No One Heard Her Scream (25 page)

"Yes, you might say that." With his Nordic good looks and aristocratic features, Hunter Cavanaugh commanded the evening with his usual flair for the dramatic. His eloquent voice resonated in the private room. "Sometimes a man must cut his losses and begin afresh. And I am on the verge of being reborn."

"A spiritual awakening, or are you referring to a business venture?" Diego asked. He forced a smile, hiding the knot in his gut. In his most subtle way, Cavanaugh enjoyed twisting the knife. And tonight, Diego knew the man would take his time. He would not be rushed.

His polar opposite, Brogan sprawled in his chair and gulped wine without the slightest interest in conversation. The ambience was wasted on him. The bastard would be in his element if you shoved a cold brew and a TV remote in his hand with a Barcalo-unger under his ass. Diego heard the vibrating buzz of the man's cell phone under the table. But Brogan only checked out the phone display, not answering. Glancing at his watch, he looked preoccupied.

"Ah, a spiritual rebirth or a new business venture? An astute question, Diego." Cavanaugh raised a finger and winked. "Over the years of our association with Global Enterprises, I have been impressed by you. And your loyalty to Mr. Rivera is certainly commendable. In similar fashion, Mr. Brogan would do anything for me. And I assure you, he has."

"You seem to be making a point." Diego narrowed his eyes and took a sip of wine. "And I'm content to wait for it."

"Yes." Cavanaugh grinned. "I've noticed. You are a very patient man. In that regard, you and I are very much alike. I, too, value composure . . . especially under stress. And I'm not afraid to make difficult decisions even at the expense of others. Perhaps this is where we part company."

"What do you mean?"

"You talk a good game. And you hold your own in a fight." Cavanaugh glanced at Brogan. The man jerked his head, suddenly paying attention. "On more than one occasion, Mr. Brogan reported for work sporting unexplained bruises or a broken nose, presumably after having a conversation with you. But deep down, Diego, you have a soft heart. Don't try and deny it."

"Why do I get the impression you consider compassion to be a sign of weakness?"

"Because it is, my dear Diego. It is." Cavanaugh smiled, his fierce eyes unwavering.

Brogan leaned his elbows on the table and glared at Diego as if he played a hand in the coy conversation. But when his cell phone sprang to life again, the smug bastard checked the incoming number and excused himself from the table to take the call.

On the surface, Diego was a pristine lake at dawn, but underneath, he churned to know what was happening with Brogan. And worse, Cavanaugh pretended not to notice or even care. Diego had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy Cavanaugh's brand of after-dinner entertainment.

"I'm waiting to hear about the proposition you have for me."

"All in good time, Diego. All in good time."

An old mustard-colored Ford Fiesta sat at the back of the cinema parking lot, rust eating at its wheel wells and belching puffs of black smoke. The car was running with someone inside. Becca circled the vehicle, getting a good look at the driver. She pulled up facing in the opposite direction on the driver's side and rolled down her window. Sonja had her arm out, flicking ashes from her smoke. Between the exhaust fumes and the cigarettes, her lungs had to be a ticking time bomb.

"I almost left." She chewed at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes darted to her rearview mirror, checking out the empty lot behind them. Real antsy. "How come you were . . ." She stopped in midquestion and tossed her butt. "I got scared, is all."

"Yeah, I'm sorry." Becca had no intention of telling Sonja what had happened. The woman was spooked enough. "But I'm here now. You said you had something to tell me in person. You got my ear."

The high-speed chase had left Becca's nerves frayed. On edge, she kept her foot on the brake and her car running, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. And she gripped her Glock. The weapon was out of its holster and in her lap. The meet left her leery, her senses wired. Under any other circumstances, meeting a first-time snitch, Becca would have asked Sonja to keep her hands visible. But the move might kill any chance she had to get the young woman to open up. Becca had to take a risk.

"The other day ... at my apartment," Sonja began, her voice choked with emotion. She didn't look Becca in the eye. "I didn't tell you everything. And I may have lied."

Nice opener. Sonja had her attention.

"May have? That's like saying I'm sort of pregnant. What did you lie about?" Without trying to alarm Sonja, Becca kept an eye out for a burgundy Lexus. She scanned the cars parked in the lot for any unusual movement.

"You gotta understand. I was scared. Talking about Isabel after all this time, it brought back the nightmares. I haven't been able to sleep." She clutched her steering wheel and peered through the windshield and into her rearview mirror. Agitated. "Fuck, I don't think I can do this," she muttered, letting her head fall back against her headrest. Her shoulders slumped.

"Oh, no. You got me out in the burbs, Sonja." Becca shook her head and tried a little lame humor to put the girl at ease. "You gotta understand, I don't do burbs. Too many malls and minivans. You can't clam up on me now."

Eyes wide, Sonja stared at her before she ventured a faint smile. The gesture didn't last.

Becca softened her tone, but her eyes made one more pass at the parking lot. "Come on. You want to clear the air, or else you wouldn't have called. Talk to me."

"I lied about . . . the Mercedes." Sonja looked out the corner of her eye, but shut them tight and took a deep breath. "I got into that car . . . with Isabel."

"Tell me what happened, Sonja? And why did you lie about it?"

"You're mad. I can hear it in your voice." Sonja fidgeted in her seat, a hand tight on the wheel. Eyes alert.

"I only want to get at the truth here." Becca softened her tone. "Tell me about the trip you took in the Mercedes. Let's focus on that."

Sonja lit another smoke. After a few drags, she loosened up. "Isabel had arranged everything. We drove out I-10, some rich guy's place. I never paid attention how we got there."

Sonja's latest version of the truth corroborated Rudy's story. Becca had never told her Isabel's brother had followed the Mercedes out I-10 to the Cavanaugh estate. Pieces to the puzzle were fitting into place.

"We never went into the mansion, only stayed in the back. They had a pool house. Everything was lit up. A real fancy party. Lots of hot older guys in expensive clothes. And plenty of girls, too, dressed real nice. I felt out of place. My dress wasn't the best, but it was all I could afford. I felt so grown-up in it, even though we were kind of young compared to everyone else. But none of the people made us feel like party crashers, you know?"

"The party sounded real friendly."

"Yeah, it was. Those rich people made me feel like a rock star. The guys flirted and got me drinks. Isabel said they were always like that. Real gentlemen."

"Isabel must have been to a few of their parties if she knew that."

Sonja narrowed her eyes, a questioning look on her face. "Yeah, guess so, but I never figured that out until later."

"What happened next?" Becca prompted.

"I started to feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. I thought I had too much to drink, you know? But one of the guys took care of me. He took me into the pool house, let me lie down on a bed."

"But something must have happened. You kept this part from me. Why?"

A dark memory shrouded her face. Sonja tensed her jaw and avoided looking at Becca. "That's because later, I found out... I was the big attraction. You see, they had a special room set up, just for me."

Sonja smiled with a look of confusion on her face, a strange, distant gaze. Her cigarette hung between her fingers, burned almost to the stub. Couldn't she feel the heat?

"The guy started to take my clothes off. I told him no, but he only laughed. Other men were in the room. They did things to me. But I couldn't move."

Sonja dropped the butt from her fingers, barely noticing. She looked too numb to move a muscle, mesmerized and haunted by her past. As much as she wanted to console the girl, Becca kept her eyes trained on the parking lot and the empty acreage behind them. She wiped the sweat off her palm, the one holding the Glock.

"After that, it got real fuzzy. All those rich men at the party? Their faces kept coming at me, one after another. Laughing. Pointing. Some of them were naked, sometimes more than one. I can still hear 'em." She cried. "And I have nightmares . . . even now."

Sonja went on, each remembrance worse than the last. A lost soul with rock-bottom self-esteem. No wonder she suffered from nightmares. The shame. The degradation. Becca couldn't imagine a young life being shut down by such cruelty. Each new revelation brought Sonja's tragic world closer. Its oppressive weight made it hard for Becca to breathe.

Danielle must have suffered the same way, only her ordeal ended in a torturous, violent death. Overwhelming grief flooded Becca, sucking the air from her lungs. She couldn't catch her breath. Tears blurred her sight, but Becca fought the urge to cry. She kept her mind focused on the case. On the here and now. On Sonja.

Becca cleared her throat and shoved her personal torment aside so she could function.

"Where was Isabel through all this? Did the same happen to her?" She felt fragile, unsure she wanted to hear the answer to her question. So many lives ruined. No wonder Diego risked his life to stop a man like Cavanaugh.

"I found out later that Isabel left me there." Sonja broke down and cried, her face wincing with each disturbing reminder. "Yeah, some best friend, huh? That's why we didn't hang out after that. I never forgave her. That night ruined the rest of my life. And God, I was so afraid Isabel would tell what happened."

Sonja shifted in her seat and faced Becca to stress her point. "You know what it feels like to live with fear . . . every day? You think others see what happened in your face, like it's tattooed across your forehead. Whenever anyone looked at me sideways, I thought they knew. I lived in constant fear Isabel would tell on me, so I kept my mouth shut."

"You never reported it to the police? You could have pressed charges." Becca knew the answer before Sonja opened her mouth.

"People like me don't talk to cops, lady. Press charges? No fuckin' way." Sonja picked at the torn upholstery of her door panel. When she began again, her voice was faint. "When Isabel went missing, I thought I'd be next. I hid and didn't talk to anyone. But after a while . . ."

"What, Sonja? Tell me."

A new tear slid down her cheek. "It was a relief she was gone. It meant my secret went with her. I didn't have to worry no more." In the pale light, Sonja's face glistened with tears and bitterness. "I couldn't tell you before. I was too ashamed. That's why I lied. Please don't be mad."

A part of Becca had a soft spot for Sonja, but she had lied before. Why would this version be the truth?

"I have a witness who puts you at the Imperial Theatre with Isabel when she had a fight with her brother Rudy. Tell me about it."

Sonja narrowed her eyes and shook her head, like she didn't remember the incident. "I don't know . . ." Then her eyes registered something. "God, that was so long ago. Yeah, I remember she went to this old theater to pick up her brother from work. They had your typical brother-sister argument, and he split. Not much to tell. We were going to a club, so we went. It was no big deal."

"What did they argue about? Do you remember?"

Sonja grimaced and shook her head. "Don't remember, except it had something to do with his job feeding the family and her rushing him so we could party. Guess he didn't like working hard so she could play."

"And that's all you remember about it?"

"Yeah, that's it. Like I said, it was no big deal."

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Like what?" the woman asked.

Stall tactic. Answering a question with a question. Sonja erected a speed bump in Becca's path toward the truth. What was she hiding now?

"Like who was driving the Mercedes? Did you get a name?"

"Yeah, I got a name. But I have to tell you about the necklace first. It's all connected." Sonja fixed her eyes on Becca. "I know who gave Isabel the necklace, the heart with the diamonds. She got it from an older guy-"

Becca's heart sputtered to a stop. She held her breath, again expecting the name of Hunter Cavanaugh to come up. "Who? You know the name of the guy?"

Sonja nodded, her face in shadows. "A guy by the name of Matt Brogan gave it to her. I don't know where he got it or nothin', but Isabel told me he gave it to her. She was real proud of it, you know?"

"And he's the guy who drove you to the party? The one with the Mercedes?"

"Yeah, he's the one."

Matt Brogan? Becca remembered him. She had met the guy at Cavanaugh's and made a note of his name in her casebook. Now her mind flooded with speculations. Becca wouldn't have considered Brogan an older man, but to a teenager seven years ago, he might come off that way. Plus, the guy had the money to afford the necklace and drive a Mercedes. And with his link to Hunter Cavanaugh, a man under FBI surveillance for human trafficking, the pieces to Becca's mystery were falling into place.

Was Cavanaugh back on her list of suspects, or was Brogan operating on his own? From what she remembered, Brogan gave off a nasty vibe. A real cold fish. Could he be operating a prostitution ring under the nose of his rich boss, or was Cavanaugh giving the orders?

No matter which way things turned out, Diego had to be told. This put a whole new slant on his human-trafficking angle. All Becca wanted to do was see Diego ... to talk to him ... to be with him. He had become her oasis in the dismal wasteland of this case.

"But you gotta promise me," Sonja pleaded. "Don't tell Brogan I was the one who told. He'd kill me if he found out."

"You think Matt Brogan still remembers you? I mean, seven years is a long time ago."