She looked tired, but steady. “Grab a cup of coffee, Detective.” “I’m okay, Lieutenant.” Dell sank into the chair on the far side of Watts. “Sorry I’m late.” “Understood. How’s Sandy?” “Crabby.” “Doing all right, then,” Rebecca said with a flicker of a smile before glancing down at her notes. “Okay. Last night confirms what we’ve suspected all along. The Russians are part of a high-level prostitution game, but they’re not likely to be the ones pulling the strings. They’re doing a lot of the ground-level work—procuring and delivering the girls. Providing security.” She looked at Jason, who was rapidly keying data into the laptop in front of him. “You have those images for us yet?” “Coming…now.” Jason hit a few more keys and images appeared on a screen built into the wall at the end of the conference room. Rebecca squinted. The images were murky, the resolution poor. “Can you clean those up at all?” Jason raised a brow. “Sorry,”
