Visible Threat

by Cantore, Janice

  Jack put a hand on her back. “We’ll find her.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, and the warmth of his touch almost pushed her over the edge.

  What saved her was Ben, coming out of the station with a uniformed deputy. They were ready to go.

  And Brinna was ready not only to knock on doors, but to kick them open if the need arose.

  46

  MAGDA AWOKE to the aroma of coffee brewing and smiled, pleased that she should be so fortunate to have such a thoughtful husband. He’d left a half hour ago to take the twins to school but had ensured that Magda would awake to a fresh pot of coffee by setting the timer for her. That pleasant aroma and the love she felt for Anton made it easy to rise from slumber and to push thoughts of Simon and Demitri from her mind.

  She went to the kitchen and poured a cup. Fortified by a couple of sips, she carried the coffee with her to the bathroom. After showering and dressing, she took the empty cup back to the kitchen, refilled it, and turned on the TV to keep her company while she made herself breakfast. She was about to break an egg into a mixing bowl when the words the newsman spoke smacked into her mind.

  “. . . Rose Caruso, mother of a local police officer, has apparently been abducted, along with a young girl Officer Brinna Caruso saved from drowning in the flood control channel four days ago.”

  Magda dropped the whole egg into the bowl and turned toward the television screen. The news camera panned the front of a house bustling with police activity. This was too much of a coincidence. How many young girls were plucked alive from the flood control channel?

  She hugged her elbows and fought the growing dread in her stomach, struggling to remember what Simon had said. He’d told her he would handle it, that he had someone watching the hospital, waiting for the girl to be released. Had Simon found the girl and been stupid enough to not only grab her but to take this officer’s mother also?

  Transfixed, Magda watched the TV screen, listening to the police and their official statement. Photos of the police officer and her mother were flashed across the screen. Magda gasped. She’d seen both women before—they’d both been in her shop. The mother had visited several times, but the police officer—why, she’d come in just the other night.

  Feeling as if she were going to throw up, Magda rushed to the bathroom and splashed water on her face, not caring that it would destroy her freshly applied makeup. There was no escape now. If Simon had kidnapped the mother of a police officer—or worse, if Demitri did something to the woman—the authorities would not rest until they solved the crime.

  Magda had a lot more respect for American authorities than she did for Bulgarian authorities. Everything would be exposed. As much as she wanted Demitri stopped, this was a disaster. She knew that somehow, some way, she would be connected to this mess. A vision of being dragged out of her house in handcuffs in front of her children flashed through her head and she retched. All of the coffee she’d just ingested came back up, twice as bitter.

  As she wiped her mouth, a horrible realization dawned. She had to come clean; she had to tell the police what she knew or those two women would most certainly die.

  But first, she had to tell Anton.

  Glancing at the clock, she realized he’d be back soon. He’d be surprised because normally she was gone to work before he got back. But not today. And he’d be doubly surprised when she told him all about the vile things she’d been a part of for their entire married life. He was certain to see her as a monster, and that would be the end of their marriage.

  Tears fell freely as Magda’s fears grew. What if a never-ending nightmare was just beginning? Would she ever awake to a normal, happy life again?

  47

  HAWAIIAN GARDENS was a small bedroom community tucked in between Long Beach, Lakewood, and Cypress. The largest landmark in the community was a gaming casino. A sheriff’s deputy led Brinna and Jack through a maze of residential streets that were almost indistinguishable from what she might see in Long Beach. Besides Ben, a uniformed Long Beach unit was also in the caravan.

  Brinna shook her head as they passed tract home after tract home. “Why in the world would anyone consider a residential neighborhood the place to open a brothel?” she asked Jack.

  “I wondered about that as well,” Jack said. “According to Chuck, it’s a disturbing trend. The crooks are trying to shroud themselves in respectability. They figure cops are less likely to kick in doors in quiet neighborhoods. And they hope to attract a wider, more affluent clientele.”

  “You figure less dirtbags and more average joes visit brothels in suburbia?”

  Jack chuckled. “I don’t know about that. But it’s all about money. These creeps will try anything if they think it will increase revenue. Not even suburbia is safe. But it gets worse. Sometimes it’s not large scale. Sometimes it’s a wealthy person exploiting a maid or nanny; they keep the individual a virtual slave. Back East they’ve busted prominent people who’ve brought young kids here from places like Indonesia and kept them isolated in servitude in their mansions.”

  Brinna looked at Jack and all she could do was shake her head.

  The first two addresses were dead ends. They were rentals to college students who obviously liked to party and entertain, hence the nuisance complaints. They gave the group of officers typical young adult lip but were obviously not human traffickers. It was the third address that rang warning bells in Brinna’s head.

  “Look, Jack,” she said, grabbing his arm as they drew close enough to read the house numbers. “A white van.”

  Backed into the driveway was a white panel van. The front passenger windows were tinted dark—an illegally dark tint, Brinna noticed. There was no front license plate to run a records check on; she’d have to check around the rear of the van.

  “I see it,” Jack answered as he pulled to the curb and parked the car. By now it was early morning and the sun was competing with rain clouds for domination of the sky. People in the neighborhood were beginning to rise and start the day. One man on the way to his car paused to regard the police vehicles curiously.

  They followed the same routine as with the first two houses. Ben and the deputy would knock on the door while Jack and Brinna surveyed the outside, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might indicate the house was being used for illicit purposes. Brinna knew in this case the first thing she would do was run a check on the van’s license plate.

  The tract house itself looked like a perfect hideaway. A tall brick wall encircled the backyard, and dense shrubs hid the front windows. As Brinna walked toward the van, she noted that the rear windows were black, as if painted. She tried to look into the yard, but the view was blocked by more dense foliage. If the gate were open and the van moved farther up the driveway, no one from the street would be able to see who got in or out of the vehicle.

  “You here to tell these people to clean up their yard?”

  The voice startled Brinna, and she jumped, looking left. “What?”

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said. Standing on the neatly manicured lawn of the house next door, she peered at Brinna. She held a newspaper in her hand and wore a thick fleece robe.

  “The house is an eyesore,” she continued. “All the other neighbors take pains to keep their landscaping neat and clean looking. Not these people.” She waved her hand in disgust. “Yard is a jungle. I suppose I should be happy they at least mow the lawn in front, what little they have.”

  “Actually, we’re here regarding a nuisance complaint,” Brinna explained as she watched Ben and the deputy approach the front door. “Someone called to complain about excessive vehicular traffic coming and going from this house.”

  “That was me.” The woman nodded. “Don’t know what is going on in there, but on the weekends there’s a steady stream of men going in and out. All hours.”

  “Have you ever met the people who live here?”

  “No, I’ve only seen a couple of guys—one real big one. You know, he loo
ks like he could’ve played football. They’re foreign.”

  “Foreign?” Brinna’s heart jumped in her chest. Ben and the deputy had knocked on the front door, but as yet there had been no response.

  “They speak some other language. It’s not Spanish; I speak Spanish. I don’t know what it is. I’ve only heard them once or twice. They don’t make a habit of standing outside talking.”

  “Thanks. We’ll handle it.”

  “I hope so.” The woman gathered her robe tightly around her and turned and walked back into her house.

  Brinna wrote the van’s plate number on a piece of paper, stuffed it in her pocket, and headed for Ben. Not only did she want to hear what the residents of the house told the deputy; she also wanted to tell him what the neighbor had said. From her angle on the front door, she could see the deputy lean forward as if to speak to someone inside.

  “We’re here to ask a few questions,” Brinna heard him say. “Why don’t you come out and talk to us?”

  She couldn’t hear the response of the person inside the house.

  Ben stood on the other side of the door closest to Brinna. She knew the person inside would not be able to see Ben unless he or she stepped onto the small landing. When Brinna saw him pull his jacket back to uncover his gun, she tensed, reaching for her own weapon, a small automatic she carried in a fanny pack.

  “Open the door!” the deputy yelled suddenly, lunging forward.

  Brinna leaped toward the landing just as Ben and the deputy leaned into the door. She saw Jack sprinting toward the door from the other side of the house.

  “Get around back!” she yelled to the two uniformed Long Beach officers. She knew they’d heard but she didn’t wait to watch them move. She reached the front door just as Ben and the deputy forced it open. Someone shouted in a foreign language.

  And then a gunshot . . .

  Ben hit the ground half inside the door and half on the landing. The deputy retreated and took cover behind the doorpost, yanking out his radio and yelling, “Shots fired! Shots fired!” to his dispatch.

  Brinna stayed low and put a hand on Ben’s back. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I think he shot himself.” He rose to a knee and peered into the house. Brinna tried to do the same, but the interior was dark and shaded.

  “We should stand down and call SWAT,” Ben said. “We have officers at the rear; the scene is secure.”

  “I don’t agree,” Brinna hissed, hand tensing on her gun. “There could be another guy in here with a gun. Ivana said there were other girls being held. Their lives may be in danger.”

  “I agree with you,” the deputy said, nodding toward Brinna. “These guys might decide to kill anyone who could provide us with evidence.”

  Jack, on the other side of the door, next to the deputy, also nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to see any more dead girls.”

  “Then I’m in as well.” Ben stood and motioned the deputy in first.

  The deputy nodded and went in, moving immediately to the left. Ben followed to the right, with Jack and Brinna right behind.

  * * *

  Magda heard the garage door open. Anton was home. She got up from the couch to check her image in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy from crying. She knew that even if she wanted to, she could not keep the truth from her husband any longer. The faces of the two kidnapped women on television haunted her. No matter what, she couldn’t sit by and do nothing any longer. It was time to step up and be her sister’s keeper.

  48

  BY NOON THE HOUSE in Hawaiian Gardens teemed with all manner of law enforcement personnel. There had been only one dead man recovered, the male who opened the door to the deputy’s knock. He had, indeed, killed himself. After that, Brinna and the others found three padlocked bedrooms, each containing frightened young women. One bedroom held two women; the other two held four each. They were all young and of Eastern European descent.

  There was no sign of Ivana or Brinna’s mother.

  Chuck arrived with his forensic team. A short time later ICE pulled up with translators. All of the women were in the process of being interviewed. Brinna paced in frustration. None of the women spoke any more than broken English, so she was forced to rely on translation as each interview was finished.

  She cursed after reading the transcripts. Waiting patiently had accomplished nothing. Down to the last interview, none of the women knew anything. Their stories were the same as Ivana’s. They’d come to the US after being promised jobs by a man named Demitri. Once they arrived, they were forced into prostitution. All they knew of the US was the small bedroom they were imprisoned in. Two of the women knew Ivana, so that was at least confirmation that Ivana had run from this house. But none of the information the women shared would help locate Ivana and Rose now.

  “Hey, what do you say we go get something to eat?” Jack appeared at Brinna’s shoulder. “Chuck will clean this up. It’s his mess now.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Brinna crossed her arms, jaw tense.

  “Brinna, half the day is gone. I know you haven’t eaten anything. I’m starving; you must be also.”

  She blew out a breath and faced him, brows furrowed. “I can’t eat while I’m this worried about my mom. Jack, you know the odds of her still being alive decrease with each passing hour.” Her voice broke. She brought her fist to her mouth and sucked in a breath. Dread covered her like a shroud.

  Jack stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “You’re dead on your feet. You need a break, some food, and a separation from this.” His gaze held hers.

  Tears fell uncontrollably, and Brinna jerked away from him and wiped her face with the backs of her hands. She needed a few minutes and was thankful that Jack gave them to her. After she felt composed, she turned back to him.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Together they walked toward the car. “There’s certainly nothing more for us to learn here,” she said.

  * * *

  When the heavy door shut and locked them in, Ivana felt as though her throat were closing. The only light in the room was a dim bulb, no brighter than a child’s night-light. A chair, a beat-up table, and a small couch were the only furnishings. Though Ivana had sobbed the entire way here in the car, as she hugged her arms to her chest, closed her eyes, and threw her head back, the tears ran down her cheeks anew.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Caruso,” she sobbed. “This is all my fault.”

  Mrs. Caruso came behind Ivana, turned her around, and hugged her tight. “Oh, sweetheart, of course this is not your fault. You’ve been the victim in all of this.”

  As the older woman stroked her hair and held her as though she were a child, Ivana sobbed harder.

  After a while Ivana’s tears finally ran out. She wiped her face with a sleeve and looked up to see Mrs. Caruso regarding her with a soft, loving expression. There was no hint of fear.

  “Do you feel any better now that you’ve gotten all that out of your system?” Mrs. Caruso asked.

  Ivana shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m still frightened. And you’re not. You don’t know these men; you—”

  Mrs. Caruso shushed her and cupped her face in her hands. “Ivana, I have faith that we’ll be rescued. I don’t need to know these men. I know my daughter and the people she works with. They will find us.”

  “Oh, I wish I had such faith.” Ivana pulled away and glanced around the room. “This is the place I told you about, the place where Demitri brought us—Villie and me—when we first came to this country. He promised us so much, and here is where he told us it was all a lie.”

  “All the more reason you should know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are not the one at fault here. The evil is Demitri.” She put an arm around Ivana’s shoulders. “Now I’ve told you about my faith in God, and you’ve told me you’ve heard about him, yet you don’t trust him.”

  Together the two women sat down on the soiled couch.

  “How about you let me pray?” Mrs. Caruso continued. “It will give me a measure o
f peace, and maybe that will help you as well.”

  Ivana sniffled and nodded, already gaining strength from Rose Caruso’s closeness and her composure. Mrs. Caruso began her prayer and Ivana listened very carefully, hoping something in the words would infuse her with some of the strength and faith she felt emanating from the woman.

  49

  JACK AND BRINNA had just pulled into the parking lot of a Coco’s when her cell phone went off. She grabbed it, hoping it was good news about her mother. It was Maggie. Disappointment mixed with relief as she flipped the phone open.

  “Mags,” she breathed into the receiver.

  “Hey, Brin, I just heard about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you called. I thought you’d given up on me.” She could hear Maggie sigh.

  “I was mad at you. I needed time to think. It really bites what happened to Rick.” Maggie’s voice broke. “I can hardly look at his kids without choking up.” There was a pause.

  Brinna felt her own throat tighten again.

  “Anyway,” Maggie continued, “I realize it’s not your fault, and I can’t lose my best friend and my partner over this. Rick would have jumped into that water no matter what. That day, the ‘what’ just happened to be you.”

  “And you know I’d change it if I could.”

  “Yeah, but neither one of us can. So we just need to move on and make the best of what we have left.”

  “Are you with Rick now?”

  “No, his mom and dad flew in this morning. It’s all family now, which is probably best for the kids. I’ll check in with them from time to time, and they can always call me. Where are you at?”

  Brinna looked up, suddenly remembering where she was and who she was with. Jack sat quietly in the driver’s seat, watching her.