Dean put his hands on her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed that he’d even gotten up from the table. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, rubbing her shoulders, sharing his strength with her. She leaned into him, just for a moment. But she had more to tell.
“Owen and Marianne came for the funeral and asked if I wanted to live in California with them and their two sons. I would have done anything to get away from the rumors and mean kids and the numbing loss I felt. Without Wendell, there was nothing for me in Texas but bad memories.”
“They’re good people, and they obviously love you.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
Sonia smiled warmly. “I’m really lucky. I even went to college. Amazing really, because I never thought I’d have the opportunity. Working for INS was my only goal. I wanted a degree. I wanted to get into the program, and I was going to stop human trafficking. Single-handedly.” She stared at the ceiling. “I was young, idealistic, and stupid.”
Dean said, “There’re a lot of people in our business who start out idealistic. I’m glad.”
“But not you.” She couldn’t picture Dean charging windmills. He was too intense and focused. She turned to face him, saw that he hadn’t changed the way he looked at her even after her story. Her body began to relax as if it had a mind of its own. Or maybe it was because Dean took her hands and held them firmly.
“My dad was a beat cop in Chicago. It’s all he was,” Dead said. “Unlike Owen Knight, who obviously loves his family and spent time with you. My dad was a good cop, but he didn’t know how to be a father or a husband. I came into the FBI a little jaded, I suppose. It wasn’t my first career choice.”
“What was?”
“After getting out of the Marines, I went to college to be a CPA. I was recruited into the FBI. Fifteen years ago, they wanted accountants. And I have a knack for numbers and financial connections.” Dean led her back to the table and poured cereal in a bowl for her.
“Fifteen years and you’re already assistant director?” She took a bite to make him happy, though she was too wound up to eat.
He waved the achievement away. “It’s not just tenure, it’s politics. I was successful on a few high-profile investigations early on, rose through the ranks quickly. In a way I wish I hadn’t. I prefer the grunt work over being in charge.”
“You’re a natural leader,” Sonia said. “It’s obvious.”
“So are you.”
She shook her head. “I’m learning, but …” she stopped. Did she really want to go into this?
Dean took her hand and kissed it. The rising sun cast a filtered array of orange and yellows through the blinds. She’d never felt safer.
Sonia took a breath and said, “When I finished my training, I was assigned to El Paso. Charlie Cammarata was my training agent. We worked together for eighteen months. The first year was my training year; the second year was as his partner.
“I worshipped him, I admit it. He was smart, brave, compassionate. He knew about my past, and said it made me a better person and a better agent. The Knights loved me, but honestly? We never talked about what my father did. For the first time, I felt I could talk about it, and Charlie listened. He made me feel powerful. Like I could make a difference. I trusted him.
“Eighteen months after I became an agent, Charlie told me we were going undercover in Costa Rica. The INS wanted two agents to go in to gather intelligence on a human trafficking ring. Both Charlie and I spoke Spanish fluently, and I knew dozens of dialects. All those years living in remote villages, I learned to pick up languages easily. I was excited. This was my first real chance to do something bigger and more important than border patrol.
“What I didn’t know was that Charlie had no sanction from the INS. He told them he was taking a vacation. I learned later that he told people that he and I were involved and wanted to take a vacation together.” She shook her head. It still angered her how manipulative Charlie had been, and how readily she’d believed him.
“So we were in this bar and I thought we had backup. I was a waitress, and I took great notes. Every night I wrote down names, numbers, towns, destinations, everything I overheard.
“Ten days later, the bar was closing and I was waiting for Charlie to walk me back to the room we’d rented. He didn’t show, and my boss in the bar was an asshole. He kicked me out, though it was late and the neighborhood was dicey. Still, I was young and stupid. I had no gun, no identification because Charlie told me that would be a giveaway. He gave me a can of mace and with that in hand, I started walking.
“I was grabbed by a meaty thug not twenty feet from the bar entrance. I maced the guy, then someone else grabbed me from behind, and the next thing I know, I’m in a truck, and we’re moving. And there are dozens of girls with me.”
“Where was Charlie?”
Sonia closed her eyes. “I didn’t know it then, but he’d hidden in the alley and watched the whole thing. I overheard the men saying my brother had sold me to them, that I was a virgin and worth a lot of money. I didn’t believe them. Charlie wouldn’t do that.
“No one came to rescue me. We were heading south, toward Panama. I thought Charlie was following. He was, but not to save me. He was mapping the route because two months before, a dozen girls from a Costa Rican orphanage had been kidnapped and he didn’t know where they were taken, but he knew which ring sold them. He’d sold me into that ring, hoping they’d lead him to the orphans.”
“He sold you and didn’t tell you his plan?”
She shook her head. “I was stupid.”
“No. You were following orders. You were young and you believed your senior agent.”
“Maybe, but in hindsight I should have seen it. Don’t tell anyone, it’s classified, yada yada.”
“Sonia, don’t blame yourself for the crimes of Charlie Cammarata,” Dean said firmly.
“I don’t. But I do blame myself for being blinded by someone I trusted and considered a mentor and a friend.”
“I think you’re being too harsh on yourself.”
Maybe Dean was right, but she’d never forget how stupid and terrified she felt when she realized she was once again a prisoner. She continued. “Two nights later, they took us to a farm outside Ustupo. That’s when they branded us. All of us. Two, three, or four stars depending on our destination. I learned later that three stars was for a brothel on an island off the coast of Venezuela. Two stars was for a slave-labor camp in Brazil, and four stars was for domestic servants—indentured servants—for some wealthy families in Chile. They like to split the groups up because there’s less chance of us bonding and trying to escape if we don’t know who we’ll be with.
“But because I was a virgin, I had a detour. I was separated from the girls after we were branded and sent to a small town outside Panama City, where I was put up in a crumbling motel and told to wait for the man who would, and I quote, ‘fuck me good.’
“And you know what? I was scared shitless, but even though I was terrified, I still thought okay, this is what Charlie is waiting for, to arrest this guy. I’m the bait. I wish he’d told me, but it’s okay because I knew where all those girls were going, and as soon as Charlie came in and took out this guy, we’d rescue the girls. A little scar on my arm was a small price to pay. I already had so many, one more wouldn’t matter.”
Sonia didn’t realize she was crying until the tears dripped off her chin. She looked down and squeezed her eyes shut. “The guy came in. He looked at me and said that I was too old to be a virgin. He was enraged, thought he’d been cheated. I found out later he’d paid two thousand American dollars for a virgin. He would have paid five thousand if I was under sixteen. Bastard.”
“Sonia—”
She put up her hand to stop Dean from talking. She wouldn’t be able to get it out if he tried to soothe her or tell her it wasn’t her fault. “He thought I was nineteen, though I was twenty-four. It happened so fast … He tore the dress I’d been ordered to wear. And that’s when I knew I was on my own.”
“No. He didn’t rape me. He tried.” Tried was an understatement. She had run around the room, had screamed her head off, but no one came. She’d tried for the door, but he’d stopped her. She hit him, kicked him, and he used her as a punching bag. He told her to lie down and spread for him. It was humiliating and disgusting and she would have rather died than let him touch her, let alone rape her.
She said softly, “I killed him.”
Dean clutched both of her hands in his. “How?”
“I had five minutes alone in the room before he came in. There wasn’t a private bathroom, just a sink with a small mirror on the wall above it. I removed it, hoped no one would notice, and cracked it in several pieces. I hid the shards in strategic places.” Her voice hitched. This was harder than she’d thought. “I never told Riley this. I told him the big-picture stuff, but never … never how close he came.
“He had me on the bed and I pretended to accept my fate.”
She’d never forget his hands on her, his foul, fishy breath, his crudity. He’d promised to teach her how to be a good whore, after he made her one.
“And when he didn’t expect it, I took one of those hidden shards and stabbed him in the neck.”
There’d been so much blood. It spurted—she’d hit a major artery. He was dead in minutes.
“I didn’t know what to do. I ran, tried to find help, but I was so sick. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I collapsed and was taken to the hospital. I needed surgery because he’d beaten me pretty badly and there was internal bleeding. It was a small hospital, and they removed my uterus. I don’t know, if I’d been in the U.S., if it could have been saved or not. I’ll never know.”
She looked at Dean for the first time since she envisioned herself back in that awful room. He had moved closer to her, his hands entwined tightly with hers. He brought them to his lips and held them there, his eyes red with suppressed emotion.
“As soon as I was out of surgery and conscious, they arrested me for murder. Forget the phone calls, I’d apparently killed someone of importance. I found out later he was a popular local politician and the father of nineteen kids.”
“What did they say when you told them you were a U.S. Immigration cop?”
“At first, they didn’t believe me. This town had their own law. Conditions in their jail weren’t—stellar.” She’d killed Sheldon Rasmussen, a man with a wife and kids. She paid the price. “They didn’t believe that I’d been kidnapped. One of the cops convinced others that I was an assassin. Rasmussen was a criminal, but he provided for the town. His own mini kingdom. Then, I think they did finally believe me, but were scared of possible repercussions. It would have been easier to make me disappear than to face the U.S.’s wrath. The fact that no one came around asking about me made my ‘story’ less believable.”
“I can’t believe he left you.” Dean’s voice was rough with anger. He kissed her hands again, holding them so tightly her fingers almost went numb.
“Do you know who saved me from being hanged?”
“Don’t tell me Charlie.”
“Indirectly.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“You asked about Kane Rogan. This is where he comes in. I was in prison, I wasn’t getting a trial, and I thought I was going to die. I didn’t get a phone call, I didn’t get to talk to anyone. Charlie hadn’t followed me from the farm. He didn’t know where I’d been taken. He was tracking the other girls. He called Kane—they’d been in the Marines together—and told him what happened. Some of what happened. Kane specializes in hostage rescues. He tracked me down, broke me out of prison, and brought me back to El Paso. I asked him where Charlie was and he thought I already knew. He said, ‘Charlie said you’d gotten yourself in trouble. Tell me what happened.’ I told him everything.”
Dean massaged her palms. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his support through his touch.
“I thought Kane was going to kill him. Really. He ended up testifying on my behalf during the OPR hearings.”
“On your behalf?”
When Sonia had first heard Charlie’s lies, she’d been devastated. Now it just made her angry. “Charlie had fabricated a story. A lot of stories. Suffice it to say, he was a hero. He saved all those girls who’d been branded with me, and he found the dozen girls kidnapped from the orphanage. No one wanted to believe that he set me up as bait so he could gather intelligence. But Kane believed me, and his word went a long way with OPR. If you ever meet him, you’ll understand why.”
“Sonia,” Dean said, “I’m glad you told me.”
She breathed easier, gave him a half-smile. “Me, too.”
He leaned over and kissed her softly, holding her face with his hands. “You are amazing, sweetheart.”
Dean’s respect and affection empowered Sonia, as if sharing the entire sordid story had purged the last of her anger and resentment and self-pity. She’d been holding back for so long, keeping the details of that unspeakable time locked deep inside, not realizing how it still haunted her. Now, her heart felt lighter, she was stronger. Because Dean drew the truth out like no one else had been able to.
She said, “I kinda like you.”
“I kinda like you, too.” He kissed her again. No urgency, just a deep affection like nothing Sonia had known before.
He reluctantly pulled back. “It’s getting late. I brought over the files on Rio Diablo and some of the older documentation I have on Jones, if you want to take a look while I take a quick shower.”
“I’ll do that.”
Dean pulled her from the chair and brought her lips to his. Lightly, a breath of a touch, but Sonia’s body tingled in response. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, her head nestled between his neck and shoulder. Just held her without moving for a long, peaceful moment.
“Okay. I’m going to get in the shower.” He made no move to leave her. He kissed her head, her cheek, her neck, back to her lips. “Now,” he said, his voice husky. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “The files are on the coffee table.”
“Thanks.”
She watched him walk down the hall. She was tempted to follow, but there was a time to play and a time to work.
She crossed to the living room. Mouse, the cat, followed her and jumped into her lap the minute she sat on the couch in front of the file box. She absently rubbed his fur as she took the lid off.
Most of the files were numbers. Rows and rows of numbers—they looked like printouts from tax returns or corporate filings. This wasn’t her forte. She flipped through those quickly, looking at only the names.
She put those files aside and pulled another one. And another. The shower went off and she didn’t see herself making any inroads.
She put the files back, moved the box, and looked at the files that were beneath it. They were marked THOMAS DANIELS. Smitty. The guy who had unwittingly clued Dean in to Jones’s shady dealings.
She opened the thin file and stared at a black-and-white photograph of nine men and a woman who looked familiar, but Sonia couldn’t put a name to her face. She recognized Xavier Jones and Smitty in the picture. She also noted Pieter Huffmann, a German who was wanted by Interpol and ICE for trafficking.
And she recognized one other man.
Sonia’s mouth went dry, and her hands began to shake. She flipped the photograph over; there was nothing written on the back. No date or time stamp. Nothing to tell her when or where it was taken.
She turned it again and stared at the familiar face again, bile rising from her stomach. The picture had been taken outside. Most of the men held big-game fish of all sizes; a huge blue marlin dominated the picture, half-obscuring the bastard in the center. Her hands and face became clammy, and she bent over to stem the nausea that continued to rise. Mouse jumped off her lap with an annoyed meow and reminded her that she was safe, safe in this apartment with Dean in the next room.
Only in her mind, only in her memories a
nd nightmares could he hurt her.
“What’s wrong, Sonia? Are you feeling okay?” She hadn’t heard Dean return over the ringing in her ears.
He put a hand on her back. “You’re shaking. Sonia, talk to me.”
“This picture.” She still clutched it in her hands.
“Yes, I told you about it. It’s what—”
She interrupted. “Do you know who this is?” She straightened and tapped the man in the middle, the man with the blue marlin.
“No, we don’t have an I.D. on three of those men, him included.”
“When was this picture taken?”
“Sonia, what’s going on?”
“When!”
“We believe seven to ten years ago.”
“I know who this is. This is my father. My real father—Sergio Martin—who sold me twenty years ago.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Dean was halfway to FBI headquarters when Sonia got the call from Detective John Black that “Ann” was awake and coherent. Her prognosis had been upgraded from critical to serious and the doctors were optimistic.
He turned off the freeway, then looped around and headed back downtown to the hospital. Sonia was optimistic that Ann could help them. The man who tried to kill her had used the same type of knife that had been used to kill Greg Vega; there was a connection but they needed more information. Information that Sonia was certain Ann could give them. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. But right now Sonia needed every last detail she could get to find the Chinese girls before they disappeared.
If it wasn’t too late already.
Ann had been moved into the psychiatric ward, which had the best security in the hospital, for her protection. Used only for assessments, Ann was the only patient in this wing.
“I need to warn you,” John Black said when he greeted them, “she can’t talk, and Dr. Miller doesn’t think she’ll regain her voice. But there doesn’t seem to be any brain damage. The problem is she doesn’t read or understand English or Spanish.”
“She doesn’t need to read anything,” Sonia said. “I’ll ask yes-and-no questions.”
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