Payns rubbed the back of his neck and offered the slightest twitch of a grin.
Having forced the desired acknowledgment, Ms. Cappelletti returned her attention to us. “I need to have a moment with Lieutenant Payns, but Ms. Ruiz will stay with you and answer any questions you might have. Lily, would you join us?”
“Sure.”
Ana Lucía whimpered, “I want my mommy,” reminding us all how young she really was.
Payns stepped forward. “Your parents are on their way and very relieved to hear you’re safe.”
Ana Lucía burst into tears. Brianna climbed into the bed to comfort her. I turned to Payns and whispered, “Still think she’s a trafficker?”
He nodded toward the door. “Outside.”
Once we reached the corridor, Ms. Cappelletti stopped him. “This is far enough.”
“Suit yourself.”
“We need to establish the ground rules. The state will have a stronger case if all of these girls testify.”
“Obviously.”
“But if any of them do, what they say may incriminate Brianna. That includes Lily.”
“What are you saying? You don’t want any of them to testify? Because we won’t have much of a case without them. Even with Lily’s testimony, all we’d really have is false imprisonment, child abuse, and a possible accessory to an attempted rape—and that’s providing the jury believed her. If we find Emma’s body, we might be able to nail Rodriguez for her murder, but probably not his crew. Saint, Ricky, Big D will be out on the streets in months. And Rodriguez will be trafficking again within a decade.”
“Or…” Ms. Cappelletti said. “You can guarantee immunity for all of them against any charge, and I’ll encourage all four of them to testify in closed court.”
Payns laughed. “I know what you want, but it’s not up to me.”
“Then I suggest you call the people who can make those decisions, quickly, while we still have influence over these girls. Wait too long and they’ll scatter to the proverbial winds.”
“Is that a threat?”
She smirked. “Just stating the facts.”
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But nobody leaves.”
“Understood.”
As we watched Payns stomp toward the elevators, I turned toward the lawyer. “That was badass.”
She laughed. “High praise coming from you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” She nodded toward the hospital room. “And I’m not just here to look out for them. Ms. Ruiz asked me to look out for your interests, as well. She led me to believe that anonymity might be important to you.”
I laughed. “You could say that.”
“All right, then. Nobody talks until everyone has immunity. Given the sensitivity of the case and the minors involved, the judge should have no objection to a closed court. I’ll do everything I can to keep your name—or at the very least, your face—out of the public eye.”
As I opened my mouth to thank her, Payns headed up the corridor with a frightened Guatemalan couple, a stout woman in a purple dress and a tiny man with chipped front teeth.
“Ana Lucía’s parents?” I asked, following him into the hospital room.
He nodded and turned to Ms. Ruiz, who standing by the door. “I could use your help. They don’t speak much English.”
“I’d be happy to.”
Kristina and Brianna jumped off the bed to make room for Ana Lucía’s parents, who rushed to their daughter and bathed her in tears. I couldn’t imagine their relief—or their horror at seeing their precious baby battered and starved.
As we watched their tearful reunion, Ms. Ruiz touched me on the shoulder. “I thought you’d like to know—Josie came in yesterday.”
“Off the street? For good?”
Ms. Ruiz shrugged. “We try not to look that far ahead. But for now, she’s living in one of our houses and has enrolled in our online tutoring program. When she’s caught up to speed, she can finish her high school education and either graduate or take the GED.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“She came in because of you.”
“She said that?”
Ms. Ruiz nodded. “She said, and I quote, ‘If she cares so much about me, tal vez yo debería, también.’”
I laughed, drawing a stern look from Payns.
“If you’re not too busy having fun, Miss Wong, I received a call from the detective in charge of Kristina Flynn’s case. Her parents want her to call them. Do you think she will?”
I thought of my one and only conversation with Emma Hughs back at Aleisha’s Refuge. Her parents had been desperate to speak with her as well, and Emma had been worried that they wouldn’t forgive her. Would Kristina feel the same?
“I don’t know. Want me to ask?”
He nodded. “Please.”
I caught Kristina’s eye and nodded toward the corridor. When she followed, I led the way to the waiting area and sat in a cozy nook.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Your parents. The detective on your case in Phoenix gave them a call and told them you’d been found. They’ve been so worried. They’re desperate to hear your voice.”
Kristina blinked back the tears. “I don’t think I can.”
“It’s okay. Take a breath.” I waited for her to swallow the sobs, then tried again. “They know you were abducted. They’ve been told about the trafficking. And they know that none of this is your fault.”
She shook her head and fought not to cry. “The things I’ve done.”
I squeezed her hands. “The things you were forced to do. They don’t care about any of that. They just want to hear your voice and know you’ve really been found.”
“But—”
“It doesn’t have to be a long conversation, just enough to put them at ease. You’ve been missing for two years, Kristina, and they’ve suffered every one of those days.”
She sniffed back the tears and inhaled a steadying breath. “Yeah. Okay.” Then she held out her hand for my phone.
I gave it to her and rose to leave.
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t want to do this alone.”
“All right.”
I sat back down, as she punched in the number. I heard a woman’s voice on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Kristina? Oh, sweet Jesus, is that really you?”
“Mom?”
Kristina burst into tears and repeated that one precious word, over and over.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The patrol car zipped through the early morning streets, carrying me to a meeting I didn’t want to have. The thought of it made me cold. I hugged the paper coffee cup in both hands and rested my chin on the plastic lid, drawing what comfort I could from the heat.
The detective from Phoenix had arrived before I left the hospital. He and Lieutenant Payns were in deep conversation with Sally Cappelletti. From what I could tell, the attorney had both men well in hand. Kristina would also have added support from her parents, who—after their tearful phone call reunion—were on their way to Los Angeles.
Ms. Cappelletti was also looking out for Brianna, who she had isolated in a corner. The attorney guarded her like a pit bull and wouldn’t let anyone near her. She wasn’t taking any chances until she had immunity for all of us in writing.
Meanwhile, Ms. Ruiz stayed with Ana Lucía, who had calmed considerably after her parents had arrived. Neither of them spoke more than rudimentary English and were terrified to be in the presence of law enforcement. Ms. Ruiz made them all more comfortable and had contacted an immigration legal aid foundation in case they needed counsel or protection.
As for me—I was free to go.
I cleaned up in the hospital washroom, exchanged my shorty-shorts for leggings, and doubled up on my shirts. It wasn’t much, but the added layers made me look less like
a hooker and kept me from shivering in the air conditioning. I could have worn the tracksuit I had lent to Ana Lucía, but I wanted her to have it in case they released her from the hospital before her parents had a chance to bring her clothes.
I sipped the coffee.
The officer driving the patrol car had been one of several to follow Ricky and Saint to the hospital. After checking in with Payns, he’d been told to drive me home to Culver City. I would have preferred to call for my own ride, but didn’t want to appear ungrateful. And since I wasn’t actually headed home, I didn’t worry about the cop knowing where I lived.
“It’s the second house on the left with the white metal fence,” I said, pointing to Aleisha’s Refuge.
I settled into my seat and waited for him to swing around. It’s discomfiting to sit in the back of a patrol car, caged in like a criminal. I lost count of how many people stared at me through the windows, wondering what I had done.
I thought of Sensei.
True empathy is the foundation for all meaningful relationships.
If this were true, perhaps the experience of being transported like a criminal and stared at with suspicion and disdain would help me build a trusting relationship with Brianna. That would be good. I no longer thought of her as Dolla, Queen of the Sex Trafficking Vipers. To me, she was Brianna Wilson, an eighteen-year-old mother, raped by her stepfather, doing the best she could to protect her child.
The patrol car stopped. “This the place?”
I opened the door. “Yep. Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
He drove off, leaving me on the sidewalk to ponder his words.
Have a nice day?
I coughed out a laugh. Where would I even begin?
I pressed the buzzer on the gate and waited. Since it was only seven in the morning, the gate was still locked. After a minute, Stan exited the house and hurried down the path.
“Lily. Thank God you’re okay. Aleisha and I were worried sick.”
“Hey, Stan. Sorry to drop in on you this early.”
He unlocked the gate and ushered me inside. “Don’t be silly. You’re welcome anytime, day or night.”
“Is that Lily?” Aleisha called from the house, then rushed out the door to see for herself. Her face lit up with relief then fell with concern. “Where’s Emma?”
Stan interceded. “Don’t badger the girl. Can’t you see she’s worn out?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “But I wouldn’t mind coming inside.”
Aleisha windmilled her hands in welcome. “Come, come. I’ll get you something to eat. You look even scrawnier than usual.”
She hustled me into the huge kitchen at the back of the house. Stan had taken down two walls to join it to the dining and family rooms. A few early risers were nestled in a nook enjoying coffee and muffins. Aleisha filled a plate with muffins, grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the fridge, and led Stan and me out to the patio.
The questions began the moment my butt hit the chair.
“Are you okay? Because Stan’s right, you look…” She shook her head in dismay, no doubt taking in the bruises and cuts.
I shrugged. “It was a long night.”
“But are you okay?” The way she laid into the last word made her meaning clear. Aleisha was far more concerned about my emotional wellbeing than any injuries I might have incurred.
“I’m fine. But I have hard news to share.”
Aleisha collapsed into her seat. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“They don’t know for sure, but it looks that way. Her trafficker had a shrine set up in his bedroom with photos of Emma and the shirt she was wearing when I met her a week ago. It was covered in blood.”
“Lord have mercy.”
Stan stood behind her and placed comforting hands on her shoulders. After a moment he looked at me. “When will they know for certain?”
I shrugged. This news was the hardest to share.
“The trafficker was shot and killed—not by me, by the cops. Without him, they may never know for sure if Emma was murdered or where he disposed of the body.”
Aleisha moaned in despair. Although she generally did a good job of protecting herself emotionally, Emma’s plight had seeped past her defenses. If feelings were the source of our humanity, as Sensei had suggested, they were also our curse. We couldn’t pick and choose our emotions. Once the flood gates were opened, the bad rushed in with the good.
“And the other girls?” Aleisha asked. “Are they okay?”
“They will be.”
“Good.” She took a deep breath and said it again with more conviction. “Good. No matter what happened to Emma, you helped those girls get home to their families. They’re safe because of you.”
I sighed, too overwhelmed by all that had happened to gain comfort from her words. But Aleisha wasn’t having any of that.
“Don’t you sigh at me. I’m speaking my truth, and you need to hear it. Those girls you told me about were in deep. Nobody else was stepping up to help them. But you did. You put your life on the line and saved them from hell on Earth.”
I shook my head. “You know as well as I do what the odds are of them slipping back into it.”
“No. I won’t let you dismiss what you’ve done, not after everything I’ve watched you suffer in the last month. You’re a good person who does good things. But more than that, you’re a warrior. Sometimes you draw blood and sometimes you get bloody, but the people you save would be lost without you.”
I stared at her in surprise, not knowing how to respond. This was the second time today someone had said people would be lost without me. On a surface level, I understood what they meant. But on a deeper level, I found it hard to believe.
Aleisha leaned forward and squeezed my hand. “I’m gonna put you in touch with a friend, and you’re going to talk to him. And nothing you say is going to surprise him because he’s seen and done it all. But you’re going to get this off of your chest and out of your heart. Because Stan and I? We won’t stand for it a moment longer. You hear me? Even warriors need help.”
I looked from Aleisha to Stan and saw ferocious determination in their eyes. The lioness had spoken, and her mate would see it done.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I emerged from a steaming shower and was about to crash face-down on my bed when an annoying ringtone alerted me to a call.
“No,” I groaned, staring at Farmor’s hand-stitched quilt with longing. One lousy hour of sleep. Was that too much to ask?
I snatched the phone off the dresser. “What?”
“Excuse me?” Ma said. “Is that how I taught you to answer the phone?”
I groaned again, fighting against heavy eyelids to stay awake. “Hey, Ma. What do you need?”
“Aside from courtesy? Your grandparents are flying out this afternoon. They’d like to see you before they go.”
“I thought they were leaving on Tuesday.”
“This is Tuesday.”
“Wait. What?” My eyes flew open. I checked the date on my phone. Without a night’s sleep, I’d lost a day. “What time is their flight?”
“One o’clock.”
“I’ll never make it to Arcadia in time to pick them up. Why didn’t you call me earlier?”
“I did.”
I checked my call history and found several missed calls. I checked the time. “It’s already eight o’clock. Are they on their way to the airport?”
“Soon. Daniel is taking them.”
“Daniel?”
Ma sighed. “Gung-Gung arranged it this morning. He didn’t want me to miss another day of work.”
“Huh. Sounds a little passive-aggressive.”
“It did to me as well.”
Her voice had an edge. I wondered what had transpired in the eighteen hours since we’d met for tea, but I didn’t have the energy to ask.
“If Daniel’s driving t
hem to the airport, where do they want to meet?”
“At the restaurant.”
My jaw dropped. “Does Baba know?”
“Yes. But they won’t be staying long. They’re only coming to see you.”
“All right. I’ll get dressed and meet them out front.”
“Good. And Lily…” My brows furrowed as I waited. It wasn’t like her to leave a sentence dangling. “Be sure to give them a proper hug.”
She ended the call before I could ask about her peculiar instruction. Of course I’d give them a hug. Did she think I’d just wave them on their way?
Coffee. That’s what I needed. Or, better yet, a pot of yuen yeung. The condensed milk in the coffee-tea mixture would jolt me out of my brain fog.
I threw on a sundress and ran a comb through my hair. Then I hurried downstairs to beg Baba to fix me a pot.
“You’re up early,” he said, as I bounded into the kitchen.
“You know us roosters, up with the dawn.” I was referring to my Chinese zodiac, but I could tell by the doubtful expression on his face that Baba wasn’t buying it. “Don’t suppose you could fix up a pot of yuen yeung?”
“Oh, you don’t, do you?”
I shrugged. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“Not half bad, at all,” he agreed.
“But will you?” I asked, a bit exasperated: The double negatives were taxing my caffeine-starved brain.
He chuckled. “I’ll fix you a pot. Don’t get your chickens in a fit.”
I sighed with relief. “Thanks, Baba.”
“I hear your grandparents are stopping by,” he said, as he gathered canisters of ground coffee and loose-leaf Tetley Orange Pekoe and Lipton Yellow Label Assam. “Any idea what that’s about?”
“Not a clue. But Ma doesn’t seem too happy about it.”
He scooped his special ratio of coffee and tea into a sleeve and poured boiling water over the mixture. Then he repeated the process, again and again, making the brew richer with every pour. Once he had the coffee and tea brewed to his desired intensity and smoothness, he poured in a half cup each of evaporated and condensed milk. All of this was Baba’s secret method which he claimed to have learned from a very cagey Hong Kong restaurateur. If he had milk tea already prepared, he stuck with the standard ratio of three parts coffee and seven parts milk tea—a measurement that baffled most Americans, including me.
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