I hit the speed dial for Betancourt. He growls his last name. Sleeping. I don’t bother identifying myself. “I need backup. I’m at Schrock’s place. I need the state police. Expedite.”

“What’s going on? Where’s Suggs? Burkholder, he can get a deputy out there faster than—”

“Suggs is involved,” I say. “Whatever’s going on here in Roaring Springs, he’s part of it.”

“What?” he says crossly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Eli Schrock, Jonas Smucker, and Jacob Yoder are smuggling people through Canada into the U.S.”

“Human smuggling? For God’s sake, how do you know that? When did this come about?”

“Just now. I have a witness.”

The woman is standing a few feet away, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. I lower my voice. “She identified Suggs. There are people being held here, locked in rooms. Get someone out here now.”

“All right. I’m on it. You’re at Schrock’s place?”

“An old barn a mile north of the house. Hurry.”

He curses exorbitantly. “Where’s Suggs?”

“I don’t know. But he knows I’m here.”

“I’ll get him on the horn. Stay away from him until we get this straightened out.”

I start to respond but he hangs up.

Dropping my phone in my pocket, I look around for some way to secure the door. “Do you have any nails? Tools? Something we can use to jam the door?”

She rushes to the table beside her bed and comes back with a small package of half-inch brads, offers it to me.

“Too small.” I cross to the bed. It’s a full size. Heavy, but not so much that we can’t shove it against the door. It won’t keep anyone out, but it’ll slow them down.

“Help me move it,” I say to the woman.

We’re sliding the bed across the floor when a woman’s scream rends the air.

We stop and look at each other. “Who is that?” I ask.

“They brought her yesterday. The plain girl. They always … you know. The new ones.”

I go to the door, press my ear against it, listen. No sound of anyone approaching. No voices. I crack open the door and peer out. The stairwell is empty. I hear voices downstairs. Male laughter. The unknown female crying.

I turn my attention to the woman. “He’s assaulting her?”

She nods. “They won’t hurt her. She’s money to them.”

Another scream sounds. A hysterical outpouring of outrage, a visceral sound of pain. Her cries are met with ridicule.