She wouldn’t allow herself to be taken by those bastards again. She felt more confident holding a weapon now than she would have a month ago. It was amazing how much a matter of weeks could change someone. She’d also need a map so she could mark off all the ports within a reasonable distance. It might take her weeks to cover them all, and she might never find the right one, or the men who had taken her, but at least she’d have tried. She couldn’t lie in bed every night knowing they were still out there somewhere.
    Another thought occurred to her, sending ice through her veins.
    What if Cigarette Hands discovered she was back, safe and sound? Apparently her disappearance had been picked up by the media, and so it was only realistic to expect some reports about her reappearance would also surface. What if he saw she was still alive? He knew she’d seen their faces and could identify certain things about them, what they did, and where they did it. They’d expect her to go to the cops, and would want to stop her. Her purse had been in her car when she’d been taken, and it had contained her driver’s license and her address. The police had made no mention of it being found in the car, which meant the traffickers had probably taken it.
    The ice solidified to penetrate her heart.
    Cigarette Hands knew where she lived.
    She wouldn’t be sleeping soundly in her bed any time soon. She’d be waiting for them to break in and finish the job they’d started.
    Raping and murdering her.
    A shiver ran down her spine and she spun around, suddenly certain she’d felt someone watching her. But the streets of Los Angeles looked no different than they normally did—an eclectic mixture of locals, tourists, and Hollywood wannabes. No one appeared to be paying her any attention.
    She shook her head and kept walking watching out for the next bus stop that would take her in the right direction. The whole time she felt as though eyes were on her, and she spun around, half-expecting to see Cigarette Hands standing on the sidewalk behind her. Of course, the notion was ridiculous, and each time she turned no one was there. It was hardly surprising she felt spooked, considering everything she’d been through and the possibility of more danger awaiting her.
    On the side of the street, she passed a