The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set

by Danielle Girard

  He moved toward her.

  She kept the gun aimed. “You were dead,” she called out. “You sent that letter to make me think you were dead.”

  His lips formed a tight line. “I had no choice.”

  “How about Ray? Was that a mistake, too?”

  He shook his head without answering.

  “Why did you come here?” Her chest deflated. “Just leave.”

  He motioned to the window. “I want to see him.”

  She didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. Everything and nothing.

  “That’s my son, isn’t it?”

  She forced herself away. A month ago, this scene would have been part of some dream. And now, it was all such a horrible nightmare.

  He took a step forward. “That’s why you look different. You had a baby.”

  She had wanted to find him. She went searching for him. Even gotten attacked, and here he was. Now she had no words to confront him. There was no way to work out what he’d done. She wanted him out. Gone. “Leave, Diego, or I swear I’ll get Homicide out here and have you brought in for Ray.”

  It was like he hadn’t heard her. His eyes were fixed on Nate’s window. “That’s my kid in there, isn’t it?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She forced it in, trying to build strength. “No. He’s not yours. He’s mine.”

  Diego pressed his hand to his stomach. “But, I’m his father.”

  “He doesn’t have a father.”

  Diego’s face fell, his eyes wide. “Please.”

  She walked back around the house toward the front door. “Leave.”

  Diego followed. “What’s his name?”

  “I said leave, Diego.”

  “I’ll tell you his name,” Diego said, his gaze landing on her with the force of a physical strike.

  She didn’t move.

  “I called Records and pretended to be from the insurance company.”

  She shook her head, tears on her face or maybe rain.

  The lines in his brow were carved deep with agony.

  She had to turn away.

  “That’s my son,” he said, barely a whisper. “His name is Nathaniel. My middle name, my father’s name.”

  The gun quivered in her palm. She waved it at him. “Don’t come back here. There’s nothing here for you.”

  He raised his hands and moved toward her. “I just want to see him once.” He slowed his movements. “I swear. One time, and I’ll go.”

  “He’s not your son. I don’t even know who you are.”

  Diego didn’t answer.

  “Don’t come back here.” She started to shut the door. “I’ll shoot next time. I swear I will.”

  She pushed inside and closed the door. Trembling, she sank to the floor and dropped the gun beside her. With her knees to her chest, she let go of all the emotion she’d been trying so hard to hold in.

  Chapter 13

  Everything about this thing had gone to absolute shit. All Diego wanted was to hold his son. A kid. He had a kid. A kid whose mother was going to shoot him. Not that he blamed her. He would have wanted him dead, too. Aside from being Special Ops, Cameron was also often loaned out as a specialist, which was a fancy name for the department’s sharpshooters. Three years in a row, she scored in the top five of the department’s sixty specialists. The shot she fired at the reservoir had missed him on purpose. There was no doubt that if he got near Nathaniel, she would shoot him for real. And all he kept thinking about was the feel of her full breasts against his back. What the hell had he done?

  With Benjamin dead, the deal was as good as blown. Damn, he wished she hadn’t seen him that night. It complicated everything. That noise coming from the car. It had taken him most of a day to realize that it was a baby. Then, the changes in her body. The math was easy. They’d been together for almost eighteen months before he’d gone undercover. Even nine months ago, it had been him. He’d felt a flash of terror that the baby was someone else’s.

  Not with Cameron, not a chance in hell. He had a kid. Jesus Christ. Nathaniel doesn’t have a father, she’d said, and it was like some part of him had been severed. Like she’d taken another shot at him, only this one had hit. He had a kid he’d never know. He had sworn that his family would stay together. Now he had left his kid the same way his own father had left his sister and mother in Mexico.

  He had to keep his resolve. He was doing what he had to do for Claudia. Something was wrong. It was days since he’d heard from her. He replayed their last conversation, scrutinizing every word for some clue.

  “Did you tape him?” he had asked.

  “No.”

  He had pressed her. “What happened?”

  “I think he saw me setting it up.”

  She’d cut the conversation short that day, promising to call him when it was safe. There had been no word. He waited, trying to plan how he would get her out of Mexico if her husband were on to them. He cursed himself for putting her in danger.

  And they had been so close. A few more weeks, they assured him. Yes, it had gone so much longer than he’d thought, but it would pay back tenfold. Claudia would be safe.

  He had forsaken Cameron when he’d made his choice. At the time, the assignment was for a few months at most. He knew it would be painful to believe he was dead, but at least she was safe.

  Even that thought did little to settle his mind. He wasn’t eating. He hadn’t slept more than an hour or two since that night. The safe house was cold and dank. The only heat came from an old boiler. He had to shut the gas valve on and off by hand because it leaked. He paced the small space and called Claudia’s number on the last disposable cell phone he had. No answer. The phone rang a double busy single like it had been disconnected. Two days of this.

  He tried not to imagine the worst and dialed the other number. Someone named Tom Jones who was to be available 24/7. Diego didn’t even know who the hell Tom Jones was. Certainly that wasn’t his real name. The players weren’t supposed to know each other. Which is why it was so weird when Benjamin called to meet him. Diego got Tom’s voicemail, a computerized voice. No name. No way he was leaving any damn message. Not after what Benjamin had told him.

  “They won’t need you,” Benjamin said. “With Vincente dead, they’ll be in charge, just like they want. Unless we can stop them.”

  It made no damn sense. Vincente wasn’t dead. It was Diego’s job to bring him in when the evidence was solid and Claudia was safe. He didn’t know enough about who the players were. Until he knew the tiers, he couldn’t act. He’d told Benjamin he was wrong. Damn, Benjamin had been so insistent.

  “You’re getting screwed, Ramirez,” Benjamin had said, drawing his gun. “How can you be so fucking blind? Vincente’s dead by now, and so are you.” Benjamin’s shot hit him square in the chest. Diego rubbed at the bruised rib he had to prove it. Without the Kevlar, Diego would be dead. Benjamin had taken aim again. What choice did he have but to shoot back?

  He dialed again. This time Tom answered. “Ramirez, that you?”

  “Who the fuck do you think it is?” Diego snapped. “I’ve been calling you for days. Almost a year to set this thing up, and Benjamin almost blew it.”

  “Calm down, okay?” Tom said.

  “He went nuts.”

  “You shouldn’t have shot him.”

  “He put a bullet into my vest. I wasn’t going to give him a second chance at a head shot.”

  “You should have controlled him.”

  “Fuck you,” Diego said. He paced, his shoes silent on the floor. Undercover cops didn’t pace and make noise. At least the ones who lived didn’t. That’s what they’d taught him, and he was good. Until now. Everything felt fucked up now. “I had no choice but to shoot.”

  There was no sound from the other end.

  Diego drew a measured breath. “Vincente’s going to want to know what happened to Benjamin. What the hell do I tell him?”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

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sp; “How can you say that? Vincente’s not going to let it go.”

  “Vincente’s not going to care about Benjamin anymore.”

  Diego halted. “Why?”

  Tom sighed. “Vincente’s dead.”

  Diego halted, a cold burning through him. He wanted to sit, but there was nowhere. He clenched the phone and made a noise that was barely a whisper. “What?”

  “Vincente was killed in crossfire.”

  Benjamin had known Vincente was dead. How had he known that? Jesus, he’d been right. Why hadn’t he said Vincente was dead already? “Killed in crossfire,” Diego repeated. Benjamin had known someone was going to take out Vincente.

  “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was bad luck. You can come in now. It’s safe.”

  It didn’t make sense. “When?” he asked.

  “The day before yesterday.”

  “The day before yesterday?” Diego repeated.

  “I found out last night.”

  It didn’t make sense. Benjamin had been dead six days. It wasn’t just bad luck that Vincente had been killed. They’d taken him out before Diego could gather the evidence. Benjamin’s voice echoed in his head. They won’t need you.

  “Do you have the money?”

  Diego didn’t answer.

  “You need to come in,” Tom said.

  Diego lowered his voice and kept it even as he tested the waters. “What about Benjamin? People know I shot him.”

  “Come on in, and we’ll see what we can do to clear it up.”

  “See what you can do? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Calm down, Ramirez. Tell me where you are. Let’s meet, and we’ll figure it out, but you need to come in before someone misunderstands what you’re doing, before something happens to Claudia.”

  Diego scanned the empty warehouse. “You bastard. We had a deal. I played your game. Where the hell is she?”

  “Come on in, Diego. Let’s talk. We don’t want this to get out of hand.”

  Seething, Diego spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m not coming in. I’m keeping the money until I’m confident that I’m not getting screwed. And if you so much as touch a hair on her head, I’ll hunt you myself.”

  “Diego, listen—”

  Diego pressed end on the phone without answering.

  Within seconds, the phone vibrated. Tom’s number. Without answering, Diego removed the phone’s battery. He tucked the battery in his left pocket and the phone in his right. Motionless, he felt his pulse beat the slow rhythm of dread in his chest.

  Chapter 14

  Cameron and her partner, Tim Ballestrini, pulled up to the sixth marina of the day. Dressed in street clothes, they drove Cameron’s Blazer. It was cold and damp, especially off the water. Being in and out of the car all day had left her with a permanent feeling of wet. Nothing had panned out. The suspects who were supposedly always at the piers were all on some kind of holiday, probably inside drinking cocoa. The few people who would talk to them knew squat. She believed them. Cameron hated to admit it, but she was discouraged. Ballestrini had been complaining about the wild goose chase since the second marina at nine that morning.

  This was day four after the presentation from ICE and Sex Crimes. Jess Campbell and Scott Smith from ICE and Jamie Vail from Sex Crimes gave the team thick packets about trafficking statistics, the brutal details of the treatment of the victims and guidelines for what to look for.

  What had surprised Cameron was that the girls were as likely to be American as foreign. She expected Eastern Europeans, Africans, and women from Middle Eastern countries. Jamie explained that the newest trafficking surge was kidnapping girls from local towns and selling them for sex. In other cases, girls were actually sold by family members or set up by friends. “They’re as young as ten and eleven,” Jamie said. “I left the images out of your packets.” She had stopped by to say hello on her way out, congratulating Cameron on the baby. The mood was somber, and they agreed they’d catch up more soon.

  The team had been surveilling marinas for the past three days without more than a permanent stink of fish for their efforts. This was going to get old fast.

  It didn’t help that she was tired. She was sleeping poorly, waking often, and creeping to her window to check for someone peering in. She couldn’t keep Diego out of her mind. Each time he entered, she was both amazed and devastated that he was alive.

  “One more?” she asked Tim.

  He moaned and pulled up the list he had on his phone. “Looks like we might be able to miss this one. Let me find out what the deal is.” Ballestrini was texting. Cameron turned up the heat and waited.

  Every hour with Ballestrini made her long for another day with Diego as a partner, the way it had been back then. While they waited for a response, Cameron pulled out the map Captain Ahrens had given them and searched for the one marina they hadn’t visited. Ahrens had set them up with a schedule on which marinas to visit when, but Bay Area traffic had been its unpredictable self and messed them all up. Ballestrini had managed to reorganize their visits to minimize the traffic delays, but it meant that the last marina they would see should have been their first. It was across the Bay in Berkeley. Cameron hoped they hadn’t screwed anything up too badly by switching the order around. She certainly didn’t want to bring it up with Ahrens, with the mood she’d been in since Ray Benjamin’s murder.

  “We’ve seen maybe six or seven Hispanics today, and I can’t remember seeing a single Asian at any of these ports,” Ballestrini commented.

  He had a point. According to the intel they had, the main sex trafficking was happening by Mexican cartels and Asian gangs who were moving away from drug and gun trafficking into sex trafficking. As Jamie had said, “Guns and drugs can only be sold once. Girls can be sold as many as thirty times a day.” The room was quiet after that.

  Gangs imported girls with promises of legitimate waitressing and hostess jobs only to force them to work in sex clubs. With so many people around the world holding on to dreams of the rich life in America, it was easy to see how so many were sucked into the schemes. When she thought of it, Cameron couldn’t help but imagine Mama and Papa Cruz and Juan when they’d first come to America. The Cruzes had come illegally from Mexico in the 1960s and had been illegals for almost a decade before receiving green cards two years before Cameron was born.

  Working to enforce the laws that would today prevent her parents from entering the country sometimes felt hypocritical. Once, shortly after Diego had gone undercover, Special Ops had done a sweep, and an illegal immigrant had been caught up in it. Occasionally, Cameron still thought about her. She had never mentioned that part of her job to Mama Cruz or Rosa. Diego would have understood the strange push and pull. Diego wanted desperately to get his sister to America, but she was married to a Mexican man and had children. Cameron knew the job wasn’t to judge the laws but to uphold them. Most days, she believed what she was doing was making a positive impact.

  Ballestrini’s phone buzzed. “All right,” he said. “We’re good to go to the last one. Traffic should be pretty quick.”

  After a few minutes of quiet, Cameron flipped on the radio. At least Ballestrini wasn’t singing show tunes, although he did have a habit of rolling his neck until it let out a long series of pops.

  Cameron hadn’t been to the Berkeley Marina in ages, but it was mostly hippy vans and leisure fishermen along with a few parents and kids watching for diving birds and jumping fish. A lot of the places they’d been charged to stake out weren’t large enough for a trafficking operation. As Jess had explained, part of the trick to getting away with any crime was choosing inconspicuous locations and changing the pattern often.

  Cameron and Ballestrini walked the full length of the marina, then headed back to the car. At least, it was a little warmer in the East Bay, and this was their last stop. Cameron couldn’t help but be encouraged by those two things.

  Halfway back down the marina, Ballestrini stopped. “Look at this.”
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br />   He gestured to a yellow Karmann Ghia. She stepped forward to peer inside. With the exception of the driver’s seat, the entire car was piled roof high with trash. Burger King and McDonald’s wrappers, newspapers, empty boxes.

  “That’s no way to treat a classic car,” Ballestrini said.

  “Can you imagine what it smells like?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t smell any worse than that second marina.”

  They moved past the trashed Ghia and back toward her Blazer. She assumed from the radio silence that no one had any luck today. Their group was used to high adrenaline, high action situations, and the pace of this one was too slow. It would take work to keep up morale.

  Cameron and Ballestrini got into the car. Ballestrini took the binoculars he’d been wearing off his neck and put them in the backseat. Then, like an excited kid, he slapped his thighs. “I hope we’re not doing this tomorrow.”

  “It’s supposed to rain,” Cameron said, starting the car.

  Ballestrini hummed and within seconds he was singing, “The rain can’t hurt me now. This rain will wash away what’s past. And you will keep me safe. And you will keep me close. I’ll sleep in your embrace at last.”

  He paused. “Can you name the show?”

  “No.”

  “And I’m at rest. A breath away from where you are. I’ve come home from so far…”

  “Ballestrini,” she interrupted.

  He put a hand up, continuing the song, “So don’t you fret, M’sieur Marius. I don’t feel any pain. A little fall of rain.”

  “Les Miserables,” she said.

  He stopped. “You got it.”

  He was humming again. She ignored him, pulling along the frontage road.

  Ballestrini stopped singing. “Freeway onramp is right there.”

  “I can get on down here, too. This way we can enjoy the water.” Cameron always loved the bay, the boats like little pieces of paper scattered in the wind. It was early in the season, and the weather was cold for all but the hardiest of sailors.

  One of the last times she and Diego had been together, they had spent the day at Crissy Field. They’d seen a yacht that he’d sworn had belonged to President Roosevelt. She had no idea how he’d known.