But this was work, not their personal lives. He wouldn’t tolerate her attitude. “Quit bitching. If you can’t handle this investigation, talk to Rex.”
Staci glared at both men. “Fine. What’s the plan?”
“The damn sex trafficking whorehouses pop up all over like Whack-a-Moles. There one day, gone the next. It’s a constant battle to find them in time to shut them down and free the women. Probably every police department in San Diego County, as well as the Sheriff’s Department, is familiar with the problem. The girls are primarily from Mexico or other Central American countries. The targeted johns are mostly transient Hispanics. Everything and everyone is mobile.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Staci muttered.
“What none of us knows is why the cartel didn’t keep all eight women. Why only the five? As awful as it sounds, I can’t see any reason—appearance, health, age—why the three who were returned wouldn’t have made good prostitutes.”
“Yeah, it is strange,” Dillon agreed. “Generally H uses the whole shipment of people. The women are forced into prostitution, and the men are put to work as mules or minions for the cartel’s drug operations.”
“Exactly. I thought about it all weekend.” Ben paused when he realized his statement wasn’t totally true. During the two hours with Amber, this current case hadn’t entered his head once. Interesting. “The behavior is enough of a divergence to explore. My gut says H is spreading his poison into something new, something equally profitable.”
“Like what?” Staci asked.
Ben shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But finding the women is the first priority. Hopefully, they’re the key.”
“If we don’t know what the new venture is, how do we know where to look?” Dillon said.
“Absolutely, that’s a challenge. We have to start with H’s known businesses: drugs, prostitution, weapons. We’re aware of his money-laundering operation, but I can’t see a use for these women there. They don’t have any financial education or skills.”
Staci frowned. “What about terrorism? There have been a ton of busted plots involving women in the past year.”
“Have we connected H to terrorism?”
“Not yet. But, as you said, this could be new.”
“How would the women be used?” Dillon asked.
“Smuggling,” Ben said immediately. “Given some decent fake paperwork, these women could cross the border in both directions without attracting much attention.”
“H already has a superb mule system, exclusively men. Why use women?”
“True. We need to figure out what a woman would be better at smuggling than a man.”
“Sounds like a wild-goose chase to me,” Staci said.
Ben rubbed the tight muscles at his nape. “Let’s hope not. There’s got to be a reason why only five women were selected, and everyone else allowed to proceed north.”
“What’re our assignments?” Dillon asked.
“We’re going to start by mining all the local law enforcement agencies for info they have on any of these transient whorehouses. See if we can raid a few before they disappear. Even if we don’t find the women, maybe we’ll pick up clues to a new cartel business.” Ben handed the other agents a paper. “I’ve also e-mailed you these lists. I’ve split up the agencies. I’ll take the two largest: San Diego PD and the County Sheriff’s Department. Not all of the smaller departments will have separate vice personnel, but they all should have someone handling prostitution.”
“When do you want this?” Staci asked.
“We’ll meet back here at two this afternoon.”
* * *
“Amber, do you have a minute?” her boss called as Amber exited one of the medical procedure rooms.
“Sure. What’s up, Laura?” She hoped whatever it was didn’t take long, because she needed to check on the woman in the lobby before eating lunch.
“I just wanted you to know I had a call from Joe Ranger earlier. He canceled and refused to reschedule the second consultation appointment.”
“Did he say why?” Amber asked while she thought, Did it have anything to do with the blue paper in his pocket?
“Most definitely. And rudely. He claims we’re a ‘rip-off.’ Apparently, we charge way too much for our services.” Her angry expression turned sad. “I don’t understand why this keeps happening. I’ve spent a good deal of time recently confirming with other clinics that our fees are reasonable within the industry. Unfortunately, the repercussions from these cancellations affect the entire company. I’m really afraid we may lose you.”
“I-I’ll be okay. I’m a survivor. I’ve landed on my feet many times.”
“But you’re so skilled, and you fit in perfectly with the rest of the staff. I’ll miss you.”
Amber swallowed hard. “Well, let’s don’t give up hope yet.”
Laura managed a wan smile. “You’re right.” She checked her watch. “I have to run. The doctors and I are having a working lunch meeting in ten minutes. This news isn’t going to help the mood.”
Amber watched the kind woman hurry down the hallway. She’d been tempted to tell Laura what she suspected, but she really didn’t have any proof. Yet.
She cut through the office and slipped out the employees-only door. When she peeked around the corner at the elevator lobby, the woman with the papers was no longer there. Instead, a Hispanic man sat in one of the armchairs, reading a newspaper.
The SDSA front door opened, and a couple emerged. The man slanted a glance at them from behind his paper and then pulled a phone from his pocket. While surreptitiously eyeing the couple, he spoke quietly for only a few seconds. Amber slipped around the corner and pushed the call button after the couple caught the next down elevator. When she stepped into the main lobby, she scanned the area. The Hispanic woman from that morning had corralled the couple before they could leave the building.
Amber hid behind a column and watched. As expected, the woman gave them a sheet of paper before letting them go. Damn. She couldn’t prove it, but she was sure the man on the eighth floor had called the woman down here and given her a description of the couple to intercept. Maybe the paper distributor had realized she was being spied on this morning, and someone had devised a less obvious way to approach SDSA’s clients.
Back upstairs, Amber ate lunch with her colleagues in the employee lounge. Despite the lively conversation, she didn’t participate. What was she going to do? Was there really anything she could do? Building management had a no-solicitors policy, and they’d posted signs warning potential violators. But these people weren’t going door-to-door selling anything, so did those rules even apply? Instead, they appeared to be handing out flyers with information of interest to potential SDSA clients. Was it an advertisement for surrogate mother services at cheaper prices? Nothing illegal about that. So how was she going to save her job?
* * *
“What’d you find?” Ben stood at the head of the conference room table shortly after two on Monday afternoon. His own research into the Whack-a-Mole whorehouses had been frustrating, so his expectations were low.
“I located one in Carlsbad near the flower fields. It’s a recurring one. Last raided two months ago. Usually revives every four to six weeks,” Dillon reported. “And I got an address for one in Oceanside not far from the harbor. Lots of illegals work on the fishing boats leaving from there.”
“You live in North County, right?”
Dillon nodded.
“Check those sites out tonight and report back tomorrow. What’d you find, Staci?”
“Two in National City and one in Chula Vista. I don’t live in those areas, but I can drive down there this evening and surveil the houses for any activity.”
“Sounds good. I don’t want any contact by either of you while you’re flying solo. This is strictly intel gathering. If a place looks promising, we’ll consider a raid.”
“Did you get any hits?” she asked.
“A few. Most had al
ready been shut down, so now it’s just a matter of time until they pop up somewhere else. But I got the locations of some up in Fallbrook around the avocado groves. One in Barrio Logan, close to Chicano Park. In San Ysidro by the border. Even one downtown.”
“Jesus. Didn’t know San Diego County had so many horny guys who couldn’t score on their own.” Staci shook her head. “All those poor women.”
“World’s oldest profession. Sad, but true,” Dillon said.
“Let’s see if we can put a dent in their business. I’ll reconnoiter the Barrio Logan and downtown sites today. I sent word to our Mexican informants to keep their ears open for anything new in the Hermosillo business conglomerate. Hopefully, I’ll hear back before we meet tomorrow morning at nine.”
* * *
Amber had been so engrossed in the computer research she was doing on surrogate mother fees that she’d lost track of time. When the doorbell rang at seven thirty, she glanced up surprised. People rarely came to her door.
She grabbed the can of pepper spray from the drawer in the table by the front door before checking through the peephole. She smiled and relaxed at the sight of the blue eyes staring back at her. After stashing the can back in its hiding place, she undid the dead bolt and the extra lock she’d installed herself and opened the door.
“If you haven’t eaten dinner already, would you like to run over to Franco’s and grab a pizza? Or just join me for a beer?” Ben asked after they’d exchanged hellos.
She hesitated. Had she forgotten to eat dinner? A growl from her stomach answered the question.
“Sounds great.” She glanced down at her camisole and pajama pants. “Give me a minute to change.” Without waiting for an answer, she closed the door in his face—and locked it.
After she threw on jeans and a comfy blouse, she popped into the bathroom. Once again, Ben had seen her makeupless. Should she stay that way? Maybe perfume and lip gloss wouldn’t be going too far. Before she could change her mind, she dabbed and swiped. A quick brush of her hair, and she was ready.
As Ben escorted her to the parking garage, her insides quivered with hyperawareness. His musky cologne tickled her nose, and his size made her feel protected. Silly really. It’d been ages since she’d allowed herself a date, and this would hardly qualify. They were just two people who needed a late dinner.
When he led the way to a dark blue BMW sports car, her eyes widened. “Nice wheels.”
“It gets me where I need to go,” he said modestly. But when he revved up the engine, he revealed his pride in the car.
Fifteen minutes later, they settled at a window table in the pizzeria on Orange Avenue, the main drag of the small town of Coronado. Mouthwatering aromas filled the air. Dozens of empty Chianti bottles hung from the low ceiling, and a multitude of candles created a cozy, grotto ambiance. At eight o’clock on a Monday, few customers remained.
They ordered a large pizza and a pitcher of beer and were soon consuming both with gusto.
“Do you trust me enough yet to tell me your full name?” Ben asked out of the blue.
Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth with a slice of pizza. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. You definitely aren’t. It isn’t an accident that you haven’t mentioned your last name.” Ben studied her over the rim of his glass.
Busted. “No biggie. Amber Jollett. Glad to meet you,” she said, wiping her greasy right hand on a napkin before extending it across the table.
“Better. Now tell me what or who has you so spooked.”
Chapter 5
From the first moment their gazes had connected Friday night, Ben had been entranced by the doe-like quality of her huge brown eyes. Now they widened, and she froze like a deer in headlights. He would’ve laughed if she hadn’t looked so freaked.
After several beats, she yanked her hand back. “Is this part of your FBI shtick?”
His laugh broke loose. “FBI shtick? Is there such a thing?”
“Yeah, well, a comment like that is supposed to be funny, right?”
The last chuckle died away. “Not at all. Everything from your handling of Gary to having an extra lock on your door—yeah, I heard the click—says you’ve had a bad experience with a man or men. Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged her.
She stared at him and gulped. Stiffly, she wiped her mouth with the napkin. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Look, I just want to help. If some guy’s hassling you, tell me.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your help, Ben. Everything’s fine.”
The defiance in her voice told him nothing was fine. But he saw no sense in pushing the issue. If she didn’t want to confide in him, so be it. “Okay, then, finish your dinner. Please.”
For a moment, she looked like she would argue, but she finally picked up the slice and took another bite.
“How’s the job security?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t another dead-end topic.
Amber released a long sigh. “Sketchy, at best. I… I think…” She paused before clamping her mouth shut.
Well, hell. She’d already told him she might be laid off, so what was the big deal?
“How’s your job?” she asked, offering him a conciliatory smile.
He studied her a moment. “Frustrating.”
“Tough case?”
“Yeah. Especially the human side of it.”
“Can you talk about it?”
He shook his head.
“Aren’t we a pair?” She huffed and angled her head toward the window. “I’ve never seen the Hotel del Coronado at night. It’s beautiful all lit up. So majestic. And magical, like a fairy tale.”
“Have you ever been inside?” Taking a swig of beer, he admired the view with her.
When Amber didn’t respond, he turned and saw her face blanch. He followed her frozen gaze to a point across the street, to a man standing in the shadows of the closed shops. As if sensing them watching, he pulled the hood of his gray sweatshirt tighter around his head and hurried up the street.
Ben reached across the table and touched her arm. “Amber?”
She jumped. Blinking, she stared at him. “What?”
“You know that guy?”
She continued to blink and breathe hard. “No. I-I don’t think so. Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
After paying the bill, he ushered her outside. She glanced up and down the street before walking with him to the car. As they neared the Beemer, he noticed a piece of paper held down by a windshield wiper.
* * *
When Amber spotted the paper, dread speared through her. She almost stalled, but she forced her feet to keep walking. She’d convinced herself that the man in the gray hoodie couldn’t be Jeremy, but notes on windshields were one of his favorite terrorizing tactics. She wanted to yank it from under the wiper before Ben was witness to her horrible secret.
But he reached the paper first.
He glanced at it briefly before holding it out to her. “Next time I need a facial, I’ll know where to go.”
She snatched the paper from his hand: an ad for a local day spa. A cry of relief lodged in her throat.
Holding her door open, Ben gazed at her, puzzled. Again. Well, this would probably be the last time he asked her out. Once more, her past had screwed up her present. Even if Jeremy wasn’t physically here, the specter of her predator haunted her. The paranoia he instilled colored her whole world. Would it never end?
She didn’t even try to make polite conversation on the drive back to the apartment complex. What was the use?
After thanking Ben for dinner, she marched across the dimly lit courtyard, her hand gripping the pistol in her purse. As always, she put her ear to the door to listen and then inspected for marks on the doorjamb before entering. Carefully opening the door, she surveyed the room. Everything seemed to be in order.
Everything except her life.
No longer interested in doing more research on surrogate mother fees, she relocked t
he door, checked the secured windows, and headed to the bedroom. After tucking the gun under her pillow, she lay for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Tears ran down the sides of her face. She hadn’t cried in a long time. But tonight was tear-worthy.
* * *
“What’d you find, Dillon?” Ben stood at the head of the conference room table at nine o’clock Tuesday morning.
“Both the Carlsbad and Oceanside locations had activity last night. Carlsbad was the busier of the two. Plenty of johns at both sites though. I uploaded the pictures this morning.”
“Did you see any of the women?”
“Not one. I’d guess each house had three or four bedrooms, so probably at least that many hookers inside.”
“Guards?”
“Four armed guards, both places. Big mothers too. Seemed like overkill until I saw a fight break out in the front yard in Carlsbad. Booze and testosterone—a dangerous combination.”
“Good work. How about you, Staci?”
“One of the National City sites wasn’t open for business last night. But I was able to see inside, and the place is still furnished. Maybe it was just their night off.”
“I don’t think H worries much about labor laws.”
“True. Anyway, it didn’t look abandoned. They’ll probably be back. The other National City location was so busy they had johns waiting outside.”
“Jesus. What about Chula Vista?”
She shrugged. “I saw only four customers during the hour I watched.”
“But you’re sure it wasn’t just four friends visiting someone.”
“Uh, no. An armed guard dragged one of them out of the house while he was still half-naked. The bottom half.”
“Nope, not your average visitor,” Dillon said, shaking his head.
“But definitely my best picture. Took a bunch and uploaded them late last night,” Staci said.
“Any of the women visible?” Ben asked.
“Only barely through the windows. Tried a couple shots, but they didn’t turn out clear enough for ID.”
Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) Page 4