TAT: Gray Wolf Security: Book Three

Mary Kennedy
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TAT
GRAY WOLF SECURITY

Book THREE
By Mary Kennedy
 Copyright © 2024 by Mary Kennedy
All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or
have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,

locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information
storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

Editing provided by: pccProofreading

 Dear Readers,

This book can be a stand-alone read, or you can read the previous series of REAPER Security, My SEAL Boys, Steel
Patriots, REAPER Patriots, and the ongoing series of Voodoo Guardians. Those books will give greater detail about

characters you may not know. However, this was written to give you small snippets of backgrounds so that you feel
informed.

I hope you enjoy this new series. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are in your twilight or after a certain age
you should ‘slow down.’ Believe me, the men and women of Gray Wolf won’t be slowing down any time soon.
Enjoy!
Contents
GRAY WOLF SECURITY
Map of Belle Île & Cabin Assignments

Cabin Assignments for Belle Île

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

EXCERPT from BARK or BITE

TEAM & FAMILY GUIDE

OTHER BOOKS BY MARY KENNEDY YOU MIGHT ENJOY!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Map of Belle Île & Cabin Assignments
Cabin Assignments for Belle Île
1 Trak & Lauren 18 Dex & Marie
2 Nine & Erin 19 Hannu &
Johanna
3 Miller & Kari 20 Otto & Robin
4 Luc & Montana 21 Teddy
5 Gaspar & 22 Kegger &
Alexandra Morgan
6 Ghost & Grace 23 Pork
7 Ian & Faith 24
8 Mama Irene & 25
Matthew
9 Ruby and Sven 26
10 George & Mary 27
11 Whiskey & Kat
12 Angel & Mary
13 Antoine & Ella
14 Baptiste & Rose
15 Bull & Lily
16 Vince & Ally
17 Code & Hannah
 CHAPTER ONE
The bell above the door gave a little tinkle, and she immediately started to feel anxious and unsure of herself. She

could smell the ink and something akin to leather, the buzz of the tattoo gun and needle working their magic, but she wasn’t
sure. After all, this was her first visit to a tattoo parlor.

“Hi, can I help you?” asked the man behind the counter.
The walls were covered with amazing artwork. Cartoons, flowers, buildings, love, blood, war, and peace. There was
a ham sandwich running from a pack of angry pigs, a dog dancing in a kilt, and stunning portraits of people alive and dead. It
was overwhelming.
“Yes, I’m here to get a tattoo,” said the young girl.
“I’ll need to see some ID,” said the man.
She stared at him, wondering if she should try to flirt her way to the tattoo, but wasn’t even sure how to do that.
Someone told her it was simple. No one would ask for her ID. I mean, it’s just ink. She started moving from one foot to the
other.
“I’m eighteen, I swear.”
“Great. Show me your ID,” he said.
She pulled out the pathetic fake ID that her friend Renee had given her. It didn’t even look like her, but it got her into

clubs, and that was all she’d cared about. Although, right now, she wished it were significantly better.
“Honey, I’m sorry, but I’m not stupid, and I damn sure won’t risk my license. The last thing I need is for angry parents
to come knocking on my door with the state board. How old are you really?”
“I’m seventeen, but I’ll be eighteen in July,” she said with a frown.
“You’re only a few months away. Why don’t you just wait?” he said.
“It’s not a big deal!”
“It’s obviously a big deal if you’re willing to lie and use a fake ID to get one. Trust me, I’ll be here when you have
your birthday. In fact, I’ll give you an eighteen percent discount if you come in on your birthday.”
“Maybe,” she said, trying to take the ID from him. He pulled it back, shaking his head.
“Sorry, sweetie. I have to turn this in. You came to the wrong tattoo parlor today. I won’t risk my business.”
Something inside her panicked a bit, and she ran from the shop, walking swiftly down Canal. He’d been one of the
most highly recommended tattoo artists in the area. All her hopes were on him. She knew that she should have a little patience
and wait, but she really, really wanted that tattoo. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Maybe if she went further into the Quarter,
near Tremé, she could find someone not so picky.
Passing Jackson Square, she gazed at the artwork on display, listening to the musicians blow their horns and strum their
guitars. Some of them were actually really good. Others needed to practice a bit more. Tarot card readers and fortune tellers

lined the fences, calling over tourists to hear their futures. Some of them would yell out things that would make them more
interested.

“You’re going to get that new job.”

“You’ll break up with him, only to take him back.”

Even she knew that it was all coincidence, and the odds were in favor of them being right about someone.
She watched as three teenage girls giggled, staring at something on each other’s backs. Walking closer, she saw that
they all had a small tattoo on their shoulder. It was a strange symbol, almost like a Chinese character, but she wasn’t sure,
having no knowledge of the language.
“Hi, did you just get a tattoo?” she asked the girls.
“Yeah, aren’t they cool! We all got the same thing. It means friendship or something.”
She stared at the symbol, the letters so pretty and colorful. They were the perfect size, not too large, not too small.
Most importantly, they could easily be hidden beneath a shirt until she turned eighteen.

所有 权
“That’s so cool,” she smiled. “I tried to get one over at The Mask, but they wouldn’t let me. I won’t be eighteen for
another few months. I just want something. I’m dying to get a tattoo.”
“There’s this guy that does them, and he travels all around the city,” said one of the girls. “He’s kind of hard to find, but
once you find him, he does whatever you want, no questions asked. He didn’t even ask our ages.”
“Where is he?” she asked, filled with hope.
“He was over on Duplantis at the corner by the laundry, but he moves around a lot. His name is Spire.”
“Spire? That’s a weird name,” she laughed. The girls giggled, and she realized they were probably only fifteen or

sixteen years old. If he gave them tattoos, then he would give her a tattoo for sure.
“Thanks for the tip, and your tats are really cool.”
Waving goodbye to the girls, she quickly walked in the direction of Duplantis and the laundry. Not seeing anyone at the
corners, she looked up and down the streets. Finally, she decided to walk the full blocks to be sure he hadn’t gone to another
location.
About to give up hope, she started back to the Square when she spotted someone at a table with his back turned to her.
As she got closer, she realized he was giving a tattoo to someone.
Not wanting to interrupt, she just watched while he worked.
“You’re making me nervous,” he snapped. “Go sit down and wait for me.”
“S-sorry. Are you Spire?”
“Yes. Go sit down.”
 “Okay, but can I get a tattoo from you?” she asked. He stopped, turning to look at the young girl. He stared her up and

down, then nodded.

“Three hundred. It’s my standard price,” he said.

“Yeah. Okay,” she nodded. Taking her seat on a bus bench, she waited patiently as he finished the ink on the young man
in the chair. When he was done, he held up a mirror for him, and he nodded, giving him a strange handshake. He pointed to the

chair and gave a look of impatience to her.

“Oh, right. So, I want something like you gave the three girls this morning. I met them in the Square, and the symbols
were really cool.”
“You don’t want that,” he grinned, shaking his head at the girl.
“No, I do!” she said excitedly. “I think it’s really cool.”
“Okay. Just remember, you asked for it.” He wiped down his little folding table and put on a new pair of gloves.
“What’s your name?”
“Christina,” she said quickly, then regretted giving him her real name. He didn’t seem too concerned by it, just nodding
his head.
“Cool. It’s going to hurt, but just sit still, and it won’t take me long.”
She’d read so many internet pages about tattoos. She had a pretty good idea of what this was going to feel like. She
felt him draw the symbols on her back, then showed her with the mirror what they would look like.

It was perfectly placed. You couldn’t see it in a t-shirt or regular clothing, but if she wore something that bared her
shoulders or a racerback top, it would be visible. Her parents would never know. She would show them after she turned
eighteen.
“Hey, what do those symbols mean?” she asked about halfway through the tattoo.
“It’s a little late to ask that question, isn’t it?” he smirked.
“I guess,” she said quietly. She started to worry that maybe she was getting a bad word placed on her body or
something offensive. “It’s not a cuss word, is it?”
“No. It’s not a cuss word. Now shut up, and let me finish.”
When it was done, she gave him the three hundred dollars and was thrilled to be able to show her friends what she’d
done. Usually the lagger in the group, waiting to get permission, waiting to be sixteen, waiting to be eighteen, now she was one
of the first to have a tattoo.
“That’s so cool, Christina. What does it mean?” asked her friend Becky.
“Something like future or inspire, I’m not sure. I just thought it was really awesome, and there were some other girls
with it, too. Hey, I did lose that fake ID. Some douche in a tattoo shop took it from me and refused to do this.”
“How did you get it done?” she asked.
 “I found some guy after seeing a couple of young girls with tattoos. They said he just sort of roams the streets and gives

tattoos without asking questions. The guy didn’t care how old I was. Do you have another ID? I want to go out this Friday
night and show this baby off. I have the perfect halter top to wear.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

For the first few days, the tattoo really hurt. She put the ointment on it that she’d read about on the internet and made

sure to keep it clean. By Friday, it was only a little red, and she was feeling much better about it. Heading out the door, she
was suddenly filled with confidence she’d never had before. Always the good girl, the rule follower, maybe tonight was her
night. Maybe tonight, she would finally have sex with some random guy and feel like a real woman.
“Going to Becky’s for the night, Mom!” she called back.
“Be careful. Crazy drivers and all that,” she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “Your father is barbecuing tomorrow,
so be home by noon.”
“Okay. See you then,” she said, waving at her mother.
She stopped in front of Becky’s house, the young girl running out and tossing her bag on the seat. The two girls picked
up another two girls and made their way toward the clubs on Magazine. You could feel the base pumping as they pulled closer.
“This club is so cool!” said Becky. Already eighteen, she could get into most of the clubs without any issues. Although
New Orleans’ bigger clubs required you to be twenty-one, some looked the other way if you were eighteen.
“Your tattoo looks amazing!” said Tally.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I feel so chic with this, so grown-up.” She felt a tap on the back of her arm and turned to
see a good-looking guy. He was probably in college, but he was hot.
“Wanna dance?” he asked. She nodded, taking his hand as they moved to the bump of the bass and the grind of the
treble. Christina tried her sexy moves, making sure she turned for him to see her tattoo.
“Love the tat, babe. But why that word?” he grinned.
“What do you mean?” she asked. He just shook his head.
“I’ve got like six tattoos, so I’m kind of familiar with Chinese characters.” He pulled up his shirt, showing her the
tattoo running along his abdomen. He was ripped, and she could feel her blood running hot as he ground his hips against hers.
“Yeah, those are really cool,” she said nervously. He stared at her, smirking and shaking his head. If she was eighteen,
it happened in the last thirty days. There was an innocence about her that he didn’t want to test. The problem was, she was
seriously sexy in a very girlish way.
“Let’s ditch this dive and head to my place,” he said, feeling her out.
“I just got here,” she said. He stepped back, looking at her.
“How old are you?” he frowned.
“I’m eighteen,” she said. He shook his head, stepping back again. “I swear!”
 “Listen, you’re really hot, but I don’t want to get arrested. I’m a law student at Tulane, and I have my life pretty much

planned out, and it doesn’t include rape of an underage girl.”

“Can’t we just dance?” she asked. He smiled at her, bending to kiss her cheek. It was done with almost brotherly

affection, and he felt a sense of pride that he was turning away from an easy night of hot, probably virgin, sex.
“I think you should go home,” he said as his friends came to find him. They started to pull him away, and he turned

back to the girl. “That tattoo isn’t what you think it is. Maybe get it removed.”
Christina felt completely and utterly defeated. She walked toward her friends, asking them to leave with her, but they
were having fun. Of course, they were all eighteen. They’d probably hook up with a few guys, make out, or maybe even have
sex. She was relegated to just dancing and kissing. To find out that her tattoo wasn’t as cool as she thought really made her
angry. She would have to find the tattoo artist again and get him to put something over it.
“We want to stay. I mean, the music is great at this place, and the guys are smokin’ hot. Besides, it’s early. Is
everything alright?” asked Becky. She could tell by her friend’s face that everything was not alright. “Listen, we can take a
cab home. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s okay. You go on if you want. Don’t rush this, Christina. You’ll be eighteen soon enough.”
Waving goodbye to her friends, she made her way out of the club and into the cool night air. She was feeling pretty low
about the hot guy leaving her. All she wanted to do now was get home. Suddenly, she felt the grip of strong hands on her upper

arm.
“Let me go!” she yelled, struggling against the big man holding her arm. She squirmed, trying to get free, yelling
louder. “Let me go!”
“No can do, sweetness,” he smiled his dirty smile. He didn’t appear much older than the guy she’d just left, but he was
strong, and there was something about him that made her freak. “You belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone. Let me go! I’m not who you think I am. I’m a student at Loyola. I’m just headed home.”
“Sorry, baby, that tattoo says you’re mine.”
“What? No, that’s a new tattoo. The guy totally screwed it up, and I was going to have it fixed next weekend.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” said the man. “I like the tattoo. See, it says that you’re my property, and since you’re my
property, that means I get to do what I want with you. Anything I want with you.”
Panicked, she kicked out, hitting his shin with her cowboy boot. She took off toward the well-traveled street and heard
the footsteps behind her. She got turned around, searching for the club where she’d left her friends. Ducking inside another
bar, she then ran toward the back to the ladies’ room.
Pushing ahead of the line of women, she went into the open stall, locking the door.
“Hey! There’s a line, you know,” said a girl.
 “Please, please be quiet. Someone is chasing me.” The girl in the line looked behind her but didn’t see anyone.

“I’ll go get the manager,” she said. “You stay right here.”
Lifting her feet, she prayed that the manager would return and help her, or better yet, call the police. The crowd of

people outside was loud, and she hoped that meant that nothing was different. Hearing footsteps, she waited a moment, then
spoke.

“Is that you? Did you find the manager?” A large hand gripped the top of the door, jerking it forward, and she
screamed. It didn’t matter. It was completely drowned out by the loud music. Her menace was standing before her.
“I am the manager, baby. The only manager you’re ever going to have.”
 CHAPTER TWO
“I’ve got another one,” whispered Callan into his comms piece.

He busied himself at the table while the young woman looked around, trying to find another tattoo to cover her own
with. Sending out the signal, he knew that others would come into the shop soon and question the ninth young person in the last

few weeks about their tattoo.

Having owned one of the most successful tattoo parlors in the Quarter, Callan was thrilled to be working with his old
teammates on their property. Crescent City Tattoos was known throughout the southeast and beyond. Connected to Steel
Patriots Cycles, he and the artistic team with SP Cycles often shared their artistic ideas and images, making them doubly
successful.
Sometimes, a guy would see a tattoo that Callan did and request it on the gas tank of his motorcycle. Or the reverse.
They would see a photo of one of the SP bikes and request it to be a tattoo. It benefited them both.
When they first contacted Callan when his shop was in New Orleans, he was originally assigned to help with a case
about strange tattoos. With an Army background, they knew he was more than capable of helping them beyond just tattoos.
It was then that they offered him a permanent position with the team and where he met his wife and love.
Juliette Rose English was the only child of MARSOC legend Wade ‘Whiskey’ English and his wife, Katarina.
Much younger than Callan, she’d come on hard to him. But the older man knew that she was playing a game she didn’t

understand. Slowly, she got wise and realized she needed to be friends before she became a girlfriend. While she was in law
school, she asked him to accompany her on a study cruise, which led to more shit than he cared to remember.
But it also led to them falling in love and Callan giving her that first tattoo she’d always wanted. In a very special
location. Although technically not part of the Gray Wolf team, his father-in-law was, and this seemed like a mystery they could
handle.
“Alright, let’s see the tattoo you want covered,” he said, wheeling his chair back to the table.
“It’s on my left shoulder,” said the young girl. “I wanted something really pretty, like a flower, and this is what the guy
gave me. I have no idea what it means.”
“You didn’t look it up?” he asked.
“No, I was too worried to look it up. Do you speak or read Chinese? I mean, I think it’s Chinese,” she asked.
“I do. I speak and read it,” said Whiskey, walking into the shop.
He’d been working next door at the bike shop when Callan sent the message. Nine was coming in the back door from
the property entrance, also wanting to learn more about the strange random tattoos.
“Cool. What does it mean?” she asked.
“Possession or property. Someone was putting a property tag on you,” he said, staring at the characters.
 “Wh-what?” she whispered.

“My guess is that someone, sooner or later, would have picked you up, claiming that they owned you,” he said. “We’ve
seen things like this before, especially with child trafficking and gangs. Someone is labeling people.”

“Oh, shit. Please, please get that off of me,” she said, panicked.
“I don’t think you want it lasered off. It’s too new, and it would hurt like a bitch,” said Callan. “But I can make it look

different, and no one would know what it was originally.”

“Yeah, yeah, please, anything but that,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
Callan drew up something that he thought would cover the tattoo perfectly. It was a grouping of flowers, their blooms
covering the dark lettering perfectly. When he was done, you would have never known there was anything beneath the
gorgeous bouquet.
“Oh my God! It’s amazing! Thank you. I should have paid the extra and had it done right in the first place,” she said.
“That’s what I always recommend,” smirked Callan. “Tell me more about this artist that did this.”
“His name is Spire, and he posts in bars and clubs that he travels around specializing in unique tattoos. He only
charges like three hundred bucks for something like what he did to me.”
“Yeah, and it’s only worth that,” said Callan.
“I know. I know you’re right,” she nodded. “He’s not very old. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He’s mixed race,
maybe Asian and Hispanic or Asian and black, but definitely getting the Asian vibe from him. He’s thin, not very muscular, but

he’s covered in tattoos. Neck, shoulders, chest, back, up and down his legs as well.”
“Hair color? Eye color?” asked Nine.
“Black hair, thin, but lots of it. He wears it hanging down over his forehead. I even joked that maybe he should pull it
up so he could see better. His eyes are brown, just plain brown. I wanted a different guy, someone that my friend used, but I
didn’t get a name and never found him.”
“No scars, anything that makes him unique?” asked Whiskey.
“He has tattoos everywhere. That kind of makes him unique.” Callan could only roll his eyes. He was a fucking tattoo
artist. He’d better have tattoos everywhere.
“Are any of the tattoos different?”
“No. They looked like mostly dragons, lions, that sort of thing. Listen, I have to go, but thanks again. This is really
great and more in line with what I wanted.” The young woman left, paying as she walked out of Callan’s shop.
“That’s the ninth one in the last two weeks, Whiskey. That asshole is tattooing kids with symbols of ownership,
property, or possession. I think he’s working for someone and taking advantage of these kids.”
“We need to find this guy and, more importantly, find out what he’s doing with these kids.”
“Uncle Nine? Are you in here?” called Walker. Walker was the son of Bodhi and Vivienne Norgenson. Behind him
was Forrest, the son of Robbie and Carrie Robicheaux, and Leif, the son of Magnus and Addie Bridges.

“Back here, Walker,” he called. “Hey, fellas. What’s up?”

“We have a problem, we think,” said Walker. He nodded at his friends.

“We all met this group of girls recently at the district cross-country meet. They were cool, very nice, and we’ve been
keeping up with text messages and stuff. Sometimes, we meet up at the mall or movies.”

“Okay, sounds like you’ve got yourselves some girlfriends,” smirked Nine.
“No. No, it’s not like that at all, Uncle Nine. We really are just friends. They’re cool, and we like being around them.
Anyway, one of the girls is really sweet. Her name is Christina. Anyway, her friend said that they all went to a club outside
the Quarter last week.”
“A club? How old are these girls?” asked Whiskey.
“Uh, well, they’re our age. Seventeen and eighteen, but they all have fake IDs,” said Leif. “Don’t worry. We don’t
have them, and we would never do that, but that’s not the point of all this.”
“What is the point?” asked Callan.
“Well, she went to this club with her friends, the other girls. She’d gotten a tattoo that day, a Chinese symbol. Her
friends said that she was dancing with a guy, then he took off, leaving her. She was kind of bummed, so decided to go home,
but she never made it home.”
“Did her parents call the police?” asked Nine.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, but they can’t find any trace of her,” said Forrest. “When they were talking about it with other
kids in their school, they knew two other kids, a boy and a girl, who got tattoos and disappeared as well. We think there’s
something wrong. Something seriously wrong.”
“Any idea what this tattoo looked like?” asked Callan.
“Yeah, she sent me a picture of it from when they went to the club. She was wearing that dress when she
disappeared.” Walker held up his phone, showing Callan the photo. He frowned, staring down at his own photo of the young
woman he’d just retattooed.
“It’s the same one,” he frowned. “They’re marking these kids for someone. Making it easy for them to identify who
might be an easy mark. The others who got these tattoos, were they seventeen or eighteen?”
“They were all seventeen, I think,” said Walker.
“They’re underage, and that’s helping them. The kids won’t tell their parents about the tattoos, so it’s hidden from
them. Only the artist knows who was tatted and who is underage.”
“Uncle Nine, Uncle Whiskey, Gray Wolf can help, right?” asked Walker. The two men looked at one another, then at
Callan, who smirked in their direction.
“Are you asking to hire us?” asked Whiskey.
 “I-I guess we are,” said Leif. “I mean. I have some money saved. How much do you guys make for a case?”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Nine. “We’ll do this one free of charge if you guys promise to give us a hand, but only when
we ask for it. Don’t step in, don’t do anything foolish, don’t talk to anyone about this. Contact the rest of the girls you know

and make sure they understand that no one should get a tattoo from this guy. No one.”
“That’s great! Thank you,” said Walker.

“Boys, do not go off on your own with this. I know you’re almost grown men now, but you’re still in high school. We
can’t allow you to get involved in this.”
“Yes, sirs,” they said in unison.
“Okay. Call your friends,” said Whiskey. “But don’t tell them who’s helping you. Just let them know someone is going
to find those kids.”
The boys left the tattoo shop, and the three men couldn’t help but notice that all three ducked on their way out the door.
They shook their heads, chuckling.
“Are we feeding them something different?” asked Callan.
“I’m not sure. Mama Irene said the babies will be bigger and stronger than their parents. Whatever the hell that
means,” frowned Nine. “We’ve got a serious problem with this tattoo guy. If he’s branding kids to be picked up by a trafficker
or gang leader, these kids are in for a shitty surprise.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open for any more cases and let you know. Until then, just keep me informed on what you find.”

They nodded, and Callan raised a finger. “You know, I could set up shop down there myself. I’m licensed. I could do it out in
the open. Give this guy some competition.” Whiskey nodded at him.
“It’s a good idea, Callan, but let’s hold that one for the column of ‘absolutely necessary.’ After all, I’d like my daughter
to still love me when this is all over with.”
 CHAPTER THREE
Christina stared at the blank wall in front of her, counting the pinholes scratched into the surface. She’d seen the

strange stripes down the walls when she’d first arrived and had the unfortunate awareness that they weren’t stripes. They were
nail marks. Fingernails. Someone had been trying to claw their way out.

She wasn’t sure why she was staring. She could barely make out the wall itself. The room was nearly pitch black,
only slivers of light coming through. She had no clue where she was or what they wanted with her. No one had touched her
body in a sexual way, and no one had taken her clothes.
There were others in the other rooms. She could hear them. Some were crying out for their parents, others were
screaming at the guards, and still others were silent. But the worst ones were those screaming in pain.
She’d learned the difference in the last few days. She’d heard the difference. Crying out in fear or crying out because
you missed your parents sounded very different than crying out in pain. Those were the sounds that prevented her from
sleeping at night. The sounds of someone begging for them to stop, begging to be let go. They would cry for their parents, an
aunt or uncle, grandparents, even friends. But the screaming and crying didn’t seem to stop.
They’d yet to tell her why she was here or what she was doing. All she knew was that everyone else she caught a
glimpse of had the same tattoo that she did.
Christina wondered if Becky and the other girls worried for her. If they had been honest with her parents and the

police, telling them that she’d left the club alone. Did they try to find her? Hell, did they even know where she was? She
wasn’t sure where she was.
“Hello, Christina,” smiled the man standing at the small window of her door. “It’s almost your time, my sweet.”
“Don’t call me that. Why am I here? Why are any of us here?”
“You’re here to change the world,” he grinned.
“I’m not going to change the world for you or for anyone. I’m seventeen years old, and I haven’t even finished high
school. Let me go.” He laughed, shaking his head.
“Oh, my sweet, you really are a breath of fresh air. Defiant. Strong. Fighting it all until the very end. I love it! You’re
going to be at the top of this little group. I can just tell.”
Christina held back the screams and tears seeping into her brain. She wasn’t about to show weakness. Isn’t that what
her father always said? Don’t show them weakness, Christina. They’ll feed off it.
“I want to leave,” she said calmly.
“I will let you leave when it’s time,” he said calmly. “For now, I’ve brought a playmate for you.”
The guard cracked the door open just a few inches, his hand sliding inside the small cell. In it was something dark.
When he opened his hand, the object scurried toward her. A rat. It was a rat. Her heart started racing, a moment of panic
filling her body.
No, she thought. No. That’s what he wants. He wants me to panic. He wants me to scream. It’s just one rat. I’ve had
hamsters and gerbils. They’re not much different. She stood quickly, watching as the rat ran around the small space. She

could feel him watching her.

Allowing her hair to fall over her face, she looked out of the corner of her eye and saw the camera he held to the screen

at the door. He was filming her. Alright, she thought. Film me.
Kneeling on the hard concrete, she held out her hand.
“Hello, there,” she said to the rat. The rodent stopped, almost staring up at her, then slowly walked toward her hand.
She held him, softly petting his back.
It’s just a hamster. It’s just a hamster. It’s just a hamster.
She repeated the phrase over and over again in her head, all the while keeping the little guy safe in her hands. At the
door, Christina could hear the man’s sound of disgust and frustration and smiled inwardly, knowing that this wasn’t what he’d
expected.
“We’re going to be great friends,” she said calmly.
“Give the rat back,” said the guard.
“No.” She stood defiantly, holding the rodent close to her chest. “I think I’ll keep him for company.”
“Give. The. Rat. Back.”

“No.” The guard flung the door open, coming straight for her. As he got closer, she tossed the rat at the man’s face as
he screamed, swiping at it.
“Don’t kill him!” said the man at the door. Christina kicked the guard’s shin, then reached down to grab the rodent once
again, holding him close.
“You little bitch!” growled the guard going toward her.
“No! Don’t hurt her,” said the other man. “She did well. Let’s see where this goes.” The guard could only nod,
clearly doing whatever the older man said to do.
“I won’t forget this.” Christina only smiled, lifting her chin in defiance.
“Neither will I.”
 CHAPTER FOUR
“Mr. and Mrs. Russell?” asked Whiskey, standing at the door of a large colonial-style home. It was well-maintained,

beautiful yardwork, rocking chairs on the front porch. There were two relatively new vehicles in the driveway and a missing
sign with their daughter’s face on it by the mailbox.

“Yes? Listen, if you’re with the press, we can’t talk about this,” said the man.
“No. That’s not it at all. May we speak with you?” asked Nine. The man opened the door, nodding, watching carefully
as the two men squeezed through his front door.
“Please have a seat,” said Mrs. Russell. “Can I get you some water, tea, maybe a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” said Whiskey. “Black.”
“Same. Thank you,” said Nine. Mrs. Russell scurried toward the kitchen, and the men turned to her husband. “Sir, we
were approached by some young men who met your daughter and her friends during a cross-country meet. They were
concerned when they found out that she was missing and asked us to help.”
“Are you private investigators?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but we do help to find people on occasion.”
The man stared at the other man, looking as if they were sitting on doll furniture in his living room. He suspected that
they were some sort of private investigators, but not the usual kind.

“Alright. The police aren’t getting anywhere, and we don’t know what to do,” he said. Mrs. Russell set down a tray of
piping hot coffee mugs, and all three of the men took one with a smile.
“Were you aware that your daughter had gotten a tattoo?” asked Whiskey.
“We weren’t until Becky and the other girls told the police that. She’d been wanting one, but we kept saying she
needed to wait until she was eighteen. At eighteen, it was her body and her money. That’s only a few months away,” he said,
shaking his head. “Why couldn’t she wait?”
“We were all seventeen once, sir,” said Nine. “I was awfully impatient when I was that age as well. I seem to recall
signing up for the Navy at seventeen. My father thought I was pretty stupid as well. Turns out, it was a career that led me
here.” The man nodded.
“Can you tell us about your daughter? Anything that she is interested in? Music, clubs, movies?” asked Whiskey.
“She ran cross-country, which, I suppose, is how she met those boys you mentioned. She wasn’t boy-crazy like some of
the girls. Her group of friends were pretty good kids. I mean, I’m not naïve. They weren’t perfect. But no drugs, no big
problems that we were aware of.”
“The girls loved music,” smiled his wife with tears in her eyes. “They were always playing the hottest new record or
listening to it anyway. I don’t suppose kids actually play vinyl any longer.”
 “No,” chuckled Nine, “I don’t suppose they do.”

“They liked shopping, like most girls. They were just normal kids. I don’t know what else to say,” she sniffed.
“I know how difficult this is,” said Whiskey, “but even little things could help us. Did any of the girls have an older

boyfriend or older sibling they hung around with?”

“No. It’s strange that they were either all the older siblings or only children. They’re all smart girls, excel at school.

They even take a couple of AP classes or attend STEM programs part-time.”

“They sound like great kids,” said Nine. Both nodded, the sadness on their faces telling him how distraught they were
over this, not having any answers about their daughter’s whereabouts.
“I know this is difficult,” said Nine, “but would there have been any reason for Christina to run away from home?”
“No. Absolutely not,” said Mr. Russell. “I know every parent probably says that, but we were very close as a family.
The only thing we didn’t know about was that tattoo. The irony of it all is we would have been upset but not angry at her for
getting one.”
“Did she know the other kids that disappeared?” asked Whiskey. They stared at one another, then at the two men.
“Other kids? We weren’t aware of any other kids,” said Mr. Russell.
“The information we received said that two other kids from the same school have disappeared. A boy, Spencer
Bowen, and a girl, Danielle Hawker. Do you know them?”
“We know of them, but I don’t think they were in the same circle as Christina,” said Mrs. Russell.

“What do you mean? Were they not athletic? Popular?” asked Whiskey.
“Kind of all of that,” she said. “Spencer is being raised by his aunt. His parents died in an avalanche while skiing on
vacation. Spencer was just three at the time. He’s very quiet, very reserved. I think he’s a good student, but he doesn’t have
very many friends.”
“Why?” asked Nine.
“Listen, I understand why his aunt is the way she is, but she’s not doing that boy any favors. She’s what we would call
a helicopter parent. Always hovering over Spencer. I honestly can’t believe he’s missing. I mean, you cannot find her without
him and vice versa. He seems a very insecure young man.”
“So, he never went to any games, parties, that kind of thing with the other kids?” asked Whiskey.
“Never. She wouldn’t allow it. We have a good circle of parents that we trust and are always present when the kids
have a party or some school function. The parents watch out for one another’s children. Hattie, she wasn’t about to let
Spencer out of her sight. I think he was so embarrassed that she insisted on attending the parties with him, he just started
declining party invitations.”
“And the girl? Danielle?” asked Nine.
“That’s a different story, unfortunately. Her folks live in a nice, middle-class neighborhood, but, well, I hate to say this,
they are trash,” said Mr. Russell.

“Honey,” whispered his wife.

“I know. I know, I hate to be that guy, but they are. I know for a fact that the neighbors have called the city on them

several times about doing their yard work. They get to it eventually, but it takes a while. The mother actually works at the Pat
the Kitty on Bourbon.”

“She’s a stripper?” asked Nine.

“No. Lord, no. She’s not built for that or young enough. She’s a bartender, but I’m sure she makes good money. She’s
got, uh, assets, shall we say.” The men nodded, not saying anything.
“It sounds like she works hard and makes good money, but that doesn’t make her trash. I’ve known a lot of wonderful
women and men who’ve worked in those places and provided a good life for their families,” said Whiskey. Both of the
Russells blushed, nodding their heads.
“She does,” said Mrs. Russell. “I think my husband is referring more to their lifestyle. They party hard and often.
There’s always something going on at their house. Her husband is unemployed more often than not, and rumor in the
neighborhood is that they grow their own marijuana in the backyard.”
“Well, that doesn’t make them bad people,” frowned Whiskey. “Perhaps misguided, but not bad. Do you suspect that
the daughter was abused at all?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. She was actually quite lovely, very polite. She attended a few parties here at the house, and the

girls were always very nice to her. I think her mother made sure that she had appropriate clothing, that sort of thing. She even
sent her to debutante classes. Danielle is better-mannered than any kid I know. Kids were mean when I was in school, and
they seem more accepting today. Christina said she felt sorry for her because her parents wouldn’t let her date.”
“And she’s seventeen?” asked Nine.
“Yes. In fact, all three of them were seventeen.”
“Maybe she was frustrated by not being able to date and met someone online,” said Whiskey.
“I’m not sure,” said Mrs. Russell. “Listen, we’re worried sick about this. The police mentioned that it might have
something to do with the tattoo artist who did the tattoo for Christina. But they also said they couldn’t find him. How is that
possible?”
“We’re not sure, but that’s what we’re working on as well.” The men stood, setting the coffee cups down. “Thank you
for your time. If you think of anything else, please call this number, and someone will always answer.”
“Gray Wolf Security?” frowned Mr. Russell. “I thought you weren’t private investigators.”
“We’re not. We’re much better.”
 CHAPTER FIVE
“This is really fucked up,” said Whiskey as they got back into the truck. “These are all good kids, at least on the

surface. I wonder if there was something happening online.”

“I don’t know, but I want to speak to the other parents. Bowen’s aunt lives just down the street. Let’s see if she’s

home.”
They had their answer the moment they rounded the curve in the road. Her lawn was covered in ‘missing’ signs with
her nephew’s photo plastered everywhere.
“A little overkill,” said Whiskey. “She might be drawing unwanted attention to that house.”
“I doubt we’ll convince her of that,” said Nine. He stepped out of the car and walked toward the front door. Before
they even got up the first step, the door flew open, and a haggard woman yelled at them.
“Did you find him? Are you with the police? If you’re not, why are you here?”
“Ma’am, if you’ll give us a moment to explain,” said Nine, raising his hands in the air. “We’re with Gray Wolf
Security, and we’d like to ask you some questions about your nephew.”
She stared at the two men, her chest heaving up and down. Nodding, she opened the door further for them to come in.
The house was modern, with nice furnishings, but it was a mess. Newspaper clippings and stories printed from the internet
were lying all over every available surface, including the floor. She bent down to pick them up, and Whiskey grabbed her arm.

“Let me,” he said, giving her an empathetic smile. Making a path for them to get to the table, she nodded, then took a
seat. Whiskey stacked the papers on the table beside her, giving a little smile. “Maybe I should make you some tea or
something.”
“I don’t have anything. I’m sorry. I’ve been afraid to leave the house, worried that Spencer would call.”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?” asked Nine.
“No. I didn’t want Spencer to get distracted from his grades, so I refused to buy him a cell phone and did the same with
myself. I wanted to show him that I was being fair. Neither of us would have one.”
“But what about a computer? Kids have to have those for school.”
“Yes. I know. I gave in on that, but I monitor everything, watch it all to be sure he doesn’t look at anything perverted or
get involved in gaming or one of those chat rooms.”
“I see,” said Whiskey, nodding. She stared at the men, shaking her head.
“You think I’m overprotective.” Neither of them said a word, just stared at the woman. She shook her head again,
running her hand over her messy braids.
“I guess I am. My brother and I were best friends. Closer than any two children could possibly be. When he married
Marsha, they were so happy, and I was happy for them. Then Spencer came along. Lord, how I love that boy.
 “I can’t have children of my own, so he spent a lot of time with me. When they wanted me to watch him so they could

go skiing, I jumped at the chance. I hate myself every day for not saying no. They wouldn’t have gone. They wouldn’t leave
him with anyone except me. I guess I held him too tightly.”

“Do you think he ran away?” asked Nine.

“No. No, I know he wouldn’t do that. He might have sneaked a tattoo, according to the police anyway. Or he might

have used someone else’s cell phone or laptop, but he wouldn’t run away. We were very, very close. Spencer is a smart kid.
Great grades, runs track. He’s got division one colleges recruiting him for their programs. They’re calling me all the time.”
She shook her head.
“Did you know about the other kids? Did you know about Christina Russell and Danielle Hawker?” asked Whiskey.
“No. Not until the police showed up after Christina disappeared. Her parents are good people, and she’s a good kid.
She’s always tried to include Spencer in anything that they did. I appreciated that, although I probably didn’t give in as much
as I should have.”
“You never let Spencer go to parties there?” asked Nine. “Why?”
“I did! I mean, I said he could go, but I was going to go with him,” she said, getting quieter and quieter as she spoke.
“You think I drove him away, don’t you?”
“That’s not what I think at all,” said Nine. “I’m just trying to find a motive for these missing kids. Something beyond
having the tattoo that ties them together.”

“Other than being in the same school, all smart kids, I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She seemed tired and
frazzled, not having any clue what to do.
“Ms. Bowen, if you don’t mind me saying so, it looks like you could use some help around here. You’re exhausted.
You obviously haven’t eaten anything. There’s nothing in the house to eat or drink. Maybe we could get someone to just help
you get a handle on all of this. Would you be alright if we called someone for you?”
She stared at them, unsure of what to say at first. Then she looked around her house. Spencer would be appalled by the
mess, and so was she.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffed.
“Don’t be embarrassed, ma’am. You love your nephew, and I think you’ve done the best job you knew how to do.
Kids are tough to raise. We both understand that.”
“I could use some help,” she nodded. Whiskey sent a text message while Nine helped to gather all the paper, stacking it
for her on the table.
“When was the last time you ate something?” asked Whiskey.
“I-I’m not sure,” she said.
“I’ll order us all something for lunch,” he smiled. Nine sat down, holding one piece of paper in his hands.
 “What’s this?” he asked.

“Oh, it was a camp that Spencer wanted to attend this summer. He’d like to study neuropsychology in college, and this
was a camp that Southern University in Baton Rouge was holding for kids involved in the STEM program.”

“It sounds, uh, fascinating,” said Nine, curling his nose. The woman chuckled, shaking her head.
“I know what you mean. It’s hard having a kid that’s so damn smart. He would prattle on about things he’d read or

things he’d watched at school, and I tried to be interested. Lord, how I tried. I have to find him. I just have to.”
Whiskey stood to answer the knock at the door, grabbing the three Styrofoam containers of food. Before he could close
the door, Calla was walking toward him.
“Hi, honey,” he smiled. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, this has to be extremely difficult for her,” she said, hugging the man. “Hello. Hi, Uncle Nine.”
“Hi, sweetie. Calla Gibson, this is Hattie Bowen. Her nephew is one of the missing teenagers we’re looking for. I
think she could use someone right now.”
While they ate their lunch, Nine and Whiskey listened to Calla speaking to the woman. She’d been carrying a lot of
burden and guilt, taking care of her nephew. She’d given up her entire social life, which was once vibrant and promising, to be
nothing except mother and father to Spencer.
“We’re going to leave you two alone now,” said Nine. “I promise we’ll let you know if we find anything else.”
“I can’t thank you both enough for coming by today. I was seriously considering doing something foolish,” she said,

shaking her head. “I know the police are overwhelmed, but I just didn’t feel as if they cared about a couple of teenagers who’d
gone missing.” Whiskey hugged the woman, pulling back and staring directly into her eyes.
“Well, we do.”
 CHAPTER SIX
The Hawker family lived a little further out of the suburbs, but their home appeared well-maintained other than the

overgrown grass. There were two relatively new cars in the driveway and a big pink ribbon tied around the oak tree in their
front yard.

“Fuck, I hate seeing that ribbon,” said Nine. “It reminds me of being deployed and dudes getting taken hostage.”
Whiskey nodded, following him to the front door.
“Can I help you?” asked the man standing in front of them. He was probably six-feet, a little overweight, but his hair
was trimmed and clean. He wore loose drawstring pants and a t-shirt from the 1987 Jazz Fest.
“Mr. Hawker?” asked Whiskey.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Hawker, my name is Whiskey, and this is Nine. We’re with Gray Wolf Security. We’re looking into the three
missing kids, including your daughter, Danielle.”
“You’re cops?” he asked.
“No, sir. We’re private.”
“Look, whatever your fee is, there’s no way we can afford it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d give you everything if I
thought it would be enough, but I know it’s not.”

“We’re doing this as a favor for some friends,” smiled Nine.

“Honey? Who is it?” came a croaky voice.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door. “It’s a security company, babe. They say they’re trying to find the kids.”
“Oh, God! Come in, come in,” said the woman. The description of her by the Russells was fairly accurate. She was
definitely voluptuous, her dyed blonde hair in a messy ponytail. She had no makeup on, although it looked smeared beneath her
eyes. Perhaps remnants of the previous night.
“The house is a mess. I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. It was Mr. Hawker who looked embarrassed.
“I should be helping, but I can’t,” he said. “I had back surgery about two years ago. That’s when we moved into this
house. It was a work accident on the oil rigs. I haven’t been the same since. Always in pain, always going in for physical
therapy or injections, and it’s still not getting better. I have a license for medical marijuana, grow it myself, but I know my
neighbors don’t seem to care about any of that.”
“I don’t think they knew about your back, Mr. Hawker,” said Whiskey.
“See, honey,” said his wife, “I told you we should have let them know. Look, I don’t care what people think of us, but
they’ve judged Danielle on my job and my husband’s inability to find work because of his back. Hell, I don’t think they
understand that I probably make ten times what they do by bartending at that strip club. I don’t strip. I bartend.”
 “We know,” nodded Nine. “But there is no judgment here either way. I do think it might be helpful if your neighbors

knew about your surgery. They might be more willing to help you with the yard work.” Both nodded, not sure what to say.
“We’re not here about your yard,” said Whiskey. “We want to know more about Danielle and what she, Spencer, and

Christina might have had in common.”

“I’m not sure. Christina was a sweetheart. She always included Danielle in everything, so did her friends, especially

Melanie. I knew she wanted a tattoo, but I was trying to get her to wait. I’ve had a few,” smirked Mrs. Hawker, “and a few
I’ve regretted. I didn’t want that to happen to her.”
“Was your daughter in AP classes like Christina and Spencer?” asked Nine.
“She was,” her father said proudly. “She’s really amazing. Smarter than her old man, for sure. She ran cross-country
as well.”
“I’m sure she’s a wonderful young woman,” said Whiskey. “Was she in any online chatrooms, maybe dating sites,
anything like that?”
“Not that we know of,” said Mrs. Hawker. “We didn’t monitor it extensively. It’s a family laptop, so she knew that we
had access to it. Besides, other than the tattoo, she’s never lied to us about anything. I didn’t have reason to follow up on that
because it was always at my fingertips.”
“Was she dating anyone, or was anyone trying to date her that she rejected?”
“No,” they said, shaking their heads.

“We were more than happy to let her date, but she was very level-headed. Focused on attending college next year,
which we’re very proud of her for,” said Mrs. Hawker. “She was friends with a lot of kids but never dated.”
“What about homecoming or prom? No dates?”
“She always went with a big group of girls,” said her father.
“Would it be alright if I looked at her room?” asked Whiskey. Her mother nodded, pointing down the hallway. He left
them in the living room with Nine.
“You said you hurt your back on the rigs. Did you file a worker’s comp complaint?” asked Nine.
“I did, for all the good it would do me. They’re trying to settle for half the amount of my medical bills alone. My
lawyer isn’t worth shit, but he’s all we can afford.”
“I might be able to help you with that,” said Nine. He made a phone call, smiling at the couple the whole time he
spoke. Katrina asked him some questions, which he asked the couple sitting across from him. A few minutes later, she asked
to be on speaker.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hawker, my name is Katrina Redhawk. I’m an attorney in the New Orleans area. I’ve been looking up
the records for your worker’s compensation case.”
“H-how did you get into the records?” asked his wife.
 “Let’s just focus on what I’ve found,” said Katrina. “Were you aware that your attorney was in the same firm as the

attorney for the oil rig company?”

“What?”

“I didn’t think so. If you’ll give me permission, I’ll take this case over and probably have an acceptable settlement for
you within the hour.”

“Is she joking?” asked Mrs. Hawker.

“I assure you she is not. Give her permission, and we’ll wait right here while she does what she’s so very good at.”
With permission given and recorded, Katrina set out to nail a nasty lawyer to the wall. A few minutes later, Whiskey
came down the hallway.
“Well, I have to say, I have a grown daughter, but she was never as neat as your daughter. That place is immaculate!”
“Yes,” laughed Mrs. Hawker. “It was something we joked about a lot. Most parents have to scream at their kids to
clean up their room. Usually, it was Danielle screaming at us to clean up.” She choked on the last word, shaking her head.
“Hey, it’s alright. We’re going to help you,” said Whiskey. “I didn’t find any strange notes, no photographs, nothing
that would tell me she was doing something behind your back.”
They talked for a while about daughters, both men sharing stories of Juliette and Ellie and their rebellious years.
Families sometimes became immune to the temperaments of young girls, and theirs was no exception. As promised, almost an
hour later, Katrina called back.

“Hey, Katrina,” said Nine. “What did they say?”

“Am I on speaker?” she asked.
“You are.”
“Mr. Hawker, would you be agreeable to accepting five years of pay, your medical bills paid in full, and another one
hundred thousand set aside for any future surgeries or medical needs?”
“Oh. Oh, my God,” he whispered, crying into his hands.
“I think that could be a yes,” said Whiskey.
“I like to make people squirm, so if you’re okay with this offer, I’m also going to make them offer medical benefits for
you and your family for the next ten years or at such time as you get another job.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Hawker. “Yes, we’ll accept that offer.”
“Great. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up, come by and get some signatures, and then take it to the courthouse. You
should have everything taken care of within fourteen days. That was my stipulation.”
“Well, it looks like at least one thing will be solved for you,” said Nine, standing to shake their hands. “I’m gonna send
some boys over here a few times a week to make sure the yard is taken care of until you get fully back on your feet. We’ll let
you know if we find out anything more on the kids.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Mrs. Hawker. “Who are you people?”

“Gray Wolf, ma’am. Just Gray Wolf.”

 CHAPTER SEVEN
“Three kids, all from the same school, all great students in various AP classes, some in STEM. Good parents, good

home lives, nothing in the closet. It’s the strangest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” said Whiskey to the room.
“We checked on the other kids that are missing,” said Miller. “They’re all from the New Orleans area, all between

sixteen and eighteen. Only one was in college. Same story as you got. Good homes, good kids, but every fucking one of them
got a tattoo from that asshole out there.”
“No bodies in the morgue?” asked Nine.
“Nope. Not one. They’ve been missing anywhere from three weeks to three days. Where are these kids?” asked Luc.
“Fucking million-dollar question,” said Gaspar. “I’m wondering if we shouldn’t use the boys to draw this asshole out.”
“Brother, I doubt their parents would be willing to do that,” said Whiskey. “Besides, those boys are bigger than us. If I
were planning to kidnap kids, it wouldn’t be the three of them unless I had an offensive line with me.”
“What’s the intel on traffickers in the area?” asked Gabe.
“That’s just it,” said Code, “all is quiet on the western, eastern, southern, and northern fronts. It’s fucking weird. I sent
Otto and Pork down to the shipyards to see if they’d seen anything unusual. DEA says they’ve had one ship that was
transporting drugs, but it was inside a shipping container that was filled with household appliances. The drugs were secured
behind the walls of the appliances.”

“But no kids? No women?”

“None,” said Code, shaking his head.
“This is fucking bizarre,” said Nine. “Okay, so we have the tattoos in common, AP classes or STEM, good kids, all
from basically the same area. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” said Antoine. There was a knock on the door, and the three boys walked in.
“Walker, Leif, Forrest, what are you boys doing here?” asked Gaspar.
“Uh, well, sir. We had a field trip into the city today. We’re studying the period of WWII, and we visited the WWII
museum and memorial, then went to the aquarium.”
“Sounds like a good day,” smiled Whiskey.
“Yes, sir. It was, uh, good,” said Leif. He looked at the other boys, all three looking down, then back up.
“Leif, what are you trying to not tell us?” frowned Nine.
“Well, sir, I promise we didn’t do anything or say anything on our own, but there was this guy outside the museum
asking if we wanted free tattoos.”
“Tell me you didn’t,” said Gaspar, frowning at the boys.
“Oh, no, sir, we definitely did not. At first, he said it was free. Then he said that it would be three hundred dollars
when we started talking to him. Walker asked if he could get something really cool, like the Saints logo or something, and he

wanted it on his abdomen, you know, out of sight. He said he could do anything we wanted, but not there. He said he only did
tattoos on arms, shoulders, upper backs, or calves. He told us we’d have to meet him on Tremé and Basin, near St. Louis
cemetery, tonight if we wanted anything done.”
“And what did you tell him?” asked Whiskey, folding his huge arms across his chest. His own tattoos flexed and

moved as if they were coming alive.

“We said that we’d think about it. This other guy walked up and whispered in his ear, and he nodded, then said, ‘never
mind.’ He just gathered his stuff and walked away.”
“You were too big,” said Nine. “I think we are right about this. We talked about this earlier. You guys are too big.
Whoever is going after these kids isn’t going for kids that could fight back.”
“What did he look like?” asked Gaspar.
“He was Asian. Definitely Asian. Black hair, kind of long, just brushing his shoulders. Dark eyes, lots of tattoos.
While I was talking to him, Leif took some photos of some of the tattoos. They were good, really good. Dragons, lions,
Chinese symbols, something that looked like a temple,” said Walker. “He was wearing a tank top, so we were able to get a
good look at them.”
“Send the photos to Callan,” said Nine.
“Yes, sir. Did we do something wrong?” asked Forrest, a look of worry and a little fear on his face. He looked every

bit the Robicheaux that he was.

“No, son. We just don’t want you to get hurt. We know you’re worried about your friend, and we’re trying to find her.
But if any of you were taken, this could get ugly fast. Instead of having Gray Wolf out there, it would be VG. All of them.”
“Sorry, sir,” said the boys in unison. They all shook their heads.
“Don’t misunderstand us, boys,” said Gaspar. “You did the right thing. You got some intel that we didn’t have before,
and hopefully, it will help us. But for now, don’t reach out to that individual again, and for fuck’s sake, don’t get a tattoo.”
The boys laughed, nodding their heads as they exited the office. A few minutes later, Callan walked in, holding up his
phone with the photos on it.
“Is this a fucking joke?” he asked.
“No,” frowned Nine. “The boys were approached by that man, asking if they wanted a tattoo. Why?”
“I know this dude,” said Callan. “He used to work for me. Great fucking tattoo artist, skilled. He wouldn’t do this
shit. He wouldn’t do something like this with kids.”
“Unless he was in trouble,” said Gaspar.
“What’s his name?” asked Whiskey.
“Imron. Imron Anchali. He was born and raised in Thailand but moved to the U.S. when he was nineteen. He’s a solid
guy.”

“Do you still have a contact number?” asked Whiskey.

“Yeah. Let me call him,” said Callan. He found him in his contacts and hit the number.

This number is no longer operating. Please try again.

He dialed the number again, getting the same recording. Code tried looking up a new number but found nothing except

the number that Callan had for him.

“This is fucking weird,” said Callan. “I know this guy. He had a master’s degree in psychology. Best fucking artist
with frightened clients. He had a way of calming them down and getting them to sit still.”
“Why did he leave you?” asked Nine.
“He didn’t. I came out here, and he decided to work for another shop because of the drive, but I know he’s not there
any longer because they closed down.” Whiskey looked at the others, then at Nine.
“I think we need to find this guy.”
 CHAPTER EIGHT
At dinner that evening, the guys were still talking about tattoos and missing kids. It was Erin and Alexandra who

tapped the glasses and shook their heads.

“Hey, guys. We love you, and we love that you’re doing something fulfilling. But if we could hold the shop talk until

after dinner, that would be great,” said Alexandra.

“Sorry, babe,” said Gaspar, kissing his wife. “This one is just weird. We’ve got no reports of trafficking, no reports of
any bodies or murders, yet all these kids are disappearing after getting strange tattoos.”
“You don’t think it’s another gaming situation, do you?” asked Lauren. The men held in their smirks, knowing that the
women would want to be heard in spite of their protests about shop talk at dinner.
“It doesn’t appear to be that. The kids are all the same age except one. They were all given this tattoo, and then they
disappeared.”
“That does seem strange,” frowned Robin, looking at her husband.
“We need to find this tattoo artist,” said Whiskey. “Callan knows him and can’t believe he would be involved in
anything like this, but at least one person has identified him.”
“Are there more boys than girls?” asked Grace. The men all looked up at her, cocking their heads. “I mean, typically,
we see men with more tattoos than women. It doesn’t mean that they don’t get them. I’m just saying it’s usually boys.”

“It’s a good thought, babe,” said Ghost, “but we’ve actually got a mix right now of girls and boys. But you bring up a
good thought. I mean, if I were a trafficker, there are much easier ways of identifying these kids and taking them than relying on
them to get a tattoo.
“If I really wanted them, I could snatch a kid right off the street or from in front of their school. Hell, we hear it all the
time of kids missing from malls or amusement parks. Tattooing seems going one step too far. Plus, if they’re taking boys as
often as girls, it has to be someone big doing it. I mean, if anyone attempted to take one of our kids, they’re nearly as big as a
grown man.”
“Do these kids participate in the same activities?” asked Faith. “Are they athletes, scholars, book enthusiasts,
gamers?”
“Another great question,” said Ian. “Maybe you all could help a bit with this. You seem to be coming up with better
ideas than we have.”
“Well, there’s not a lot going on right now, so maybe we could lend a hand,” said Erin. “Has anyone looked into
whether or not this is happening in other cities?”
“No,” chuckled Nine. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. I can tell you one thing they all have in common so far is that
they come from good, solid homes. Some may be a bit untraditional, but these kids are loved, provided for, and cared about.
There were no signs of abuse or neglect for the three homes we visited.”
“Then the kids are doing this willingly,” said Alexandra. “It’s a little rebellious, but they’re growing up, and they want
to show that to their parents. No one is forcing them to get the tattoos, and once they do, they’re either unsure of what it means

or know that it’s a horrible mistake. That’s when they come to Callan.”
“We know that makes sense,” said Antoine, “but the question is why. And where are these kids? I mean, if they’re not

being shipped out, harmed, or sold locally, what the hell is happening to them?”
“That’s why you’re Gray Wolf,” smirked Ella. The women chuckled, the guys all shaking their heads. “Listen, we
know that this is frustrating for you, but this might be one of those cases where you can’t go in with guns and knives.”
Trak frowned at her with a strange expression. When would you not use guns or knives? That was just foolish.
“Babe, I think she means that this might require a softer hand,” said Lauren, kissing her husband’s cheek.
“Are you suggesting that we get all of you involved?” frowned Gaspar.
“No, not at all,” said Alexandra, “but we may want to involve kids. Not ours. But I’m talking about young men and
women who look like kids. The police department does it all the time, sending in new officers that look like they’re in high
school and getting them to behave like teenagers.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Ian, nodding his head. “We could always ask the NOPD, or we could see if the Navy or
Army recruiting stations have some new kids that might be willing to help.”
“See. Problem solved,” smiled Grace.

“Problem not solved, babe. We don’t know what’s happening to these kids, if they’re still in the city, nothing.”
“What about their phones?” asked Alexandra. “Has anyone tried to access their last known whereabouts with their
phone locator?”
“One of the kids, Spencer, didn’t have a cell phone,” said Antoine. “His aunt was worried about him getting distracted
and it affecting his grades. Poor woman is distraught. We asked Calla to visit with her, and I think she’s going to set up regular
visits.”
“This is all so strange,” said Faith. “We can usually pinpoint things based on where these kids are from, their family
lives, schools, all of it. But this group doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Alexandra pulled her tablet onto the table, the others all smirking in her direction. She held up a hand, shaking a finger
at them.
“No one say a word. Not if you want help. Okay, I pulled the kids’ phone numbers from the information you had in
your files,” she said.
“Wait. You hacked into Gray Wolf’s files?” asked Gaspar.
“Please. Don’t insult me. Of course, I did. Anyway, all of the phones are out of operation currently. However, the last
known locations were all in and around Jackson Square. One of them was taken off of Bourbon, inside a club. Have you
checked video of that one?”

All of the men shook their heads. Alexandra just raised a brow as if to say get on it.
“This one was taken near the Canal shops. One of the boys taken a few weeks ago, he was taken near a strip club, but I

can’t really see which one. If he was just walking the streets, then it could be a total coincidence.”
“A strip club? These kids aren’t old enough to get into any clubs. Usually, the clubs on Bourbon are pretty good about

checking IDs. They could get shut down fast for that, and no one wants that on their head,” said Raphael. “If they’re getting
fake IDs, maybe that’s where we start.” Gaspar nodded at his little brother.
“Sounds like as good a place as any.”
 CHAPTER NINE
Callan couldn’t stand to see these kids coming in to get something covered up that they never wanted in the first place.

It was hard for him to picture his old friend doing this to kids. Maybe he didn’t really know what he was doing?
It was wishful thinking.

“Ouch!” yelled the man lying face down on his table.

“Sorry, man. I lost my train of thought for a moment. All is well,” said Callan.
“It’s cool, dude. You’re the best there is, Callan. That’s why I drive all the way from Lafayette to get my tats. No one
does design and color like you. No one.”
“Thanks, brother. How is the family doing?”
“All good. My kids are still little, in elementary school. It’s been tough since the divorce, but Sandy and I are trying to
co-parent together. I really want to say horrible things to her face, but that won’t help the kids.”
“You’re doing the right thing. It sucks that she met someone else and left, but at least she told you before things went
too far.”
“I know you’re right, but it doesn’t feel any better. We’ve dated since we were fourteen, brother. Fourteen. We’ve got
two kids together. I never thought I’d come home and she’d be sitting there with my bags at her feet. I thought it was because
of working the rigs initially.”

“She wasn’t bothered by that, was she?”

“No. She liked the fucking money, that’s for sure. No, she just said she was lonely and met someone that made her not
lonely. She was sorry. I could see it in her face, but I almost couldn’t be mad. I’m gone a lot, brother.”
“What are you doing now? Still on the rigs?”
“Yep. Headed out again tomorrow. She’s got the house. The kids live with her and Terrance. Terrance. What the fuck
kind of name is that?” Callan laughed, shaking his head.
“I don’t know, man. I try not to make fun of people’s names. Mine isn’t exactly on the most wanted baby names list.”
“He’s alright. I make fun of his name, but he’s a solid dude. Works hard, supports her, and to some extent, the kids
when I’m not there. It could have been worse. He’s apologized a million times for the whole mess. I’m not sure how to be
mad at someone that I loved finding love with someone else. I mean, aren’t we supposed to be happy for them?”
“I think we are,” said Callan, “but I gotta tell you that if Juliette left me for someone else, I’m not sure what I would
do.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Callan. I’ve seen the way that woman looks at you. I’m just grateful I
didn’t have to go through what my sister went through. She and her husband were both seeing other people, then finally
admitted it to one another. They were both pissed, ironic considering they were both guilty.
 “Anyway, they fought over everything. The house, cars, kids, dogs, everything. In the end, the kids didn’t want to be

with either one of them. Ended up going to live with my mom. One is going to college in Arkansas. The other is still in high
school but giving Mom fits. He came home last week with some weird fucking tattoo on his back.”

Callan stopped, wheeling his chair to the head of the table. He tapped his client on the shoulder, and he looked up.
“Weird, how?”

“He went to some hack. A guy just sitting outside bussing for business. My nephew wanted a fleur-de-lis but ended up
getting some stupid fucking Chinese symbol. I asked him to come with me today, see if you could fix it, but he didn’t show up
at the house before I left.”
“Call him,” said Callan.
“What? Dude, we’re in the middle of my tattoo,” he smirked.
“Call him. Please, this is important.”
“Okay. Okay,” he said, sitting up. He took his phone out and hit the button. “Hi, Mom. Is Marcus there? When? What
did he say?”
“What’s going on?” asked Callan.
“My mom said that they got in a fight over the tattoo, and Marcus left, saying he was gonna find the guy to fix it. That
was yesterday morning. He hasn’t been home since.”
“Shit.”

“So we think the kid got the same tattoo and decided to confront the tattoo artist himself?” asked Nine.
“That’s what my customer said. He said he’s been a pretty decent kid since living with the grandmother. He left
yesterday to chase down the guy that did the tat, and that was the last time she saw him. He’s seventeen, a decent-sized kid.”
“Gabe? Take Pork and go talk to the grandmother,” said Gaspar. His little brother nodded, heading out the door with
Pork following.
“What now?” asked Ian. Nine shook his head, looking at his fellow seniors.
“We need a fucking break.”
 CHAPTER TEN
Walker, Leif, and Forrest laughed as they left their last class of the day. All three of the boys were done with football

and baseball but still running track. Because of the heat in Louisiana, their practice sessions were in the morning.
“How do you think you did on the chemistry test?” asked Leif.

“I think I did alright,” said Forrest. “I probably didn’t ace it like Walker.”
“I didn’t ace it,” laughed Walker, shaking his head.
All three boys were amazing physical specimens. You really couldn’t call them ‘boys’ any longer. They were young
men. Their bodies were maturing every day, and by the time they were ready to ship out, they would look much like their
fathers, uncles, and others at Belle Fleur.
Leif was the son of Magnus and Addie Bridges. Once Magnus found out that his father was alive and well, he took his
middle name as his last name. The way it was intended. Lief Frode was the spitting image of his father. He was tall, wide,
naturally strong, and every girl in school was attracted to him.
Walker was the son of Bodhi and Vivienne Norgenson. Although Viv was a short, voluptuously curvy woman with dark
hair, Bodhi was the complete opposite. At six-feet-seven and a muscular, solid, two hundred and eighty pounds, he was a giant
Viking. Walker inherited his father’s size, speed, strength, and incredibly good looks. With light brown hair and hazel eyes, he
was stunning.

Forrest was the son of Robbie and Carrie Robicheaux. And Forrest looked every inch a Robicheaux. He had the
auburn hair, whiskey-colored eyes, light-hearted sense of humor, and a body that made the girls want to swoon. With narrow
hips and waist, his shoulders and chest seemed triple their size.
These weren’t just teenage boys. They were teenage boys in grown men’s bodies.
“Are you still thinking about the Rangers?” asked Forrest to the other two boys.
“I definitely am,” said Leif. “I don’t want to be miserable, stuck on a ship that can’t accommodate my size. I’d like to
think about SEALs, but Rangers seem the better route.”
“You could do Coast Guard or Paratroopers,” said Walker.
“That’s true, although Coasties have the same problem as the Navy with our height. I’ve got a little time to think about
it, but I’d love it if we could all go in together,” said Leif.
“Me too,” said Forrest. “Maybe we could all be in the same unit, like the others.”
“It’s definitely possible.”
The boys enjoyed walking home when the weather was good. They each had a car but didn’t want to drive it unless
they really needed to. The extra exercise and steps allowed them to continue to build on their endurance and physique.
The walk from the high school wasn’t far, but to ensure their safety, Matthew had constructed paved pathways that were
lighted and had call boxes along the side of the path if they needed them or found themselves in trouble.
Sometimes, the other kids at school would walk with them, hoping to get a glimpse of Belle Fleur. But once they hit the
gate requiring handprints and codes, the kids would be turned back.

“Do you think the guys found out anything new about those kids?” asked Walker.
“I’m sure if they do, they’ll tell us. It’s all just so weird,” said Leif. “Why would someone tattoo a kid only to kidnap

them? It’s sick and twisted.”

“Which is why our parents do what they do,” said Forrest.
Turning the big curve toward the main road, they could see the diner up ahead, along with the signs for the bike shop,
tattoo shop, hair, nail, and massage salon, and Gwen’s design shop. The dance studio was on the other side, hidden from view.
Up ahead, a dark blue, rusted-out van was swerving all over the road, and the boys frowned, staring in its direction.
Suddenly, it pulled over to the side of the road, opened the sliding door, and shoved something out.
“What the hell?” asked Leif. The driver sped off, leaving a big canvas bag on the side of the road.
The boys carefully crossed the road, kneeling next to the bag. Walker touched it, then heard a whimpering and crying
from inside. Panicked, he untied the top and pulled the canvas bag down.
“Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me anymore,” cried the young girl.
“Hey, hey, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re going to help you,” said Walker.
“I’m calling for help,” said Forrest. “Dad…”

“She doesn’t look familiar to me,” said Leif.

She was wearing a plain pink t-shirt with jeans, no shoes, and her hair was a mess. There were a few scratches on her
hands, but other than that, they couldn’t see anything wrong.
“No, she doesn’t attend our school, for sure,” said Walker. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Everywhere,” she cried. “They hurt me everywhere!”
The boys turned, hearing the pounding of feet running toward them. Doc, Wilson, Ajei, and Riley ran toward them, and
they could see the cart coming out of the Belle Fleur gates behind them.
Wilson kneeled beside the young woman, beginning his examination of her. By the time she was on the cart, the senior
team had arrived. Their roadside victim had one distinguishing feature. A Chinese symbol on her shoulder meaning
‘possession.’
 CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Her name is Gracie Huckabay,” said Ajei. “Is that familiar to you, boys?”

“No, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Leif. “I couldn’t see anything other than some scratches on her.”

“That’s about all we can see, too,” said Ajei. “She doesn’t have any injuries anywhere, yet she’s back there screaming
like a banshee that she was tortured. You boys stay right here. The seniors are going to want to ask you some questions, and
her parents have been notified that she’s here. You did good. You did the right thing.” She stood, kissing all three boys on
their foreheads, and went back down the long corridor.
A few minutes later, Nine, Gaspar, Ian, and Ghost walked in, taking a seat across from the boys.
“What happened?” asked Ghost.
The boys told the story again to Ghost and the others, letting them know that they hadn’t recognized the girl at all. They
described the beat-up blue van and handed them the sack that the girl had been inside.
“She was screaming that she was hurting,” said Leif. “But none of us saw anything, and neither did Ajei. What’s going
on?” Ian gripped the younger man’s hand.
“We don’t know, son. But we’re about to find out.”
The boys waited hours for someone to come and get them or at least tell them what was happening with the girl. She

seemed so small and frightened, and it made all of them wonder who could have done anything to her. Dylan and Sara came in
with trays of food for them, smiling at the boys as they excitedly dug into their meals.
“We thought you boys might be getting hungry,” said Dylan.
“Starving,” said Leif, shoving another bite of food into his mouth.
“Well, eat up, and someone will be out with you guys in a bit. Her parents are in the back now.” Nodding, they got
back to the task of eating, then waited until someone came out to speak with them.
“Do you think maybe she fought too much, and that’s why they dumped her?” asked Walker.
“I don’t know. I keep thinking about what if there had been a lot of rain and the side of the road was flooded. What
would have happened? The ties on the sack weren’t tied tight, and they weren’t knotted. She could have opened it herself, but
she was so terrified, I don’t think she was thinking clearly.”
“You know, if that had been one of us, we wouldn’t have fit in that sack. Maybe Ghost and the others were right. They
haven’t approached us because we’re too big.”
“Yeah,” said Forrest, “but a lot of our friends are small. That means they’re all at risk.”
It was another forty-five minutes before Gaspar and Ian walked out to speak with the boys.
“Is she okay?” asked Leif.
 “She’s going to be. Eventually,” said Ian. “There were no physical marks on her. No signs of rape, no beatings,

nothing. As you noticed, there were small scratch marks on her hands, but other than that, nothing.”
“But,” frowned Walker, “she was screaming that they had hurt her. She was hurting.”

“We haven’t figured all of that out yet,” said Gaspar, “but Ashley thinks that maybe it was psychological.”
“You mean they made her think they were hurting her?” asked Forrest.

“Maybe,” said Ian. “We just don’t know yet. She’s pretty traumatized right now, but as soon as she’s able, her parents
have given us permission to speak with her.”
“Can we stay?” asked Leif.
“No, son. We appreciate your willingness to help, but you can’t stay. You need to get home. But we would ask for you
to quietly warn your friends about this tattoo artist. Don’t make a big deal about it. Just let your circle know. If anyone is
thinking of getting a tattoo, send them to Callan.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison, standing at the same time. Gaspar chuckled, shaking his head.
“The three of you are going to make fine soldiers,” he nodded. The boys grinned, turning to leave the medical facility.
“Oh, boys. Take the truck tomorrow. Don’t walk.”
“Yes, sir, we’ll do that,” said Leif. “Just a question, though. I thought you said you thought we were too big.”
“We still think that,” said Gaspar, “but we’re not willing to take any risks. If these guys are willing to drop a young girl
off on the side of the road in a sack, there’s no telling what they’re capable of.” Ian saw the frustration on the boys’ faces and

walked up to them.
“Listen, you’re growing into fine young men. And I have no doubt that one day soon, you’ll be keeping all of us safe.
But until then, it’s our job and the job of your fathers. You’re doing everything that you can to help us, and we appreciate it.
Your time will come, believe me. Don’t rush it. It will happen sooner than you want.”
“We understand,” said Forrest.
“Go on,” said Gaspar. “Your folks are waiting for you.”
The two men watched the boys exit through the back doors and into the Belle Fleur property. They just stood there for
long moments, staring at the disappearing images of the three boys.
“Do you think they knew where they were dropping that girl?” asked Ian.
“No. It was too far away from all the buildings on the opposite side of the road. I think they were just dropping her.
What’s stranger is trying to figure out why that girl is screaming that she’s in so much pain and yet hasn’t been touched.”
“We’ve all seen and heard of psychological experiments around suggestion, torture, and pain,” said Ian. “Do you think
that’s what’s happening here?”
“But why use kids? You could pay a few bucks to the homeless, and they’d be happy to be a part of some fucking
experiment. Why use kids?” asked Gaspar.
“I don’t know, but my guess is that if we get lucky enough to find another kid, it’s going to be the same damn thing.”
 CHAPTER TWELVE
“Gracie, honey, can you hear me?” asked Ashley. Bree was standing at the door with Doc while Wilson, Ajei, and

Kelsey gathered around the bed. They’d given her a sedative to calm her down, but she was starting to come out of it.
“Gracie, can you hear me?” asked Ashley again.

“D-don’t hurt me,” she pleaded in a meek voice.

“Honey, no one here is going to hurt you. I promise.”
“I’m hurting,” she mewled. “I’m hurting everywhere. My back where they burned me. My feet where the rats bit me.”
Her parents watched in horror as she recounted things that very clearly had not occurred. Was she on drugs?
“Did they give her drugs?” asked her father.
“Her toxicology is clear. Blood, tissue, and hair samples were taken,” said Cruz. “She’s had nothing. Not an aspirin,
not an ibuprofen. Nothing.”
“This doesn’t make sense. She clearly wasn’t burned on her back or bitten on her feet. What’s wrong with our
daughter?”
“I think someone has quite literally been playing mind games with her, Mr. Huckabay.”
“Mind games?”
“As strange as it sounds, throughout history, men have been known to subject others to psychological warfare.”

“This isn’t war,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s seventeen!”

“I apologize for using that word,” said Ashley. “But it’s the commonly acceptable term. In the 1950s, one study
showed how people were willing to deliver torture to others, despite their obvious pain. It was all staged, but participants
were seated at a device that had a dial on it. They were told that they were testing a patient’s ability to withstand pain.
Slowly, the volunteer was asked to rotate the dial.”
“That’s horrible! I could never do that!” said Mrs. Huckabay.
“You’d be shocked,” said Ashley. “Almost all of them, when prompted to continue, did. The pain was obviously not
real, but the participants didn’t know that. They thought they were actually torturing someone. It’s happened more than just that
once.
“When I was in medical school, we did a study on a sanitorium in Switzerland at the turn of the century that convinced
patients that certain sounds were causing them excruciating pain. It was little things, like paper rustling or chairs being pulled
out. They were so diligent in the study that the individuals were never able to function in society again.”
“And you think this is what they’ve done to our daughter?” asked Mr. Huckabay.
“I don’t know for certain yet, but it appears that it could be something similar. I’d like to keep Gracie here for a few
days and see if we can begin the process of reversal. If you have a family therapist or psychologist, please feel free to have
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 Medicines, value of, in,

135

of cerebral hyperæmia in,

136

of constipation in,

137

of insomnia in,

137

of intercurrent diseases in,

136

of masturbation in,

137

of menorrhagia and amenorrhœa in,

136
 Preventive,

137

138

Rest and sleep, value of, in,

137

Sedatives and narcotics, use in,

133

137

Insanity complicating

174
Insanity from Specific Poisons

175

Organic

176

General paralysis of the insane,

176

Definition,

176

Diagnosis,

197

Etiology,

177
 Age and sex,

177

Excesses, influence of,

177

Heredity,

177

Mental shock,

178

Syphilis,

178

History,

176

Morbid anatomy and pathology,