by Ellen Butler
“Whoa, where you going, honey? I’m not sure you should be getting up yet.” Ponderously, the woman at my feet began to rise.
“Thank you.” I held out my hand to help her up. “Your name?”
“Shirley.”
“Thank you for stopping, Shirley.”
“Well, of course.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“And you are . . . ?” I asked the balding man.
“Paul, Paul Chowdery.”
“Thank you. My car is parked just over there.” I pointed. “It’s got my phone and contacts. You’re right, Shirley, I need to make some calls. Be right back.” Initially a bit lightheaded, the sensation dissipated as I walked to the car, feeling the black tarmac firm beneath my feet.
First, I called Mike, but of course, he didn’t answer. I left a message. Even though it felt as though I was thinking clearly, had I been, I never would have left that voicemail. He wouldn’t appreciate getting another panicked SOS from me. I had no idea if my next call would produce any sort of help, but Silverthorne had been there for me in the past, and, at the very minimum, I hoped one of them could help me figure out what to do next.
Rick’s number went to voicemail. Josh was next on the list.
“Go for Joshua.”
“Josh,” I said, my voice garbled. I cleared my throat, still raspy from the train whistle-style screaming. “It’s Karina.”
“What’s the matter? You sound sick.”
“I know you’re on assignment, but I was hoping you could help me get in touch with Rick.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, God.” I pressed fingers to my temple. “I don’t know how to say it. My sister’s been kidnapped by, I think, a drug cartel.”
He paused for a beat. “This isn’t a punchline, is it?”
“I wish. We were in this scary neighborhood and a carload of Hispanic gang members jumped out of their SUV and snatched my sister. They tried to get me, too, but I was able to fight them off.”
“Good girl,” he mumbled under his breath. “Have you called the police?”
“Yes, some guy named Chowdery saw it and pulled over to help.”
“Stay there. We’ll be there soon.” He delivered his command like an officer to a subordinate, in a manner that brooked no argument.
“Wait, don’t you want to know where I am?” I spoke to a dial tone.
Paramedics wheeled onto the scene, followed closely by an Arlington County police car. Paul and Shirley flagged down the officer, and I returned to my coterie of Good Samaritans.
A handsome, black-haired gentleman with olive skin, dressed in a silvery suit, had joined Paul and Shirley while I was on the phone. “Hello, I’m Jamal,” he said with a British accent.
“Karina.” We shook hands.
“I apologize for the scare I must have given you earlier. But I was so focused on tracking down the men who took your friend.”
“Scare?”
“Yes, with my car. I blew past rather close,” Jamal explained. “Shirley was telling me that you took affright and almost fainted.”
“Oh, you must have been in the sports car. I didn’t realize you were chasing them. Wait! Did you catch up?” My hope buoyed, and I’m afraid I clawed at his beautifully cut Italian suit. “Do you know where they went?”
He took my hands in his large ones and his face turned somber. “I’m afraid not. I was cut off three blocks down, almost causing an accident. By the time the traffic cleared, the vehicle disappeared. I drove around looking, but . . . I’m so terribly sorry.” He shrugged regretfully.
My shoulders deflated along with my optimism. “Thank you for trying.”
The officer reached our crew. “I’m Officer Benko. Someone reported an abduction.”
“That was me,” Paul said, then proceeded to explain what he’d seen from the stoplight a few blocks down the road.
Shirley interrupted a few times with her own recollections from sitting behind Paul at the light, and Jamal nodded along, infusing the conversation with what he remembered. I told them what happened and gave detailed descriptions of my sister’s orange blouse and dark gray slacks. During my explanation, Officer Benko was joined by four more policemen. Two roped off traffic at the end of the street, detouring cars, while the other two canvassed the neighborhood, talking to the crowd of gawkers that had gathered—including, I noticed, hear no evil, see no evil from the lawn chair. Hot Bench must have ended.
“I think it was a Chevy Tahoe,” Paul said.
“Lincoln Navigator,” Jamal and I pronounced together.
Benko, who’d been taking notes, paused. “Which one was it?”
“It was a Navigator,” I stated firmly, recalling the silver word on the liftgate as it closed in my face.
“She’s correct, it was a Navigator,” Jamal agreed, backing me up.
“Did either of you happen to get a plate? Even a partial will help,” Benko said.
“There wasn’t one,” Jamal and I spoke as one.
“They must have stripped it off,” I continued.
Benko tapped his pencil against the pad. “Any other identifying marks you can remember from the vehicle besides make and color?”
“It had spinney wheels.”
“Spinney wheels?” Benko’s brows crunched in confusion.
“Yeah, you know those rims that keep spinning when you stop.” I made a circular motion with my finger. “Spinney wheels.”
“Spinning rims.” He made a note on his pad. “Now you said you could recognize one of the assailants if you saw him again.”
“Absolutely.” I squinted into the middle distance. “I’ll never forget that smug look as long as I live.”
“Did he have any identifying tattoos?”
“Yes, a snake right here on his neck, and a strange design on his face. A pattern, like a Maori warrior, from his left cheek all the way around his ear. Here, maybe I can draw it.” The officer handed over his notepad and I drew a curved shape and spiral-like pattern. “I’m afraid I’m not an artist, but kind of like this. If I saw it again, I’d recognize it. Don’t you have a tattoo database or something I could look at?” Just then, I spotted a blond head as it detached itself from the crowd.
“Josh, you’re here!” I shoved the pen and pad at the officer and pushed past him, throwing myself into Josh’s muscled chest, and the warmth of his arms encircled me.
“Seems like you’re in another pickle, Karina.” His warm breath tickled the top of my head.
I looked up into his concerned blue gaze. “Thank you for coming. I thought you were on assignment.”
“The prince left this morning.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“You’ve still got our tracker in your purse.”
I stepped back, holding on to his massive biceps. “Thank God you’re here. They took Jillian. I’ve got to get her back. Can you help?”
“Of course,” he said simply.
“Ma’am?” It was Benko, trying to gain my attention. I turned back to him. “These are Detectives Perez and Garcia. They’re from the Arlington Gang Unit. They’d like to speak with you.”
Detective Perez was dressed in worn jeans, running shoes, and a black T-shirt. He had brown hair, his own neck tattoo, and couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven. On the other hand, Garcia’s face was pockmarked and lined from years in the sun—or possibly on-the-job stress. His brows and goatee were thick with salt-and-pepper; I imagine his hair would have been the same, but he’d chosen to shave it. He wore a light blue button-down with black jeans and black work boots. Both wore guarded expressions, as though they weighed each word spoken.
“Benko said you saw one of their faces. He had a swirled tattoo and a snake on his neck?” Perez asked.
“That’s right.”
“Is this the man you saw?” He held out his phone.
Instantly, I recognized his face and tattoos. “That’s him.” Perez and Garcia shared a look. “Who is he?”
“I’m afraid your sister has been kidnapped by MS-13 gang members,” Garcia stated.
His declaration held no surprise. I’d warned Jilly we were in their territory, but having Garcia confirm my fears did nothing to calm my current agitation; if anything, the boiling acid in my stomach churned up to hurricane level.
“The man you identified is Hector Cortez,” Perez continued. “He’s a soldier for Enrico Montoya, the head of the MS-13 gang around here.”
“And I imagine he’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm,” I whispered with trepidation.
“Longer,” Perez confirmed.
“So this guy Hector lives around here? You can get my sister back, right? I mean, you can hunt this guy down and raid his place. Right?” Desperation flowed through my questions.
Garcia spoke in measured tones, “We’ll send officers to his last known address, but it’s unlikely we’ll find your sister there. MS-13 is well-organized and there are a number of places they could take her and hide Cortez.”
“But you know his friends. Right? You can do a grid search and start kicking down doors of those guys too. Right? Like they do on television.” I barely paused for breath as one idea flowed to the next. “Do you think they’ll make a ransom demand? I don’t have a lot of money, but I’m sure I could come up with something.”
There was a distinct pause before Perez answered, “It would be unusual for this gang to make a ransom demand. We are going to do everything we can to find your sister, but we can’t go around kicking in doors. If we go to the wrong house—they’ll move her, or . . .” He didn’t finish that thought.
“Kill her. That’s what you were going to say, right?” I gritted out.
“Move her. Then we’ll be that much further behind. We have to approach this methodically,” Garcia explained.
I clenched my teeth. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know these men are vicious. Do you think she’s alive? Or do you think they took her to kill her somewhere else? Just tell me.”
My gaze bounced between the two, but it was Perez who answered, “I can’t speak for the mentality of the gang. There is a possibility they may have taken her for another purpose.”
“What other purpose?” The question popped out, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. I had a feeling I already knew the “other purpose” to which Perez referred.
“They may pass her along to gang members outside of the area and use her—”
Garcia forestalled his partner’s explanation with a discreet elbow nudge.
I put a hand to my mouth and swallowed back the bile in my throat.
Josh slipped an arm around my shoulder and finished their thought. “Before they traffic her, you mean. Karina can handle it, and she’s better off knowing.”
The detectives gave me a pitying glance. I wasn’t so sure Josh was correct. Ignorance is certainly less stressful and allows one to hope.
“Do you have a photo of your sister?” Garcia asked.
Swiping through my gallery, I found a recent picture. The pair of us stood in front of a local brewery. Her beautiful chocolate hair hung elegantly over her shoulder, and her smile lit up her face. Perez and Garcia each studied the photo; if anything, Garcia’s frown turned fiercer.
“Can you text that to me?” Garcia asked.
“Yes, of course. Input your number here.” After he typed in his number, I sent the photo along, and another for good measure.
While Garcia and I monkeyed with the pictures, Perez’s phone binged with multiple incoming texts. The detective’s studied response and deadpan features did nothing to calm my nerves. He looked up from his phone and searched the crowd, then his gaze swept the apartment rooftops. “Ma’am, can you and your friend come over here?”
He passed his phone over to Garcia and led the way to the back of the ambulance. Its doors were open wide, but none of the paramedics stood nearby. One was in the driver’s seat and the other spoke to Benko, across the street.
“I’m not in need of medical assistance,” I insisted.
“I understand, but why don’t you sit down here,” he said in a placating tone, and indicated I sit on the back bumper.
Garcia passed the phone back to Perez and eyeballed the surrounding area, much like his partner had just done.
I drew a ragged breath, and my heart fell to my knees. “Oh, God. You’ve found her, haven’t you? That—that text you got. She’s dead. Isn’t she?” Josh’s strong hand found mine, and I squeezed hard.
“We haven’t heard anything,” Perez assured me. “We wanted to get you off the street and give you some privacy.”
I relaxed my grip. Josh released a breath through his teeth, and I mumbled an apology to him. By now the crowds had been pushed to the end of the block, and a man in dark slacks and blue button-down was taking photos of the skid marks left behind by the Navigator, while another detective bagged the bandana that came off Cortez’s face.
“Please wait here. Detective Perez and I need a few minutes to speak with our FBI counterparts and make arrangements for you.” The pair strode over to an unmarked black cop car and got inside.
I gazed up into Josh’s concerned features. “Do you think they are telling the truth?”
His face softened. “I don’t think they’d lie to you if they believed they’d found her body.”
“We’ve got to find her. Today,” I said, determined. “She could be taken to God-knows-where in the next twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Do you think they’ll kill her?” I asked the question I feared the most, unsure if I wanted Josh to tell me the truth or lie to make me feel better.
Josh rubbed his cheek. “I couldn’t say, Karina. She’s a pretty girl. If they know they can make some money trafficking her . . .”
“I don’t know which would be worse.” I stared at the detectives. Garcia spoke into his cell, while Perez typed something into their vehicle’s computer. “Is there any way Silverthorne can help?”
“Already on it.”
I regarded Josh, surprised. “How?”
He pointed to his left ear.
“You on coms?”
“Listen to you—am I on coms?” His lip quirked. “Where did you pick up that lingo?”
My face burned. “Who’s listening?”
“Hernandez. He’s waiting in the car.”
“I keep hearing that name. Do I know Hernandez?”
“You met him when we picked up Rivkin.”
I recalled a stocky Latino with round cheeks and dimples who kindly handed my coworker a bandana to wipe his mouth after he’d become ill. “What about Jin?”
The quirk disappeared. “Jin is on a different assignment.”
“Can’t Hernandez be reassigned to do what Jin’s doing?” I whispered.
Josh’s frown deepened. “Hernandez is familiar with MS-13 and will be more helpful here. Jin is on duty following your jewel thief tonight.”
“Oh. Sorry. Nothing against Hernandez,” I said. “I’m just used to working with the J-squared team.”
As I watched the police do their thing, an earlier discussion with Rick floated to the surface of my thoughts. So did a name I hadn’t thought of in the past twenty minutes—Sadira. Sadira Manon. The probable reason why my sister was in this mess. What on earth did she have to do with MS-13? My car was now buried two cop cars deep, and, even if they moved, the ambulance blocked most of the street. I debated asking Josh to take me to the pokey where Sadira was incarcerated.
“Something’s on fire in that head of yours,” he commented.
I tapped my chin. “Does Hernandez have any leads on this Cortez guy?”
“He’s searching the database right now for known associates.”
I perked up at that. “You have a database?”
“We have access to lots of databases.”
“More databases than the cops?”
“Possibly. We plan to start closest to the crime scene and work our way
out.”
“We?”
“Hernandez and I for starters. Rick is putting together a team to help search.” In his element, Josh spoke in sure, clipped tones.
“What happens if we find her?”
“If we identify the location where she’s being held, we’ll assess and prep for a breach.”
“A breach? That sounds dangerous. Can you do that? What about the cops?” I tilted my head to the pair of detectives still in their car.
“Rick will take care of it. He’s got contacts in the FBI gang unit and can liaise with local P.D.”
“Is Rick on assignment?”
“He’s stuck on the beltway.”
For some reason that struck me funny. “Wait a minute, you mean Batman doesn’t have a special Batcopter to get him out of a mess as ordinary as rush hour traffic?”
Josh fought back a grin.
I suddenly had a bad feeling. “Is he on coms with you?”
The grin peeped forth.
“Crap. I’m sorry, Rick. My comments were thoughtless. Bad form on my part. Please don’t give up. I need your help,” I begged rather loudly in Josh’s ear.
He flinched away. “You don’t need to yell. We can all hear you. And Rick said to tell you, he’ll find these motherfu—” Josh cleared his throat. “—criminals, no matter what it takes.”
“You guys are the best.” I threw my arms around Josh’s neck and squeezed.
His face turned beet red. “Uh, no problem.”
To his obvious relief, I let him go. “You know, Perez is right. If we go into the wrong house, it could put Jillian in further danger. Maybe get her killed,” I fearfully whispered the last.
“So, we’ll go into the right house the first time.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”