Sometime after noon, Ivana was called and paired with a smaller girl who she guessed was Romanian. Ushered by their escort, a man with a hooked nose and a face scarred by acne, Ivana and the other girl left the building. It was much warmer than Ivana expected.
They drove through the city in an old white pickup truck. Ivana took it all in without blinking. The streets were wide and filled with people. They wore bright yellows and oranges. Some barely wore anything at all. The women’s shoes were high with straps and buckles like the ones in her favorite magazines. One day she would own a pair. They crossed a busy intersection, and she caught sight of a bridge a few blocks away. Not red like the famous one, but a huge, gorgeous bridge just the same. Down another street, she saw water with white crested waves and wondered if there was a beach there. Despite a lack of sleep and the incident with the other girl, Ivana felt a shiver of excitement. How lucky she was to be in California. If only the idiots at her school knew.
The man pulled over and double-parked. “Come,” he said, motioning for them to follow. She and the other girl got out of the car. Ivana followed the man. The girl whispered behind her. “I’m so nervous,” she said in Czech.
“You speak Czech?” Ivana asked.
The girl nodded. She was almost Michal’s size. Her cheeks were white and pale, her lips almost blue.
Ivana touched the girl’s arm. “You’ll be okay. I’m here.”
The girl bowed her head. She was probably younger than she looked. Ivana was fifteen, but she always considered herself older than her classmates. The other girl was probably only thirteen or fourteen.
“I didn’t want to come,” she whispered as though reading Ivana’s thoughts. “My father made me.”
Ivana felt both jealousy and pity. She had always dreamt that her father would return one day, but not a father like that. One who would send his daughter thousands of kilometers from home wasn’t any better than no father at all.
“I’m Anna,” she said.
“Ivana,” Ivana answered.
“In here. Hurry,” the man yelled and the two girls ran to catch up.
They walked down a narrow, dirty alley before he opened a heavy white door sprayed with graffiti. Ivana assumed they were entering the side of a restaurant, but she had been talking to Anna so she didn’t notice the front.
She moved through the doorway with her chin high and nearly tripped over the threshold. Inside was pitch black and the transition from the bright sunlight made her feel blind.
“Here,” someone yelled.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw an empty bar. To the left was a large stage surrounded by tables. Her stomach tightened with excitement. It had to be some sort of show club. She’d never seen a real one, let alone been inside. Would she recognize any of the actors?
The man pushed them forward. Ivana stumbled across the dark carpet. The room had the faint odor of the bar where she’d worked at home. She was instantly more confident. She could do this. Four men sat in a row of low, burgundy velvet armchairs lined up in front of the bar. The two on the ends were huge men, their frames spilling out of the chairs. She tried not to stare as she attempted to check if any of them was familiar. There were so many famous people in America; she would never recognize them all.
The biggest of them stood from the end closest to her and approached their escort. She tried not to stare at him. His skin was as black as she’d ever seen, and his eyes were light for such a dark man, almost green. The two exchanged a few words, but Ivana couldn’t understand them. Then, their escort left. She didn’t turn back. She didn’t want her new employers to think she wasn’t excited to be there.
One of the men in the center seemed to be the boss. Older than the others, he wore a suit and a bright tie in a color magazines called salmon like the fish. His shoes had sleek lines and long, pointed toes. The boss spoke, and the first man waved Anna forward. Ivana could feel Anna shivering. She willed her not to blow it for both of them.
The four men stared for a few minutes and then the boss twirled his finger in a circle.
Ivana frowned, unsure what he meant until he did it again. “Turn around,” she whispered to Anna.
The two moved slowly together.
The men spoke some more, then another stood up. He approached them, and took Anna’s hand. “Come with me.”
Ivana gave her a look of encouragement, then faced the remaining men again. The black man pointed to her and pulled at his collar.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Your top,” he said. It surprised her that he spoke Czech.
Her chest tightened. She nodded, still unsure what he wanted. The man approached her, and she saw clearly the light color of his eyes. Like the glass that sold in the shops, like the pools at the fanciest resorts.
He touched her top button and pulled it open.
She swallowed a gasp and remained frozen. People dressed differently in America. He wanted her to act more relaxed, more American. She forced her breath out, realizing she probably seemed like a ridiculous prude to them.
He reached up and pulled open the next one.
She stepped back and reached for her sweater, but he held her hand in a tight fist. The green eyes narrowed until she no longer saw the water or the glass. She pulled away without success, but he reached up and opened her sweater. One of the buttons popped and she hunted for it on the dark ground.
The boss said something. The black man pulled her from her sweater and pushed her closer to the other men. She stumbled without falling and stood in only a thin camisole, using her arms to cover herself.
“No,” the boss said.
She felt herself cry. Stop. Be strong. She would leave. She went for the door, but the green-eyed man blocked her. Before she could reach for her sweater, he threw it into an empty chair.
She shivered in the thin camisole, terrified.
The boss said something and pointed to her camisole.
“No,” she said strongly.
The man’s breath was hot on her neck as he gripped the side of her camisole and tore it. Cool air hit her bare skin. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wrapped herself with her bare arms.
The boss wasn’t done.
She sobbed.
The black man gripped her shoulder and shook. Her head snapped back. She closed her eyes, crying and shaking.
Searing pain crossed her jaw as he hit her. She cried out and fell backward. He yanked her to her feet. She palmed the pain in her cheek. He moved her like she was a mannequin. He spread her arms and forced them to her sides, then he said something that made the others laugh.
They would be done soon. From a back room came a piercing scream. Anna. Ivana cried out loud, pushing her balled fist to her mouth to try to quiet herself.
The black man ignored her and shifted his attention to her skirt. He unfastened it in the back and let it drop. Shaking, she focused on the floor as the black man ran his hand over her skin and made comments to the others. She finally forced her eyes open and blinked through the tears. What did they want from her? She stifled a larger fear and forced it from her mind. They wouldn’t kill her. They needed her to work, to pay for her passage. Surely, that much was true.
When she looked back at the boss man, he made a gesture to her chest. The black man cupped her breast in his hand and bounced it like spare change.
She turned away, humiliated.
Finally, the boss man nodded.
It was over. She reached down for her skirt, but the black man took her hand.
The boss stood from his chair. Not much taller than she was, he had a belly that grew out of nowhere when he got to his feet. He approached like a rat, with tiny footsteps. He touched her face. She bit down to silence her chattering teeth. With a smirk that showed off tiny, brown teeth, he took her hand and led her toward the back room.
She reached for her skirt, but he pulled her along. Oh, God. She yanked herself free and threw herself down for her clothes. The black man dr
agged her up and punched her in the stomach. She lost her breath and doubled over, struggling to fill her lungs. They didn’t leave her alone. The boss had her hand, the black man pushed from behind while a third man followed.
They came to a small office with a desk in one corner and a couch and table along the far wall. A television rested on the desk. The boss waved her to the couch. She hesitated before sitting slowly.
The boss said something, and the other men left.
She watched him, frightened, as he did what she had feared most. He barely glanced her way as he slid his coat off his shoulders and unfastened his belt. She cried and tried to stand, but he pushed her down. She twisted and was able to escape under his arm. She reached the desk. He grabbed her. Snatching a pen off the desk, she spun back and gouged his face.
He screamed. The door opened. The two men lifted her, threw her down. She knocked her head on the floor. The one took a knife and cut away one side of her panties, then ripped them off the other side. The two men held her while the boss got on top. His face was bleeding as he reached down and choked her. The men held her hands and she strained, gasped for breath. He raised a hand and slapped her hard across the ear.
She stopped moving, then closed her eyes as he stabbed his way into her. He covered her face with his palm, pressing her chin to the side until she saw nothing but the leg of the desk. She focused on it, on the gouges around the base, on the dust that coated the wood detail. She studied the red and black nub carpet, the place where a loop had pulled out. A paperclip on the ground. She didn’t know how long she stared, but finally it stopped. She didn’t move. Finally, the man got off her. The pressure lightened. The worst was over.
Then, she heard another zip. From the corner of her eye, she saw the green-eyed man drop his pants. She was wrong—the worst wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 16
An hour before their shift ended, Lavick was called into an urgent meeting with Ahrens and a couple of suits Cameron didn’t recognize.
“They’re onto something with Benjamin’s shooting,” Kessler said without a hint as to how he knew.
“Guess it means quitting time’s coming early tonight,” Lau said.
Daley was at his locker, staring down the hallway. From that angle, he saw a slice of Ahrens’ office. “What’s that all about, anyway?”
“Word is that they’ve got a bunch of evidence about Benjamin’s guilt,” Kessler said.
Ballestrini glanced up at him. “Where did you hear that?”
Kessler went red and looked away.
“Your girlfriend up in Homicide?” Daley teased him.
“She’s not a girlfriend.” Kessler shrugged. “We went out a couple times is all.”
Cameron wanted out of there so badly that she didn’t even change her clothes before leaving. Her shoulder was throbbing from the car accident, so she winced as she hefted her equipment bag onto the top shelf. The effort made her eyes sting with tears. The job was always physical, but she felt so beat up now.
Cradling her arm, she grabbed her pack and keys, and left. As she passed the hall, she saw the meeting. Each of them was head down, nose dug in a packet. Must have been something interesting. Hopefully, it would put Lavick in a better mood.
Outside, she winced at the crunched front corner of her car. It drove fine, but it looked like hell. She got in, cranked the heat, and headed home. Something had shifted after the day with the truck. It was like Lavick was angrier than pleased that they’d had a break in the case. He wouldn’t let go of the fact that the guys got away. How the hell it was possible was beyond her. They’d been on the freeway, surrounded by cops. The only way off that freeway was across eight lanes of traffic. Still, they’d vanished. The local squad had sent six cars after them and found nothing.
Ballestrini seemed deflated, too. Everyone did. She was off tomorrow. She didn’t want to see this place or think about it until she had to be back.
Rosa would be at the salon until seven, so Cameron planned to drop off her car and walk down the block to Señora Accosta’s and pick up Nate. Maybe they would go to Dolores Park, pick up breakfast for tomorrow at Tartin’s. A morning bun for Rosa. Or the frangipane croissant with almond paste. A pain au jambon. Suddenly, she was hungry. Maybe they could eat at Tartin’s for dinner. She put her key in the door and pushed it open slowly. The door had a low clearance. If too much mail had come through the slot, letters got caught underneath and ripped. But there was no resistance on the door today. She stepped inside. The mail was in a pile against the wall. Someone had opened the door but left the mail there. Rosa would have picked it up.
Instinctively, Cameron drew her gun and pushed the door shut with her foot until it clicked silently. “Rosa?” she called out. When no one answered, she stood still and listened. The house had been built shortly after the big earthquake in 1906. Though it was in great condition, the floor had distinct creaks. Perhaps worn down from the old forced air furnace, the top of the basement stairs made a high-pitched creak. Some old grout trapped beneath the bathroom floor made a gravely croaking noise while the hallway between her bedroom and Nate’s moaned. The floor in the kitchen vibrated. By the back door was the sound of a small squeaky animal.
“Who’s here?”
She heard the squeak.
She waited to hear it again. Unless he was standing on the threshold of the back door, a movement in any direction would create more noise. Those noises drove her crazy in Nate’s early days as she tried to creep down the hall without stirring him. Meanwhile, he seemed to react to every change in the wind. Right now, she was thankful for the house’s character.
The floor squeaked again. Cameron walked down the hallway, silently moving heel toe. Just then, the doorbell rang. Two, long insistent buzzes. The screen snapped closed on the back door. “Damn it.” She ran to the kitchen and peered into the backyard. She went out the back door and peeked around the side of the house. Whoever had been there was gone. Her iPad sat on the kitchen table. She checked the den. Nothing was disturbed there either. The TV was on the wall, Rosa’s Kindle on the table. Diego again? Why come when she wouldn’t be here? The front lock hadn’t been jimmied. She’d have to check.
The doorbell rang again, followed by a knock. She’d thought maybe it was a neighborhood kid selling something, but that would be one big kid. She tucked her SIG into the back of her pants, pulled her shirt down over it and opened the door.
Two men were on her porch. Each was the size of a small truck. Inexpensive suits, belts that pulled a little tight and shoes that hadn’t been polished ever. Inspectors.
“Took you a while to get to the door,” the bigger truck said, leaning back on his heels.
“Didn’t know it was illegal to ignore the bell.”
“Are you Cameron Cruz?” the other asked, a little Jersey nasal in his voice.
“I am.” She shifted and felt the barrel warm on her back.
“We’re from Homicide. When was the last time you saw Diego Ramirez?” Jersey asked.
“Maybe you should show me some I.D.”
She got two badges flashed at her, barely enough time to catch their names. Unlike a civilian, she knew exactly where to look. Anthony Kelly and James Caltabiano.
They tucked their badges away and Caltabiano asked again. “The last time you saw Diego Ramirez.”
“The night he shot Ray Benjamin,” she said smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She stepped back to close the door.
Kelly slid his foot in the way of the door. Hands in his pockets, he studied her like this was all normal business.
Cameron stared down at the foot. “Unless you’ve got a warrant, you better get your foot off my property.”
The truck slid his foot back onto the front porch.
Jersey put up his hands. “Let’s not get excited. We are looking for Diego Ramirez, and we believe we saw him enter these premises.”
She felt the familiar bump in her gut. “When?”
“Just before you arri
ved home,” he said, “Uh, Ma’am.”
“You’ve been watching my house.”
The two exchanged a look like they’d said something they weren’t supposed to. “You’re saying he’s not here now?” the truck asked.
“There’s no one here but me.”
“You’re sure?” Jersey asked.
“Positive.”
“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” Caltabiano asked.
“I never saw him, and I have no idea where he would be.” That was the honest truth.
“It’s very serious, ma’am,” Kelly said, his hands back in his pockets.
“Murder usually is, Detective Kelly.”
She shut the door.
With the door bolted, she searched the house. What had he been doing here? Other than the mail, the house was exactly as it always was. No note under her pillow, nothing stuck into the book she was reading. Not in her drawers. At least not that she saw. Nate’s room was the same. The circus mobile above his crib was still. Her blanket lay across the rocking chair from being up with him last night. She scanned the street through the front window. No obvious undercover cars.
In the kitchen, she pulled a Pacifico from the fridge. The desire to take Nate out to the park and down to Tartin’s was gone. He was with Señora Accosta, which suddenly seemed like the safest place. The magnetized can opener she’d left on the fridge was not there, but in the drawer. It had been Diego’s first gift to her. An opener in the shape of a pint of beer, filled with amber fluid. “Everyone needs an opener within reach,” Diego had joked. Rosa hated the look of it.
Cameron went to put it up on the refrigerator and saw a handwritten note. Grocery, it said at the top of the list. Then, below it, “bananas, peanut butter, baby wipes.” It wasn’t her handwriting. It wasn’t Rosa’s. Four bananas lay in the fruit bowl on the counter. She hated peanut butter. Baby wipes. Leaving her beer, she jogged into Nate’s room. The white plastic box of baby wipes was half full. She dumped them onto the tabletop and fanned through them. There was nothing inside.
“What the hell?”
There would be baby wipes in the diaper bag, but Señora Accosta had that. She started to leave the room when she remembered that she had a bag of refills in the changing table drawers. On her knees, she dug around for the extras. Where would they be? Nothing in the first drawer. The second was all sheets and burp cloths. She should know where they were; she organized this. She was too agitated to think. She sat back on her heels. “Calm down,” she whispered. Top drawer was diapers and medicines. Second drawer. Bottom drawer. They had to be there. In the drawer she found a white plastic bag of extra wipes. Impatient, she tore it open. Halfway down the wet stack was a plastic sandwich bag.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 65