What was I doing, thinking about our relationship at a time like this? I’d better start doing what I did best—catching the bad guys. Or in this case, the bad girls.
I was dropped off a few blocks away from Margret Ciao’s house. Trash littered the small road, but the shady palm trees lining the sidewalk made it cool and comfortable. The houses weren’t nice by a long shot, but they weren’t shacks, either.
Paulo and two other officers were in a small, unmarked car around the corner. Solomon was on the street, dressed like a homeless wanderer. He didn’t have access to the wire feed, so he’d be the eyes. I suspected he was there just to be close to me in case anything happened.
I started knocking on doors a block away from her house. I pretended to be a missionary trying to raise money for a children’s shelter. The police had some flyers made up and I handed them out to seem legit, just in case she was a peep-out-the-window kind of woman.
Almost everyone I talked to gave me something. I promised myself I’d get the money in the right hands. Their generosity humbled me because everyone who gave me money looked as if they could really use it themselves.
I was soon at the rickety door of Margret Caio’s small house. The door’s glass window was broken and covered with black paper. I knocked and then quickly stopped. The door shuddered on the hinges, and I feared I might take it down if I knocked again.
An old lady swung the door wide open. A threadbare floral muumuu hung around her fragile body, cinched with a leather woven belt that looked handmade, and she wore black leather boots that didn’t really complement the outfit. Her face was caked with foundation and green eye shadow was smeared over her eyelids. She looked up at me and a smile cracked her face.
I smiled back. “Hello, I’m with the West End Children’s Shelter. I was wondering if I could talk to you about what we’re doing to help out the local homeless children.” I tried to use my sweetest voice without sounding too cheesy.
She looked at me over the top of her glasses, and her hand shook a little as she took the flyer. She had the whitest hair I’d ever seen. It was pulled back in a French braid.
“Come in, dear. Standing in the door is bad luck.” I relaxed my stance and stepped inside. “Do you look after children with no families, or all homeless ones you find?” Her English was good. I didn’t even hear an accent.
“We accept kids who are orphaned and also teens having trouble with the law—drugs and gangs.”
Her expression turned wistful, as if thinking of a happy memory. “We’ve been having so much trouble with gangs lately. Sit down, dear.” She shuffled to a small kitchen and I sat down on an uncomfortable wool sofa that smelled like Lysol. Every inch of the wall was covered in framed cross-stitch. From the traditional “Home Sweet Home” sampler, to intricate landscapes, to Betty Boop, to quotes from the Bible. It was like a museum for cross-stitchers.
“Tea?” she called from the kitchen.
“Yes, please.” I started to relax and scanned the room for pictures or some clue to the connection she had with the Blondes. I suddenly felt a bit overwhelmed. Reggi might have lied and this could all be a wild goose chase. And if it was, I would have a lot of people none too happy with me.
“Here you go, dear.” Margret handed me a small teacup. “Now, tell me about this program you’re working with. Or you can just tell me the real reason you’re here.”
My pulse kicked up a notch. She was a sharp cookie. “It’s Margret, right?” I took a big sip of tea. It was sweet—too sweet—but I gulped it down.
She nodded.
“I’m here because I ran into someone you may know, and I was worried about her. Do you know a girl named Emilia Lopes?”
“Are you with the police? You’re American—what do you want with Emilia?”
“No, I’m here as a friend, nothing more. She’s in trouble.”
The old lady smiled. I shifted in my seat.
“Serious trouble. I need to talk to her. I want to help.”
Margret took a lump of sugar from a small glass dish on the coffee table and put it in her tea. “Ah, yes. We love it when Americans help us. Oh, wait—” She shot me a pert look. “We’re both Americans, aren’t we?”
What should I say to that? The way her eyes were lit up and always smiling, while her body language was tense, made me feel strange. Did she want to help?
She continued. “I was her teacher in the sixth grade. Taught all of them before they got mixed up in that gang.”
“The Blondes?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin.
Why was she, out of everyone, admitting to knowing them? She must have something on top of me—I just couldn’t see it. Her ease and confidence set me on the edge of my seat. I eyed the door. It wouldn’t take much force for me to barge out of here if I needed to. But until she made a move, I’d listen and get as much information as I could. She appeared to love talking.
“Emilia’s a good kid, but scared. Scared people do bad things.”
Something thumped in the next room. I turned just as the door opened and the girl from the motorcycle security camera stepped in. Margret set her teacup down.
I stood, but my legs wobbled. What was happening? The ground shook under me and my ankles gave way. I fell to the ground, scraping my hip against the coffee table. Although my mind was still sharp, my eyelids grew heavy and they closed before I could stop them. It was as if my body had completely shut down while my mind remained alert. A perfect nightmare.
I heard Margret get up and stand over me. “Two things you should know about this place,” she said. “One, never drink anything you didn’t see poured in front of you. Two, in the slums we live together, we die together, and we’re willing to take a bullet—or even kill someone—for one of ours.”
“I’ll get her off your hands, Avó. I’ll take her—”
Margret’s voice was harsh. “Shush, shush. She can hear everything. She’s just paralyzed.”
I knew what was about to happen. Internally, I braced myself. Emilia brought a gun butt down on the top of my head. Darkness descended and I tried to fight against it, but I couldn’t move. Then something metal knocked against my head. Searing pain filled my thoughts, and then … nothing.
MY HEAD POUNDED. ROUGH cloth was pulled over my face. Blended colors and lights filtered through the bag or blindfold, but nothing clear. I was in the trunk of a vehicle, with my hands tied behind me. The car smelled like vinegar-based cleaner and baking soda. It had an acrid tang of metal.
Then I remembered the hit on the head. How long had I been out? I would have one big-time migraine in the morning. It felt like a beast in my skull was trying to claw itself out.
The vehicle turned and the road got bumpy, and I smelled the unmistakable odor of dry dirt. I breathed in dust through my nose and sneezed. My hands were bound behind me with what felt like zip ties and my mouth was gagged. I was in pain, sweating, and tied up. So yeah, I was in one heckuva tight spot, to put it lightly.
We stopped after what felt like a few more miles, but I didn’t know because I couldn’t tell how fast we were going. A door opened and closed and I felt the dark side of me start to move. It was like a calm fog rolling through me, and I let it take over.
Heels clicked on pavement, moving away from the car. This was my chance.
First, I tried the backseat. Kicking off my shoes, I examined the back of the trunk, feeling nothing but smooth plastic. Hauling back, I kicked it. The thud reverberated through the little space. It was a solid box—no outlet to the backseat. I cursed whoever built this model.
Next, I tried the weak spot—the lock. Slipping my shoes back on, I kicked the middle of the trunk lid over and over again with both feet. My face felt hot and sweat poured down my back. Someone banged on the lid of the trunk and I stopped.
The trunk opened. Someone grabbed my shoulder and heaved me up. I didn’t fight—my feet were free and I wanted them to stay that way.
“Get up, and don’t try anythin
g funny.” She spoke in a low voice, as if to sound tough. Was that Emilia?
A moment later, whatever covered my head was yanked off. I blinked in the sunlight and saw Emilia. She took my arm and guided me toward the warehouse.
My hands were still tied behind me, but at least I could see. I still had the wire on me, so I wasn’t afraid for my life. This would go one way or another, but I knew I had what it took to come out all right. At least, that was the pep talk I gave myself as she walked me toward a large old structure.
I didn’t see any other buildings around, and only two cars were parked on the side lot. The place looked nondescript. I could see how useful it’d be as a hideout—there was a quick exit to the freeway, and quick escape routes in almost every other direction. If trouble came, they could split, fast.
Emilia whispered forcefully at my side. “You had to keep pushing. Why didn’t you just leave me alone?”
The girl’s eyes were erratic and scared. Why was she so scared? She was the one with the gun tucked in the back of her jeans.
“Look, I can help you. Just talk to me. Let me go and we’ll talk to the FBI. I can get you a deal. You don’t have to do this.”
She turned and shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t help me. No one can beat her.”
THE FEELING OF BEING in total control, though on the outside it seemed like I was the one in danger, reminded me of when I was waiting for Williams. It was addicting. This darkness I felt was like a drug, making me see, smell, and hear things better.
Emilia took me inside, past an open area filled with crates and boxes. Hundreds of them were stacked, with long roller tables for sorting. It was a packing and shipping area.
In the corner was a small office and I spotted a few rooms to the right—maybe bedrooms or a bathroom. A tiny blonde girl came out from one of the rooms and stared at me. She wore high heels and was dressed like one of the Real Housewives of L.A. I was looking at one of the Blondes.
“Emilia, what are you doing? Who is she?”
Emilia pulled me closer as if I was some sort of prize she didn’t want to hand over. “Vitoria found her snooping and asking questions. I guess she found Avó.”
The small woman rushed into the office in the far corner and Emilia pushed me into a chair. “Stay put and keep quiet.”
I nodded, then went still. Carefully, when Emilia wasn’t looking, I noted all the exits. And waited. I should have been scared, but I felt calm and ready for whatever was about to happen.
A door slammed and three women rushed around the corner. I pegged the tallest one as the leader, Vitoria. She wore black cargo pants and a tank top. She was very pretty, but her eyes looked dead, as if she were one of those replica dolls—they looked real, but had no spirit.
“Vitoria, what are you thinking?” a dark-skinned girl asked. “Who is this and why did you bring her here?” She looked like the most athletic and militant out of them all.
Emilia shrank back and stood next to me.
Vitoria took out a cigarette holder. She opened it with a click, calmly tapped one out, snapped her lighter, and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. Her crew shifted, uncomfortable. I knew what she was doing. She was changing the atmosphere—making it hers, not theirs.
“This snowflake was at Avó’s house asking questions. She knows who Emilia is. I think she’s a cop or something. Avó said we should kill her.”
The skin on my arms tingled with excitement.
Vitoria smoked as the other two girls watched, standing a few feet behind their leader. No matter what this gang had started as—a sisterhood or a way out—it had obviously developed into a one-girl show. Except for the dark-skinned one, these girls looked anxious and afraid. Afraid of Vitoria.
Vitoria finished her smoke and threw it on the ground, then pressed it with her boot. “How would she know who you are, Emilia? Did you do something? Something stupid?”
Emilia looked at the ground. The small blonde behind Vitoria cleared her throat. “She went back to the hotel to give the husband his wife’s necklace. She got chased by some woman—I’m guessing this is her.”
Emilia gasped. “Lili, you promised.” Her voice cracked and I knew this would get ugly fast.
Lili shrugged and looked down at her feet. Emilia, on the verge of tears, bit her lower lip to keep from crying. I wanted to help her—I knew that much. I just didn’t think I could say anything in her favor, so I kept quiet. The next time we were alone, I’d use all my wiles and convince her to leave with me. She had to. I had a bad feeling about her lifespan if she stayed with these chicks.
Vitoria turned to Lili. “Check outside—make sure we weren’t followed. Mia, check the American slut for a wire.”
Lili ran to the front door and disappeared outside and Mia walked toward me. My heart began to pound. I had a small wire running around my ribcage and up my bra. If she checked my shirt, she would see it. My former excitement turned to fear for the first time.
I knew it was a risk, but I was dead no matter what. I had to stall and let the people on the other end know it was going down… now. “We know who you are. I’m Sarah Steele, FBI.”
Vitoria moved past Mia and tore my shirt open. Buttons ripped off and scattered across the floor. Gasping, Emilia took a step back and Vitoria grabbed the small wire and yanked it hard. I winced as the cord stung my skin when it broke free.
Lili walked back in the door and shook her head. Vitoria gave her a nod and held the broken wire in front of Emilia’s face.
“You stupid little brat.” I didn’t even see the gun. One second, Vitoria had the wire in her hand, and the next, she had a Glock pressed to Emilia’s forehead. The report made my ears ring—someone screamed. Blood sprayed my face. Emilia’s head snapped back and she went down.
LILI WAS CRYING AND yelling at Vitoria. She held Emilia and rocked back and forth, cursing through her tears. Vitoria spit at me and then turned and walked back to the office. My head pounded. I had to do something and do it fast. If she would kill one of her own, I had no chance of survival.
Mia paced and tried to get Lili to stop crying, but nothing was working. Mia opened a can of beer from the fridge and held it to her forehead. “It’s her own fault.” She took a gulp of the beer. “She was always the weakest one.”
Lili groaned. She tried to wipe blood from her hands, but it was all over her. I wriggled my hands, trying to free them, but the bonds were too tight.
“She’s dead, Lili. It’s over. You need to calm down.” Mia tried to pull her from Emilia’s body, but Lili punched at Mia.
“You did this. You ratted on her and now she’s dead,” Mia said.
I had to convince Lili to leave. And take me with her. “You’ll all be dead if you don’t get out of here soon. Cops are already on their way.”
Mia stepped back and looked at me as if remembering I was there for the first time. Her face registered fear. “How much time do we have?”
“Ten minutes, maybe less.” I had no way of knowing, and as far as I knew, Solomon and the police had no idea where I was. “I can help you and Lili. Things don’t have to get worse. You don’t have to end up like Emilia.”
Mia looked down at Lili and the dead body of her friend. “Vitoria will take care of us—she always has.”
“Like she took care of Emilia? The police know your names; they’re interviewing your families as we speak. They’re moving in. Nowhere will be safe. They know what you look like. This is over, Mia. The best I can do is get you off easier for helping me.”
Lili sobbed and muttered something, but I didn’t understand what she was saying. I twisted my hands in the ropes, but couldn’t get them to loosen. I could get up and run, but with my hands tied, all I could do was run.
Why did I let them put a wire on me? I should have done this alone. The police, the FBI, Solomon—they made things more complicated. I knew in my gut that I should never have trusted the police and the whole wire thing. Every criminal moron on the planet knew to
check for a wire.
“How?” Lili asked.
I was getting through to her. I didn’t know if it was the bloody body in her arms or the realization that the police were coming. “If you help me take Vitoria in, they’ll let you off because you helped capture her.” I knew it was a lie, but this was not the time to be a saint. Not when these girls’ lives were on the line.
Lili seemed to consider this, but before she could make up her mind, Vitoria came out of her office, gun drawn. “What are you doing, Lili? Kill her.”
That was my exit line. Launching to my feet, I ran as fast as I could. My shoulders jerked back and forth, as it was awkward sprinting with my hands behind my back. A gun sounded and I heard something scream by my ear.
I DODGED BEHIND A row of crates and kept running toward the back of the building. Their footsteps sounded behind me. I wondered if it was just Vitoria or if Mia was coming after me too.
A shot rang out, and wood splintered the spot where my head had been a second before. I twisted left and saw a door at the end of a long hall. It didn’t look like it could hold up to much pressure, so I put my shoulder down and crashed through, falling in a mess of legs and broken wood.
Rolling, I arched my back and pushed myself up. Having my hands tied would get me killed.
I found myself facing a long canal and a dock. It was some sort of inlet. Farther down, it opened up to the sea. Other than some tall grass, there was nowhere to hide. Running around the building looking for an exit wouldn’t work, as there was a fence on each end. And even with my athletic abilities, I couldn’t climb a fence with no hands.
My lungs burned and I tried to calm my breathing. Two options: outrunning Vitoria, or hiding in the water from her. Since Vitoria had numerous vehicles to choose from, swimming would be the lesser of two evils. I ran down the dock and jumped over the side. The cold water shocked my system. I went all the way under. Struggling, I kicked my legs and broke the surface. I caught a glimpse of Vitoria clearing the broken door.
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 25