Little Girls Lost Read Online Free PDF Page A

millionaire.
    Footsteps at the door; Truman Desmond froze as the doorknob shook violently. He jabbed in panic at the keyboard. The computer locked up with Jacy Charlane on the screen.
    The door banged open.
    “Company’s coming,” called a laughing voice. “Zip up your pants.”
    Truman Desmond closed his eyes and his head slumped forward, his heart jackhammering his ribs.The idiot simply wouldn’t follow the procedure: three fast buzzes, pause, then a final long buzz.
    Truman rolled his chair back to look through his doorway. His brother Roosevelt stood in the anteroom riffling through the day’s mail, a carob-coated nutrition bar clenched in his teeth like a cigar.
    “You didn’t use the code, Rose!” Truman railed.
    Rose grunted at bills and flyers. “Anyone can buzz like that. I’m the only one with my voice.”
    “We’ve got to be careful, you outsized idiot. It’s not a game.”
    Rose scowled and looked up. When his eyes saw the image on the computer screen, he threw the mail over his shoulder.
    “Hey man, who’s that?”
    Truman was hunched over the keyboard, trying to shut off the screen when Rose’s sausage-thick fingers surrounded his hand.
    “Leggo, Rose,” he whined.
    “C’mon Tru, who’s the chickie? Move over, goddammit. Lemme see.”
    “Come on, Rose. I got work to do.”
    “Move the hell out of the way, Truman.”
    Truman cursed and rolled back. If Roosevelt wanted him out of the way he’d simply pick him up and move him, the advantage of spending twelve of twenty-four years lifting weights.
    “Hurry up and look,” Truman pouted. “Then find something to do.”
    Rose Desmond put his face to the screen. “What’s baby’s name?”
    “Lorelei.”
    Rose said, “Not her made-up name, asshole. Her real name.”
    “How do you know it’s not her real name?”
    “Vitriana. Kittinia. Lorelei. Every name you make up for the website sounds like a fucking Caribbean island. You’re so predictable, Tru. Now, what’s pretty baby’s name?”
    “Jacy. Come on, Rose, I’ve got to get done and get the drive stashed. Somebody’s got to do the work around here.”
    Rose turned from the screen, the veins in his neck visibly pulsing. “Don’t you give me that shit like I don’t do anything. You’re not around them every day. Taking them food. Smelling their smells. Sometimes I wish I could—”
    “They’re product, Rose,” Truman snapped. “No interaction. We’ve discussed it. As soon as we’re done we’ll get away, have some fun. Hell, between Vitriana and Kittinia and Nalique—”
    “Darla, Maya and LaShelle. Use real names so I can follow.”
    “No matter what you call them we have a shit-load of money, Rose. With lots more to come.”
    Rose snorted and pulled another power bar from his pocket, tore an end from the silver package and let it fall to the floor. He balled the remaining package and flicked it into the trash drum across the room, whispering “two points” when it dropped.
    Truman said, “This will all be over soon, Rose. We’ll get away for a while, anywhere we want.”
    “When?”
    “The buyer’s picking up Kittinia—Maya, to you—at the farmhouse in a couple weeks. The buyer and I are negotiating the delivery schedule for LaShelle. How about letting me get back to work?”
    Rose Desmond spun his brother back to the computer and stalked away. Truman finished the website work and returned the hard drive to its hidey-hole beneath the floorboards. He found Rose sitting in the studio and reading Pex , a magazine devoted to pectoral muscles.
    “You leaving soon?” Truman asked.
    Rose didn’t look up. “Finish this article and I’m a goner.”
    “You gonna check the product tonight, Rose?”
    “Yeah. Go too long without emptying the crapper and it gets rank down there.”
    Tru walked to his brother and kissed him on the mouth. Practice-kissing, they called it, and it wasn’t faggy because they didn’t use tongues. Tru straightened and said, “We’ll