Joe's pov

(A/N: Flashbacks in italics)

I could not let her get out. Now or ever. That meant revisiting the case files, the witnesses, the call logs from the dump on her phone back then, and the recordings from phone calls during imprisonment. I sighed. Usually Peter is my go-to for things like this, but I don't want to put him between myself and his mother. I couldn't do that to him. Especially since his mother was wrong in this particular case, a case she had no prior knowledge of before today, mind you. I also knew just how well Kylie could sweet-talk anyone who stood in her way. I mean, I was dating the seemingly-sweet psychopath at the height of her crimes. I called Sean, who was a prominent rising star in the ranks of TARU

"Hey, Sean. I need help locating the call logs and transcripts from the investigation on Kylie Vans, 10 years ago. I archived them within the NYPD database. I also need the call logs from Rikers on her, every call she made, specifically late nights. She might get early release or a reducing of her sentence, and as someone who knows what she's capable of, I gotta stop that."

Luckily, he was quick to help, not asking any more questions. As I sifted through the evidence, looking for clues and patterns to who she called, how often they talked and the duration of the calls, memories started coming back. Memories of the time we spent together

The night I started to suspect her, the night she came over with actual bloodstains on her hands. She passed it off as a cooking incident, but in court it would come out that she sustained that injury during a kidnapping attempt. I should have seen it sooner. Instead, I just cleaned away the evidence and cuddled up to my then-girlfriend, taking her at her word. Many more movie nights followed, and I had not been aware of what she had been up to. She was as careful as she was cocky, because she was doing all these things while knowing I was a beat cop. A few nights into this pattern was enough to get me to suspect her, even if I did not know of what exactly just yet. Relying on an old universal trick of the trade, I pretended to fall asleep, head on her lap, Kylie unaware that my phone was recording the audio that followed

"No. I said I needed 50 young girls for the ring. Like, 17 at the oldest. To the highest bidder. But be careful. They fight back. One actually bit me."

There was a moment of silence, then fumbling. She had put the phone on speaker. Yes! Another voice to run through the database. The voice was male and gruff

"And as for your boy in blue?"

She giggled, the sound I once found intoxicating in the best way now revealing a hint of disturbed malice

"NYPD Cop and he doesn't suspect a thing. Don't worry."

With that, she hung up, and I subtly stopped the recording, inconspicuously emailing it to myself. Sitting up abruptly, even making Kylie jump out of her skin, I spoke

"Conspiracy to trafficking. Wonder what else you're hiding from me. Who were you talking to?"

Finding some more substantial proof after properly dumping her, I was able to take my case in front of a judge, even if the other voice was not matched on any database. Her many crimes stacking against her, she was sent to Rikers for life, especially when her would-be victims and past victims corroborated my theories and evidence. Two days after the case was closed, I had my pick of assignments after being promoted to the rank of Detective, and thus began my career with FIU.

Soon enough, I realized she was always calling the same voice I had heard on that fateful call. Sadly, he was still a ghost, as far as the databases were concerned. Was he THAT good at slipping away, or was he using a voice modulator? I sent Sean another message, asking him to run the call again trying to match it to the recording I had, using every voice type the modulator could emulate. Bingo. Brad Randall, but, as I suspected, there was no one further up the ladder than Kylie herself. She was most likely going to cough up Randall as a sacrificial lamb posing as her superior, just to get a reduced sentence. I sent the evidence to the proper channels, and to my Aunt Erin, though I was still hurt by her earlier accusations. I just hope she gets to these files and pieces of evidence before she strikes a deal with Kylie Vans of all people. Or worse, someone else gets hurt. There was still one more thing to do. Giving the abridged version of why I wanted to put a protection detail on my former witnesses from a decade ago without mentioning the fight with Aunt Erin, I got Uncle Jamie to give them a protection order.

Erin's pov

As I was headed to Rikers to talk to Miss Vans, my phone dinged from the passenger seat. My smart system connected to my car let me know it was a message from Joe. I did not want to talk or hear from my nephew at the moment, at the heels of our fight. We both needed to calm down first, and I had a job to do. The traffic was not particularly bad that day, and soon I had gone through security and was sitting in front of the infamous inmate. Before I even got a word in, she smiled, so sure of herself despite her current situation. She seemed to think she held all the cards, that somehow she was the one running the show. She smiled at me

"ADA Reagan! Please, sit."

Wondering why she did not look more worried or curious about her situation and its potential changes, I did the only thing I could do and sat in front of her. Glancing at my files once more, I then turned to her

"Miss Vans, I'm here to talk to you about the charges brought against you, specifically about the trafficking ring. It is the understanding of my office that you are now willing to give up a higher ranking member of this scheme in exchange for a lesser sentence?"

Her smirk turned sickenly sweet, with a small glint of evil

"Oh no, Sweetie. You misunderstood. You are gong to completely exonerate me and get me out of here, and I'm not giving you any name at all."

I scoffed

"And why would I do that?"

She laughed again, then turned to me, not a care in the world in her tone of voice

"Because my people have your daughter Sami. From the Blessed Heart Academy Daycare, right? This is her, right?"

And then she showed me a picture of my daughter. And then a video of a masked man in one of her previously owned hidey-holes, holding my daughter. My face pale, I barely registered her voice

"So, what do you say we both get out of here?"