Fatal Secrets (33 page)

“We’re offering ten thousand.”

“I am not open to negotiation in this matter.”

“I’m afraid we’re firm. We can cancel the exchange.”

Noel’s hand clenched the metal rail so tightly the edges left impressions in his palm. The stifling air, not even a breeze, had him burning inside and out. Yet his voice was calm when he said, “Very well, the deal is canceled. You understand that I don’t take these setbacks lightly, Roger.”

There was silence on the phone line. Noel fumed, unable to enjoy this judicious release of information.
Yes, Roger Applegate, I know who you are. I will expose you and destroy you if you fuck me
.

He hoped there would be an opportunity to break this idiot’s neck during the exchange. It would please Noel to see him dead.

“I need to discuss this with the organization,” Richter said, his voice cracking just a fraction.

“You have twenty minutes.”

Noel hung up the phone. Ling said, “Well done, sir.”

“Trying to renege on me. He’ll pay, maybe not tomorrow night, but one day.”

“They say revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Whoever came up with that is an idiot as well. Revenge is best when you can see its results, hot or cold.”

Ignacio walked in without knocking. Noel glared at him.

“Excuse me, it’s urgent,” Ignacio said.

Noel continued to stare.

Ignacio left the room and closed the door behind him. A moment later, he knocked.

“Ling,” Noel nodded toward the door.

Mr. Ling opened the door and Ignacio walked in. “Sir.”

“Yes?”

“The feds found the warehouse.”

Noel smiled. Government cops were so predictable.
People
were predictable. No one surprised him anymore. Sonia Knight had once, but she wouldn’t again. Dread and panic would keep them occupied and following the wrong leads. It bought him time.

He hoped she liked the message he’d left for her.

“Find out where they’re headed and keep me informed.”

*    *    *

Driving back from Lodi after the ERT arrived to process the crime scene, Dean was worried about Sonia’s silence.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She was absently drumming her fingers on her door handle.

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know—I’m just wondering about the time line.”

“Talk it out.”

“Jones was killed around midnight Wednesday, twenty-four hours after the raid of his house. But those three women weren’t killed until last night, twenty-four hours after Jones.”

“Right.” He didn’t see the connection.

“If the killer thought Jones or Vega had talked, he would have moved the girls before last night.”

“We don’t know that he didn’t,” Dean said.

“But it doesn’t make sense to move the girls the night Jones was killed, then bring three of them back to kill.”

“It was a message. He knows we’re close. He’s trying to throw us off.”

“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more to scare me off this case.” Sonia shifted in the passenger seat to face him. “I’m going to find these people and bring them all to justice. I don’t think they were moved until last night. It’s not easy arranging transportation of that many illegal aliens who are being held against their will, even if they’re too terrified to attempt escape. He had to have had inside information, information that he knew could lead to the girls even if we didn’t know.”

“Like that we were looking into Weber Trucking.”

“Exactly! That’s it. I’ve been after Omega since the
beginning, but Weber is new. It was only a matter of time until we pulled Weber property records and started looking at places the women could be safely kept. So he moved them—”

Dean interrupted. “I don’t know. That means he has a mole in ICE or the FBI. I don’t think so. Not many of us were privy to our investigation into Weber. That only came up yesterday when I went further back into Xavier Jones’s client records—”

“—after realizing the importance,” Sonia said, practically jumping up in the seat. “When we talked to Craig Gleason.”

Dean sped up. “You think he’s involved.”

“It’s the only way. He’s the only other person who knew we were even asking about Jones’s clients. If he knew who was involved, he could tip them off.”

“I think you’re right. I hope he’s in the office right now, otherwise I’m putting out an APB and he can talk to us from jail.”

“Where do you think the woman is?” Trace asked Sam as they sat in their car down the street from George Christopoulis’s stately home in Stockton. They were parked under a tree and had the windows rolled down, but still the heat was nearly unbearable.

When they first arrived an hour ago, Sam had gone up to the front door alone and knocked. There was no answer, and a small dog barked incessantly from the interior. Sam checked the garage through a window; there was no vehicle. The house had a silent, empty feel. He returned to the car and called the office to research Victoria Christopoulis’s immigration status—she was in the
United States on a vacation—and he had her passport flagged.

“Maybe we should call Sonia,” Trace said, “and get her take on this.”

Sam liked Trace, but he was young and overeager to please his boss and seek her approval. “We’re okay for now. We don’t have anything to report, not of substance. Let’s see what happens.”

Ten minutes later a Mercedes pulled into the driveway. Sam peered through binoculars at the figure in the driver’s seat.

An attractive, middle-aged woman with dark red hair and excessive makeup drove. The garage door went up and she pulled in, and Sam lost sight of her.

“Shall we talk to her?” Trace had his hand on the door handle.

The woman was familiar, but Sam didn’t know why. “Hold on.” Where had he seen her? Dammit, it was just outside his memory.

“Sam?”

It wouldn’t come if he forced it. “Let’s talk to her. Casual. Inform her of Jones’s murder, ask the last time she saw him, see what she says. Nothing about trafficking.”

“Got it.”

Sam turned the ignition and drove the car down the street, parking in front of the Christopoulis house. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Sonia slammed her fist on the conference room table. Gleason blinked rapidly. He should be scared. Sonia was in no mood to play nice with criminals. And he was sitting here lying to her about Weber Trucking.

“You’re the only person who knew we were asking about Weber Trucking,” she said. “You alerted them.”

Gleason shook his head. “No. I didn’t. Check my phone records. Check my emails.”

“I’ll do that, with your permission,” Sonia said, waiting for him to balk.

He didn’t.

Dean sat casually on the edge of the table while Sonia stood, palms down on the surface, glaring at Gleason.

Dean was cordial, but firm. “You can see where we are having a problem believing you didn’t alert someone to our investigation.”

“I see what you’re saying, really, but I didn’t talk to anyone. I answered your questions, worked here until eight, nine at night, went home, and came back at eight this morning. This is a busy time of year for us.”

He was telling the truth about his whereabouts, Sonia knew, because they had had an agent sitting on him all night. But she didn’t believe for a second that he hadn’t told someone.

“Three women are dead,” Dean said calmly. “In a warehouse owned by Weber Trucking.”

“That’s awful.”

“They were illegal Chinese immigrants,” Sonia snapped. “Kidnapped and brought to this country by Omega Shipping—another of your dead boss’s clients. Where does that leave you? Either dead, or an accessory. So tell us exactly who you talked to and what you said.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

He was lying. His skin was pale except for his bright-red cheeks. He tapped his fingers on the table and kept looking from Dean to Sonia and back to Dean with a
wide-eyed innocent stare. Sonia wasn’t buying it. But nothing she said could make him talk. It infuriated her. She was usually much better at getting suspects to tell her everything they knew.

Maybe Toni was right; she was too close to the case. Yesterday, Gleason had hit on her. She should have played off that; instead, she’d let her anger and dislike of the man impede her judgment. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

Her phone vibrated. She glanced down at the number. It was restricted.

“Get your cell phone and call your phone company to give us permission to access your phone records here and at home, or we’ll get a warrant.” Gleason shifted uncomfortably. “Now,” she commanded.

Gleason jumped out of his chair and scurried from the room.

“Sonia—”

“I have a call. He doesn’t need to listen in.” She answered. “Hello.”

“I gave you everything I have.”

“I need to meet with you.”

“You can’t believe I’d fall for the oldest trick in the book.”

“Charlie, I’m not going to arrest you. I give you my word. I need ten minutes, that’s it. I have a picture taken in Mexico. I think you can help me identify these people.”

“How can I trust you?”

Sonia wanted to scream. Instead she said, “Think back, Charlie. Have I ever lied to you?
Ever?
No! You
lied to me right, left, and upside down, but I have always been honest, to my detriment. Dammit, you owe me! Five minutes of your fucking time and you walk away. This one time, I won’t follow. But I swear to God, if you burn me I’ll hunt you down and you’ll be in prison or you’ll be dead. I need you just this once to listen and tell me the truth.”

She took a deep breath. Dean was staring at her, an odd look on his face, and it made her feel uncomfortable. As if he had just now seen the real Sonia Knight and didn’t like what he saw. She turned her back to him. She didn’t want to blow it with Dean, there was something about him she couldn’t shake, but she couldn’t change who she was. She didn’t think she’d ever find anyone who could look at her and accept her, warts and all. Did she think Dean might be the exception just because he knew so much about her and hadn’t already walked away?

Right now, she would do or say nearly anything to get Charlie to look at the photo of her father and the others and identify the man, or woman, who’d killed Jones and the Vegas. That person was starting up a far more ruthless human trafficking ring than even the vile Xavier Jones had created. Her experience and the little evidence they had told Sonia her instincts were right. And trusting her instincts had saved her life, and her career, many times over. Her instincts were all she had left to trust.

“Where are you?” Charlie asked.

“Downtown.”

“Twenty minutes, Raley Field. River Cat dugout. Don’t be late, there’s a game tonight. I’ll be gone in thirty, and I’m not coming back.”

“Charlie, please—”

He hung up.

Sonia swore. “He’ll meet.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course! We need that information.”

“Where?”

Sonia didn’t want to ask, but she had to. She’d promised Charlie that she would give him a pass this time. She had to believe that Dean would support her decision. “You’re not going to try anything?”

Dean’s lips tightened. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s not true.” But he was right. She had a hard time with trust.

“Then it’s just me you don’t trust?” She felt the hurt and anger behind his softly spoken words.

“Of course I trust you.” She wanted to. God, she wanted to. “More than anyone,” she added honestly.

“Then you need to trust my word.”

Was trusting Dean that hard for her? Hadn’t he proven himself? Why was she fighting it? Not everyone was Charlie. Not everyone was her father.

“Raley Field. Twenty minutes.” She saw that her brief hesitation hurt Dean. She wouldn’t have hurt him for the world—and now, she didn’t know if she could take it back. God, she wanted to. She didn’t want him angry with her. “Dean—”

He interrupted. “We’d better get over there. Is it close by?”

“A couple minutes.” She took his hand, squeezed, and dropped it as Gleason walked back into the room with
two cell phones and said, “I gave Pac Bell permission to talk to you and faxed them the signed authorization. I swear, I didn’t talk to anyone with Weber Trucking yesterday. You’ll see.”

“Thank you,” Sonia said. “We’ll be in touch.” She walked out, and Dean followed.

In the elevator, he said, “I have your back, Sonia.”

She tensed. Charlie had said the exact same thing to her before he had sold her.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you know that,” Dean said.

“I know,” she said softly.

“What is it then?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t clam up. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sonia didn’t like being yelled at or ordered around. She stood toe to toe with Dean Hooper and said in a low growl, “Charlie told me he had my back, too, and look what happened there.”

His face darkened. “I can’t believe you’re comparing me to that bastard.”

Sonia stepped back. She couldn’t believe she had said that either, especially on the heels of their recent conversation upstairs. She hadn’t meant it. God, she didn’t mean it. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled lamely.

The elevator doors opened and they walked out in silence. Sonia didn’t know what to say or do to fix it, but she feared she’d lost something important.

The River Cats minor league baseball team was playing at six that evening at Raley Field, and at three in the afternoon there were already employees and vendors showing up. Along the main entrance were places to eat and drink; inside everything was clean and well maintained. It was one of the nicest stadiums Dean had been in, though he’d admit that he hadn’t been in many over the years.

Dean didn’t know whether the team was already on-site. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but any time he went into an unknown situation he was cautious. It had saved his life, and the lives of his fellow soldiers, during his years in the Marines, and it had helped avoid danger when he was in the field for the FBI.