“So you bring the cops in here?” one of the guys said.
“I’m not a cop,” Patrick said.
The two punks glanced at each other and snorted, smirks on their lips. “Right.”
Patrick eyed them closely. One of them was definitely packing.
“It’s nearly midnight,” Elle said. “Go home.”
“It’s Saturday night,” one said. “Early.”
“The center closes in twenty minutes. Do I need to call Gerald?”
They both scowled.
“Bitch.”
“Go.”
They grumbled, talked to Mikayla for a minute, then left.
Elle walked over to Mikayla. “Don’t let them back in. If they come in, buzz security.”
“Who’s Gerald?” Patrick asked when Elle walked back to where he waited in the corner of the lobby.
“Gerald Duncan, a former football player with the Niners. Or Raiders. Or … some team in California. He was raised on the streets, and he’s here every week, mostly to play basketball or football with the boys. They listen to him, and he takes care of kids who don’t want to play by the rules. Doesn’t always work, but since he helped build this place, he’s invested in making it succeed.”
“Like Christopher Lee?”
“Totally different.”
“And does your friend Gerald think Lee is corrupt?”
“I’m not going to talk about this here. Time’s running out. I need to get to the apartment before she bolts again.”
Patrick didn’t want to follow Elle’s lead, but like she said, he didn’t know that he could trust Jazz. He thought he could … that’s what his instincts told him.
“Those kids were part of Lorenzo’s gang, weren’t they?”
She hesitated a fraction of a second. Was she going to lie to him? Then she said, “Yes. I know who they are.”
“Are you ready to accept my help without fighting me every step of the way?”
“I’m not fighting with you.”
They walked outside. Lorenzo’s boys were still there, but they didn’t approach. Patrick had Elle walk slightly in front of him so he could keep a better eye on their surroundings. The boys kept their distance, though they moved in the same direction they did. Keeping an eye on them. Per orders, it appeared.
“Trust me, Elle.”
“I do.”
Patrick had a feeling he was going to regret letting Elle take the lead.
CHAPTER 5
Elle didn’t want to let on to Patrick that Lorenzo’s guys had gotten to her. Maybe he knew, because he got all caveman protective of her when they were outside, herding her like cattle. Except … she wouldn’t admit it to him, but his presence did make her feel safer. Great, now she was acting all helpless female waiting for the big, brave man to save her.
Please.
Real heroes didn’t exist. She’d learned that the hard way, watching so many kids suffer and die. If they weren’t physically dead, they were emotionally crippled, hopeless and broken by a callous system that didn’t have any real solutions to real problems. It was overwhelming at times, but she pushed on, because the only solution that ever worked was for a person to care, and if she stopped caring, then she might as well just give up everything. What she really did was help kids of parents who were jackasses—basically, the kids whose parents were in prison, or drunks, or drug addicts. And unfortunately, a lot of those kids grew up to be just like their parents, to become criminals, abusers, and addicts. She wanted to stop that. Help them before it was too late and they killed themselves, or someone else.
She drove several blocks to a row of dilapidated apartment buildings that probably should have been condemned years ago. She was about to pull over when Patrick said, “Drive around the block.”
She did, but frowned. “Why?”
“Lorenzo’s boys followed us.”
She’d thought they might have, but she hadn’t been sure. How did Patrick know with such certainty? Had the police academy handed out psychic skills at graduation? “I have an idea,” she said. She didn’t drive around the block, she kept going straight.
She drove half a mile, then took a major road to the highway. She merged onto 280, going north, and got off at the next exit. No one was behind her. She still spent a good ten minutes driving around in circles before she ended up back at the apartment building.
“Good job,” Patrick said.
“High praise from you.”
Elle needed to stop being so sarcastic. He was trying to help; why was she being so bitchy? “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
He reached over and took her hand. “It’s okay. Elle, we’ve known each other ever since I moved to San Diego when I was still a short, scrawny kid. You don’t have to apologize. I know this is stressful, so we’ll take it one step at a time.”
Why was he being nice when she was so antagonistic? “Thanks. My attitude gets the best of me sometimes.”
Her phone was ringing again. “Dammit, it’s Sandy Chin again. She’s called, like, three times since ten.”
“You need to talk to her.”
Elle shook her head and sent the call to voice mail. “I have to find Kami first. If I can’t find her by tomorrow morning—well, I’ll figure out what to say to Sandy then.”
“If we can’t find her, we need to bring in the police. She’s in trouble.”
“She’s in hiding.” She had to be. No one had found her body—Elle would have heard. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t dead.
You can’t think like that.
She focused on what she could do and gestured toward the buildings. “This is Section 8 housing. One of the girls at the center said she saw Kami walking across the courtyard after dark. When she called out, Kami didn’t turn around, and she thought she hadn’t heard her. Another girl said that one of Kami’s friends has an apartment on the ground floor, with her mother. It’s late, but I don’t see an alternative to knocking on the door.”
“Except?”
How had he sensed her skepticism?
“I learned that Lorenzo’s new place is also in one of these buildings. Which confirms what Clark told me.” It irritated Elle that Patrick didn’t trust Clark. Was that a guy thing? Or a cop thing? Either way, he didn’t know Clark like Elle did, and therefore should trust her judgment. And while she may have known Patrick longer than her college friend, she saw Clark nearly every day.
“How far is TK from here?”
“Down the next street a couple blocks, toward the bay. Light industrial area.”
“I don’t feel comfortable letting you go in there alone,” Patrick said. “But I’ll make myself scarce. No one will know I’m watching you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What, you have an invisibility cloak?”
Patrick laughed before stepping out of the car.
At first, Elle knew exactly where Patrick was, then suddenly, he wasn’t there, and she couldn’t see him. Wow, neat trick.
She went to the apartment that belonged to Mia Jones and her mother. Elle didn’t know Mia, but she had names to drop.
She couldn’t tell if there were lights on in the apartment, but she heard a faint laugh track from a television sitcom. She knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked a little louder.
A young black girl answered the door. She wasn’t older than thirteen. “Mia?” Elle asked.
“Who are you?”
“Mia?” a voice from another room called. “Who’s there? Not a boy!”
“No, Mama,” Mia called. She looked Elle over. “You’re Kami’s laywer friend.”
“I am.”
Mia glanced down the hall, then motioned for Elle to come in. She closed and bolted the door behind her. “Who told you she was here?”
“I need to talk to her. She’s in danger.” Elle glanced around the small apartment. Kami wasn’t in the living room. There were two doors off a short hall.
“She left. A couple hours ago. I told her she could stay, my mom
never leaves her room except to go to work. But she said she had something to do, just wanted to hide here until it got dark.”
“What was she doing?”
“I dunno.” But Mia didn’t make eye contact.
“Please, Mia, if you don’t help me, I’m afraid she’ll get hurt. Bad people are looking for her.”
Mia frowned. “I don’t know exactly what she was doing, but she said she was going to TK. She was waiting until everyone was gone.”
This was worse than Elle had expected. Why would Kami risk herself like this?
“Thank you. And don’t tell anyone I was here.”
“And don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t need to be on Lorenzo’s bad side. But Kami helped me once. I couldn’t just tell her to go away.”
Elle left. Patrick had been right—Kami had been seen at TK. Why had she insisted on following her lead instead of his? Had she put Kami at greater risk because she was so stubborn? Maybe she just couldn’t accept that a bunch of basketball players would trust someone like Patrick enough to tell him the truth.
She looked up and down the dimly lit interior hall, but didn’t see Patrick. She walked to the end, then stepped out into the central garden of the complex and walked briskly toward the gated exit. The gates had no locks, hardly any barrier to keep out people who shouldn’t be here. As she reached the gate, two young men approached her. They were the same two who’d been talking to her inside the center.
“Richie wants to talk to you,” one said.
She kept walking until the other kid stepped in her path.
“Move out of my way,” she said in a voice that sounded stronger than she felt.
“After you talk to Richie.”
He stepped forward, she took two steps back. The kid smirked, knowing he’d scared her. She hated that, that this hoodlum got his jollies out of making her afraid. She didn’t like being afraid, and she glared at him.
His eyes flicked to her right, and Elle glanced over her shoulder. Patrick, right behind her. How had he snuck up on them?
“Let Ms. Santana pass, Ringo.”
The kid glared at him. “How do you know my name? Who’s been talking?”
“I have a lot of friends in law enforcement. When I called in to say I saw Raphael Clinton, aka Ringo, they were very interested, considering there’s a warrant for your arrest.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
“About my friends or that you have a warrant for robbing a liquor store on Third last month?”
Ringo’s eyes went to his friend.
Patrick continued. “You may have enough time to disappear before the cops arrive, but they’re on their way. Now we’re going to leave.”
He put his hand on the small of Elle’s back and almost pushed her forward. She started walking, trying not to shake, but the tension in the courtyard was thicker than the fog.
Patrick didn’t hesitate, he kept them moving to her car.
“Get in and drive,” he said.
She complied. “When will the police be here?”
“I didn’t call them.”
“You lied?”
“Bluffed.”
“There wasn’t a warrant? Then why was he so worried? How did you know his name?”
“There’s definitely a warrant. I took his picture, and the others’, when we were at the teen center and had RCK run their faces. ID’d four of the six, all with records, all under eighteen except for Ringo. He’s twenty. I’ll let the locals know where he can be found. Right now I just wanted to get us out of a sticky situation without having to pull my gun.”
Elle took several deep breaths. “You were right.”
“About?”
“She went to TK. She’s planning to break in, but her friend didn’t know why.”
“But you do.”
Elle was angry and upset and she didn’t know if she was to blame for everything. “Doreen did the same thing, and got killed. Kami knows that! Why is she doing this? Why would she risk her life?”
“Why are you?” Patrick asked quietly.
“Why am I what?”
“You’re doing the same thing. Risking your life to find Kami before something happens to her.”
“You are, too,” she said, averting the question.
“I’m trained for this. You’re taking risks without even realizing it.”
“If not me, then who? This world is fucked up enough because people pass the buck or turn their back. Not me, not on Kami.”
Not when it’s my fault she’s in trouble in the first place.
Patrick took her hand and squeezed it. She stared at him, wanting to let him do everything because she was scared. But she also knew what she was getting into. She knew the people and the players.
Patrick said, “If Kami is there, we’ll find her.”
Elle voiced her real fear. “What if she’s already dead?”
CHAPTER 6
Patrick told Elle not to drive directly to TK. He wanted to make sure that Ringo and his goon didn’t follow them. His phone vibrated and he answered.
“Kincaid.”
It was Jaye. “Christopher Lee is squeaky-clean on the surface. Too clean. I dug into his financials—”
“Jaye—”
“All legal, pinky swear. What he really needs is a good audit, because it feels fishy to me.”
“That’s not going to get anyone to look at him.”
“Hey, my word should be good enough.”
“It is with me, but I need something solid. Or did you call just to chat?”
“Solid. He does a lot of business with another squeaky-clean company in Stockton, which works with a shipping company that isn’t so squeaky-clean. Peeling back the layers and that not-so-squeaky-clean shipping company is actually owned by one of Lee’s holdings, but he buried it well.”
“Not well enough, if you uncovered it in an hour.”
“I can’t take credit for it. Chi Sun Shipping is on the RCK watch list.”
“What watch list?”
“Oh—right, you don’t do international. The human trafficking watch list.”
Patrick’s blood ran cold. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she said, sounding offended. “I wouldn’t have said it if I weren’t.”
“Can you do one more thing?”
“You know it’s after midnight, right?”
“Are you going to bed?”
“No.”
“Then please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a triple espresso on top?”
She giggled. “God, Patrick, you owe me big-time.”
“We all do.”
“What else do you want?”
“Our contact with DEA, can you find out if Lee or Chi Sun Shipping is under watch for drug smuggling?”
“Not until the morning—it’s three A.M. in Washington.”
“Right. Sorry. Thanks again.”
“Be careful. Jack said if you need help, call him.”
“I’m okay for now.”
“And JT wants an update if you uncover anything connected to Chi Sun Shipping.”
JT Caruso was the C in RCK. “You told him before me?”
“He pays me. But just so you know, I e-mailed him while we were talking, and he just responded. So technically, I told you first.”
“You’re a gem.”
“A diamond. I want to be a diamond.”
He laughed and hung up.
“You’re laughing,” Elle said.
Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sometimes, Elle, you have to laugh, otherwise we’d be depressed all the time.”
“Did your people learn anything important?”
“Maybe. Chi Sun Shipping, owned by one of Lee’s holding companies, is on a watch list for human trafficking.”
Elle didn’t say anything.
“Elle?”
“That can’t be right.”
“You’re defending him now?”
“No! But—shouldn’t people have k
nown? I mean, you waltz into town and six hours later you’ve connected my nemesis to trafficking in people?”
“RCK was started by two ex-military who specialized in hostage rescue. Since then, we’ve grown to do primarily corporate and personal security, but we still have one guy who works south of the border whose primary job is finding Americans who have disappeared—and likely were kidnapped and forced to be sex slaves. So RCK keeps tabs on human trafficking and forwards information to the appropriate governments. We can’t stop it all, but we do our part.”
“Which sounds like more than most.”
“I work with some good people. My brother Jack is one of them.”
“But—human trafficking. You’d think I would have heard something, sensed something.” She wasn’t sold on his information. And, truth was, Lee could have his fingers in a lot of illegal activities. Criminals like him—those with legitimate business and public ties—often had multiple illegal venues. Maybe he was running drugs in San Francisco—and running people out of Stockton. But in Patrick’s experience, it was likely connected. His legitimate business was the perfect way to launder money. And working with the teen center gave him access to throwaway kids.
“They prey on runaways—kids no one will miss.”
“Do you think they took Kami?” Elle’s voice turned panicky.
“We don’t know anything—we don’t even know if what’s going on here has anything to do with his shipping company. We just need to be aware that this could be a lot worse than drug trafficking.”
“It’s worse,” Elle mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what Doreen said to me before she died. She said, ‘It’s worse than we thought.’ I didn’t know what she meant. I didn’t understand—I should have.”
Patrick reached over and took her hand again. “You had no reason to think that Lee was trafficking in slaves when you had proof he was tied in with a local drug dealer. Let’s go to TK. It’s nearly one in the morning, we should be able to snoop around.”
“He’ll have security, I don’t know how we’re going to get in—”
“There is no ‘we.’ I’m going in, if I can. And I promise, I won’t trip an alarm.”
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