Draw Blood

by Cynthia Rayne

  “Who are you?” He froze, breathing hard, his back still toward her. “What do you want with me?”

  “Are you Diego?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Turn around, nice and slow. Any sudden movements and my next shot won’t miss you.”

  He turned, inch by inch, and faced her.

  “Let’s try this again, are you Diego? Yes or no.”

  The man was in his early twenties with dark hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and light brown skin. He wore a pair of jeans and a muscle shirt. His arms were swirled with black ink, a collection of tribal tattoos.

  And then the asswipe tried to dart past her, so Aggie kicked him right in the family jewels.

  He grunted.

  “She shoots and scores!” Aggie had the powerful legs of a dancer. Who said ballerinas are dainty and wispy? She could support her whole body weight on her toes.

  “Fuck!” Clutching his balls, he doubled over.

  She hissed in mock sympathy. “Ouch, that looks like it hurts. Does it?”

  “Yes, you bitch.” He spoke with a slight accent.

  “Actually, my name’s Aggie, and you must be Diego, or you would’ve denied it earlier.”

  “Why the hell did you—” His groan swallowed the rest of the sentence.

  “Consider yourself lucky. I would’ve shot you, but I might’ve hit something more important, and I need information.” Aggie felt better already. They’d get this bastard to tell them where he’d stashed the girls, and she’d get them home by suppertime.

  “Did you catch him?” Ten appeared in the doorway, weapon raised. “He rabbited as soon as I walked in the door.”

  “Yeah. What took you so long?”

  “I would’ve been here sooner, but I had to clear the place, in case we had any shooters hidin’ in the corners.”

  She slapped the man on the back. “Meet Diego.”

  He leaned against the doorframe. “Diego, it’s nice to meet you, we’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day.”

  “Come on, let’s have a chat about the ethics of kidnappin’ other people’s children.” She shoved him toward Ten.

  Ten patted him down and found a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He threw it in the bushes. Once inside, they pushed his ass down on the couch.

  “Start talkin’,” Ten ordered.

  Diego gave a slight shake of his head.

  As he hemmed and hawed, Aggie got a better look at the place.

  The apartment was just as crappy inside as it was out—dingy walls, about a week’s worth of dirty dishes in the sink, and there was a smell, too. It was a cross between rotten eggs and day-old roadkill.

  She shuddered. “Okay, you’re gonna tell us where Luna and Maria are and then I’m getting’ out of here before I catch a disease. And here’s a suggestion, why don’t you give this place a decent scrub after we go?”

  “This isn’t my place, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Aggie clenched her fists. “Don’t lie to me. You took them from their beds.”

  “What if I did?” Diego raised his chin. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it? You aren’t cops.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “I don’t see any warrants, and you didn’t knock on the door and announce yourself before you entered.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as though proud of his conclusions. “Besides, I don’t have the kids anymore.”

  “Then where the fuck are they?” Ten asked.

  “I don’t—”

  “Cut the bullshit, and you’d better talk fast.” His jaw clenched, and he had a death grip on the barrel of the gun. “I’m losin’ patience with you by the second and my trigger finger is getting’ awful twitchy.”

  Even though it was a cool spring day, sweat beaded on his temples. His cheeks had hollowed, and his breathing was harsh and fast. For a moment, she feared he’d paint the walls with this guy’s brains.

  She swallowed.

  Any second now, Ten could lose it, and they’d be out of leads. Aggie wanted to tell him to calm down, but she doubted it would help matters.

  “I’d start talkin’ before my friend goes all Quentin Tarantino on you.”

  Diego swore in Spanish. “I sold them.”

  Her stomach tightened. He sold the little girls like they were livestock?

  “And who bought them?” Ten asked.

  Diego sneered. “Santiago Suarez. Have you heard of him?”

  A cold, wet chill dripped down her spine.

  Santiago was infamous, and like Diego, he worked both sides of the border. Only, he wasn’t a low-level thug. He was very well-connected with the mafia, cartels, and he reportedly even had a few federal agents in his pocket.

  Reportedly, Santiago had a reputation for human trafficking, procuring people for high-end perverts, the kind who had money to burn and lusts that were against the law. He was also wanted by the FBI and there was a reward offered for information leading to his capture.

  This had gone from awful, to a shit storm of epic proportions in a matter of seconds.

  “What’s he gonna do with them?” Aggie asked.

  “What do you think? Two sweet little sisters, like that?” He leered. “Some men would pay anythin’ to own them.”

  This time, Ten pressed the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger back.

  She held her breath.

  Diego closed his eyes and his voice shook a bit when he spoke. “If you kill me, Santiago will come after you.”

  “Why? Because he gives a crap about his flunkies?” Aggie didn’t buy it. A man like Santiago only cared about one thing, money.

  “Santiago isn’t my boss.”

  “Yeah?” Ten dragged the barrel along the side of his face. “Then who is he to you? Your boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “I think you’re bluffin’.”

  He winced. “Don’t shoot. I heard about something.”

  “Care to elaborate?” Aggie asked.

  “Supposedly, there’s an event, three days from now.”

  “What kind of event?” Ten’s head jerked to the side. “Spit it out, son, we ain’t got all damn day.”

  “An auction and the buyers are from all over the world. It should be a big deal—women and children for sale, quality stock, not the dregs.”

  Aggie thought she was going to be sick. She hadn’t counted on something so depraved, or this massive. This wasn’t only about two missing girls. There might be dozens of people in need of rescuing.

  I’m out of my league. This was definitely a job for the FBI, and yet she couldn’t go to them, not without Sofia and Alejandro on board.

  “How many people does he have?”

  “I don’t know. I procure the merchandise and don’t ask questions. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it. Santiago protects his property.”

  “Property? They’re children, not animals.” Aggie felt like kicking him in the balls again.

  “Stand up.” Ten stepped back and put the gun away.

  Diego frowned. “Why?”

  “Do it.”

  “If anything happens to me, Santiago will find out.” Thrusting out his chest, Diego got to his feet, going toe to toe with Ten.

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that. How much did you get for them?”

  Since he’d put the weapon away, Aggie thought the tension in the room might dissipate, but it ratcheted up another hundred points instead.

  “Five hundred a piece.” He sneered. “It’s the wholesale price.”

  So that’s the going rate for a human being. It didn’t seem like very much money. Somehow, she doubted Santiago would sell his victims so cheaply.

  “And where’s this auction at?”

  “No clue.”

  “You tellin’ me the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.” Ten grabbed him by the neck and snapped it with a revolting crunch of bone and cartilage.

  Aggie screa
med as the man plunged head first to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  Raising her gun, she backed away from Ten.

  This wasn’t the first body she’d seen. Her first month on the job, when she was working a case in Abilene, she’d told a wife where her cheating husband met up with his side piece and the woman had shown up at the motel with a twelve gauge while Aggie had been taking photos. That scene had been much uglier than this one—blood and brain matter everywhere.

  “You realize this is the second time in two days you’ve held me at gunpoint.” He lifted his hands.

  “You just killed somebody!” When she’d invited Ten along on this case, she hadn’t counted on him going all vigilante.

  “Yes, I killed a kidnapper who sold two children into slavery. Problem?”

  When he put it like that, she felt a little better about Diego’s demise, but Aggie had another concern.

  “What if he could’ve led us to Santiago?”

  “He wouldn’t have been able to. Santiago wouldn’t tell his business to some low-level punk.”

  And if they’d left Diego alone, he might’ve told Santiago what they were up to. Yet another point in Ten’s favor.

  “Still, we should’ve—”

  “I thought this was under the table and we weren’t involvin’ the Feds.”

  “We aren’t.”

  “Then I had to take care of Diego because tomorrow he’d snatch somebody else’s kid or run his big fat mouth and then we’d lose the element of surprise.”

  She lowered the gun. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Makin’ sense. You murdered this guy, and here I am, agreein’ with you.”

  Since her mother died, Aggie hadn’t been the same person. She was impulsive, reckless even, and apparently, homicide, under a certain set of circumstances, wasn’t off the table anymore.

  How fucked up am I? Well, not as much as Ten. Yet.

  “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “No, but it was justified.”

  Evidently, killing Diego had been some kind of tension release because he seemed calmer, more together.

  “It’s difficult to tell with you, but I think you enjoyed it.”

  “Right you are.” He kicked Diego’s corpse. “This piece of crap deserves to be six feet under.”

  “Okay, I ain’t gonna cry over this asshole, but you can’t go around droppin’ bodies.”

  “Why?”

  “Because!” She glanced around the apartment. “We need to scrub this place down, right? Make sure our fingerprints aren’t everywhere?”

  All of those CSI episodes she’d watched flooded through her head and she got increasingly paranoid.

  Oh, God. Did I touch the door handle? What about the wall? They needed bleach and some rags, and gloves, too.

  “You haven’t done this before, huh?”

  “Meaning you have?” Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, he’s killed someone before.

  “Yeah.” He peered at her. “You’re losin’ it?”

  “Yeah, a little bit.”

  “Look, I’m gonna level with you. I’m a mobster, just like you thought, so this ain’t my first rodeo.”

  “You’re a mobster.” She closed her eyes. This was much easier to deal with when his mafia ties had been hypothetical. “Yeah, I can see it. So, you’re a bad guy, too?”

  “Like him?” Ten pointed to Diego. “Fuck no. I’ve got standards and a code I live by. Yeah, I break the law, but I don’t sell children.”

  Fantastic. A moral mobster. “Got it. So what do we do?” She didn’t want to go to jail.

  “That all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On you. Are you gonna tell the cops?”

  Aggie ran a scenario in her head. She imagined telling them the whole long drawn out story and the felonies kept adding up—assault, failure to report a crime, accessory to murder.

  She gulped. “If I did, would I live very long?”

  He seemed stricken. “I would never hurt you, under any circumstances.”

  Aggie sighed. “Weirdly enough, I believe you.”

  “You should. I mean every word of it.” He gestured to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They headed out to his SUV and hopped in. Ten took off down the road, leaving the body behind like garbage. Aggie tried not to freak out about it.

  “They ain’t got the money for forensics in this podunk town. And I’m bettin’ Diego’s got a rap sheet as long as my right arm, so they’ll figure one of his buddies did him in. The cops won’t work too hard.” He grinned. “Besides, I didn’t leave a bullet behind for them to run through ballistics.”

  “How did you do that?” She subconsciously touched her own neck.

  Ten shrugged. “It’s a Special Forces trick.”

  “You were in the Special Forces?”

  “For a time.”

  Like always, his answer was frustratingly short and non-specific. Aggie wanted to grab Ten by the lapels and shake him until some answers fell out.

  Still, it was an impressive credential, and it explained his elusive nature. Commandos were known for being cagey, even after their tour of duty was over.

  And that’s when her phone rang. Aggie immediately recognized the number—it was Sofia.

  “Did you find them?” Sofia asked.

  “No, but I know who has your daughters.” Aggie winced, wishing she didn’t have to break the bad news. “Santiago.” There was a burst of rapid-fire Spanish and then a wail.

  Evidently, they’d heard of him. It wasn’t surprising since he was infamous.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Fernandez, I’m gonna get Luna and Maria back, I promise.” At least I’m gonna give it a shot.

  After they spoke for a few minutes, Aggie hung up and tucked the phone into her pocket.

  “Think we can locate Santiago on our own?”

  “Sure, but gettin’ the girls back safe is gonna be the hard part.” He cleared his throat. “We need to talk this out, so you’re havin’ dinner with me this evening.”

  “It’s customary to ask a person, not make a demand.”

  “Fine. Will you have dinner with me? We can plan our next step.”

  Was this a date? Or a meeting? She wasn’t sure.

  “Yes.” Why not? “But first, I got some things to take care of.”

  Aggie had to tell Polly what went down, minus a few key details, and she had a standing appointment at the cemetery to keep.

  “How does 7 o’clock sound? Meet me at Poison Fruit?”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter Six

  “What do you know about Santiago Suarez?”

  After Ten had dropped Aggie off outside the bakery, he’d gone to Jumbles.

  The place was empty at the moment. The store got a lot more traffic on the weekends, so it wasn’t unusual.

  Ten used the lull in traffic to his advantage. The old man had to know something, Ten was sure of it.

  “Why do you want to know?” Mossy stood behind the front counter, paging through a ledger.

  “He and I got a piece of business to discuss.”

  “What kind?”

  “It’s on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

  “And yet you expect me to be an open book with you?”

  “I thought you might know a thin’ or two from your years working with the outfit and you’d be willin’ to share it with me.” He tugged at his tie. “Since were colleagues and all.” Asking for favors made him nervous.

  Mossy huffed. “Whatcha wanna know?”

  “Anythin’ you might consider useful.”

  He strolled to the front door and turned the welcome sign over, before switching off the lights. Ten had a feeling the story was a doozy.

  “Fine.” He rubbed his jaw, and the whiskers made a raspy, scratching sound. “Look, I’ve done some shitty things in my day, but that
boy puts me to shame. If you want my advice, you’ll steer clear of him.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t.”

  Ten couldn’t leave those children at the mercy of a monster. If someone had come for him all those years ago, his life might’ve turned out very differently. Ten would do everything in his power to keep those girls from heading down the same path.

  He’d never met them, had no connection to the family, but he still felt responsible. Maybe because he had the ability to do something, the skill set necessary to free them. He couldn’t turn his back on Luna and Maria.

  If he did, their angelic little faces would haunt him the rest of his days—Ten knew that from experience.

  When Ten had been in the Special Forces, they’d attended a slave auction in Libya, where young men and women were sold as farm labor or sex slaves for the equivalent of $400. They’d been in the country chasing down a terrorist who was a buyer. They were under strict orders to observe, not intervene, and it had made him sick.

  Sometimes, he had nightmares about that night.

  This auction would be much fancier, of course, but equally horrific.

  He had no doubt the slaves offered up would be special in some way, attractive women destined for upscale foreign brothels. Or very young children like Luna and Maria who’d probably end up in a private collection. Most likely with a rich pedophile who’d keep them until they “aged out” and then he’d sell them to a new owner. It’s what had happened to him.

  Mossy cleared his throat. “A few years back, the outfit had me down in Mexico, searchin’ for a rat.”

  The mafia went after people willing to offer information to law enforcement and dealt with them harshly. Ten had taken care of a few of those folks, too.

  “Anyway, Santiago was just startin’ out, and evidently he got wind of a police raid on a brothel he owned in Mexico.” Mossy rubbed his hands together as though trying to wash them. “He killed all the girls so they couldn’t testify against him, every single one. The youngest couldn’t have been more than twelve.” He shook his head.

  “And they didn’t catch him?”

  “No, he’d made his way to San Antonio and stayed there until the heat died down, from what I heard. Besides, nobody gets all worked up about dead hookers.”

  Ten hated to admit it, but Mossy had a point. Like it or not, people placed value judgments on how much a person’s life was worth.