Fatal Secrets

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As if her subconscious was on guard duty while she slept, Sonia was pulled violently awake, remnants of a disturbing dream slipping away while her heart raced. Her peripheral vision registered movement just as a hand fell over her mouth and a voice said, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

Too late, she thought, as her instincts told her body to fight even as her sleep-deprived, disoriented mind recognized the voice.

Charlie grunted when she kicked him in the balls. He let go of her mouth as he doubled over in pain, and she rolled quickly off her bed, landing on both feet in a pouncelike position. She reached for her gun, but it wasn’t on the nightstand. She crouched in attack position, waiting for his next move.

“You asshole. How dare you break into my house. Into my bedroom!” She swallowed, her mouth dry, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She’d had nightmares about just this thing. Being attacked in her bedroom, restrained, unable to fight back. She was thirteen again, being dragged from her hut, hearing her father’s voice.

“She’s a virgin. I expect to be paid well for her.”

She had fought back and won, not once but twice. First as an untrained, scared child; then as a fully trained cop, though just as scared as she’d been when she was sold the first time.

“Good defense, Sonia.” Charlie grimaced as he adjusted his stance. “You wanted to see me.”

“What?” Her head cleared. Dean Hooper. He sure acted fast. Sonia wondered what he’d said to push Charlie to contact her tonight. She glanced at her clock. 3:30. She’d slept a mere four and a half hours. There’d be no more sleeping this morning. “You were supposed to call me, not come to my house! How do you know where I live?”

Charlie waved off the question as if it were ridiculous that she’d even asked. He looked old and weary under the dim yellow streetlights streaking shadows across her room through the blinds. Not a surprise; he was nearly fifty, and while in shape, years of hard living, extensive physical activity, and hopelessness had eaten away at him. He cared about the victims of human trafficking, of that Sonia had never doubted, but their pain had eaten him alive, and he couldn’t get out of the pit. He suffered and became a predator as much as those who preyed on the innocent. Sonia didn’t want to be Charlie. She didn’t want to become so emotionally involved that her humanity leaked through mortal wounds in her soul and she became a monster hunting monsters.

Without taking her eyes off Charlie, she leaned over and turned on her bedside lamp. Her bed separated them, but he was blocking the doorway. In his hand was her gun. He saw her looking at it.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sonia. You are so predictable-keeping your gun on your nightstand. I’m disappointed that your instincts are so shoddy and I got close enough to take your only weapon.”

“You don’t know it’s my only weapon.” It wasn’t, but her other gun wasn’t in her bedroom.

“If you had another gun within reach, you’d have it in your hand right now.”

Waves of conflicting emotions ran through her like hot lava followed by an icy avalanche. Charlie, her mentor and onetime friend, had taught her so much about duty, about compassion, about pride in herself and overcoming obstacles. He’d worked with her tirelessly to teach her everything he knew about the business of human trafficking, signs to watch for, questions to ask. He’d been infinitely patient with her as a new INS investigator, knocking the chip off her shoulder that had come from being on the other side of the line-a victim.

“They win if you act like a victim. Stand tall, Sonia, and be the warrior I know you are.”

A warrior. Is that how Charlie saw himself? A warrior in a one-man army? Or Don Quixote, battling windmills?

Because he’d been such a huge part of her early career, when he left her to die she almost wanted to. She fought back and survived because she knew there had to be an explanation. Charlie wouldn’t have set her up. He had her back and must have been injured or dead to leave her trapped with a rapist and killer.

She’d never believed, while she fought for her life, that he had intentionally left her, lying to her about backup, lying to her that their boss knew about the operation in the first place. She’d been terrified in that locked room, knowing she was bait, even while believing there was a team with eyes and ears on her even though she couldn’t see or hear them. She didn’t know there was no one watching, no one ready to jump in and save her before the man who Charlie had sold her to came to claim his property.

And when everything came out about the things Charlie had done, things she’d been blind to even while working side by side for nearly two years, Sonia had wanted to quit. If not for the support and faith that Riley lavished on her through tough love, and the unconditional love of her adoptive family, she would have left Immigration and … done something else. Been miserable. Feeling sorry for herself.

She had gotten over it, and seeing Charlie in her bedroom now hadn’t turned her into a quivering mass of pathetic Jell-O. She’d been thrown off-stride, but she regrouped. He would give her the answers she needed, or she would take him into custody. She glanced again at her gun in his hand. It wasn’t pointed at her. If she could get close enough without him suspecting her intention, she could disarm him.

“You are investigating a known trafficker in my jurisdiction,” she said to Charlie, “and didn’t have the courtesy of calling me?”

“You would have let me go in?”

“Hell no.”

“There you go.”

“You always start a job for the right reasons, but when did finding a missing, presumed dead teenager turn into working as the driver for Xavier Jones for God knows how long?”

“You’ve talked to Rogan.” He frowned.

“Kane is your friend. Your only friend.”

“Rogan is not my friend. Just because he didn’t break my neck after the mishap in New Mexico-”

“Mishap?” She knew she shouldn’t talk about the past with Charlie-it wasn’t good for either of them-but mishap? “You sold me without telling me beforehand. Then you lied to me about having my back. I had to kill him to save my life.”

“Good riddance. I knew you were strong enough to take care of yourself.”

“I don’t believe you!” She ran both hands through her thick, tangled hair. “He almost raped me!”

“But he didn’t.”

“Fuck you.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What Sheldon Rasmussen had done to her haunted her when she didn’t have her guard up. She’d have the scars from his knife for the rest of her life. Because of Rasmussen, she’d never be able to have children.

Because of Charlie she was scarred and barren.

“I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Because you were a hero for a day. You saved all those girls while I was attacked by a vile monster thinking you were there to take him down.”

Charlie spoke quietly. “It was a hard choice to make, Sonia, believe me. But they couldn’t save themselves. They’d all be dead by now. But they’re alive and free, and so are you.”

“And if I had died, you would have justified it because you saved fourteen other girls that night.”

He looked pained, and Sonia was glad. She hoped he couldn’t sleep.

“I’ve paid for what happened. I take jobs where I can. Rogan gives me the lost causes, but I know that Ashley Fox is alive.”

Even though she was still angry, Sonia was curious how Charlie had ended up with Jones. She asked, “Did Jones have something to do with her disappearance?”

“Not directly. I found the gang who kidnapped her off the cruise ship. One of the stewards, a Mexican gang member, spilled everything when I tracked him down.”

Bile rose into her throat. She didn’t ask what Charlie had done to get the gangbanger to talk; she didn’t want to know.

“She was shipped to Belize and forced to work at a sex club. They kept her drugged, got her hooked on coke and pills. Uppers and downers. I’m not surprised-when she found out she was trapped, she probably needed the mental escape.”

A familiar strategy-breaking the victim’s will to fight back using drugs, and physical and mental abuse. Sonia put the images out of her head; she had to focus on the facts.

“And then?”

“I’m unclear on why they moved her, but she came up through one of Jones’s major suppliers into America. She may be in Canada now, but she came through here, Sacramento.”

“How do you know?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Sonia slammed her palm against the wall. The picture over her bed slid on its wire and hung crooked. “I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I got the information. I don’t care if you believe me.”

Goose bumps ran down her flesh. She bit back her next scathing comment; she wouldn’t be able to convince Charlie that he was no better than them. But this vigilante campaign had to end, one way or the other.

“Jones knows what happened to her. Where she went. I’m this close to figuring out his codes. I was going to come to you once I saved Ashley.”

Sonia frowned in confusion. “Codes? What codes?”

“I’ll give you everything when I get the answers I need.”

“Tell me now! Are you honestly aiding and abetting a killer? You fucking bastard! Who made you judge and jury? You’re not leaving here, so help me-”

“What are you going to do? I have your gun.” Charlie laughed, then added wistfully, “Oh Sonia, I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t.”

“We were a great team. I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“Blame me? What am I to blame for?” She asked too quickly, realizing that Charlie was deliberately sidetracking her. “No-”

Charlie cut her off. “For having me fired.”

“I’m not going there again.” She couldn’t do it. She was losing her focus: her goal was to gather evidence on Xavier Jones so she could haul his ass into interrogation and get names. “You have information. You can testify. Names, places. What kind of codes? You mean he’s writing everything down?”

“Yes. He has a journal. Every sale, every player, every exchange. How much money he made on the deal and what his expenses were and the threat level. He charges more for higher-risk endeavors. I made a copy of his current journal. But I can’t figure out-yet-how he codes the people he sells. Without that, I don’t know where Ashley is.”

“Why don’t you just torture the information out of him?” she snapped sarcastically.

“Jones wouldn’t rattle under torture.”

So he had actually considered it. Sadly, Sonia was no longer surprised by Charlie’s decisions. “I know you’re the one who contacted me about Andres Zamora’s escape. Where’s Maya?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care. She wasn’t with Andres.”

“You should have called the police.”

“Not without blowing my cover.”

“You’re no better than they are. You fit right in with Jones and my father.”

Charlie’s face hardened and he took a step toward her, his knees touching her bed. He shook the gun at her and she involuntarily shivered. Charlie was volatile. He could kill her, even if he didn’t want to. “I’m just the driver.”

“Bullshit. I want Jones’s journal.”

He ignored her demand. “I got Andres out. You found him, didn’t you?”

She wasn’t giving Charlie any information about Andres. “I want the journal and a signed statement detailing everything you know about Jones and his operation. Then maybe you won’t be spending time behind bars.”

He glared at her. “So you’re working with the FBI?”

Sonia saw no reason to give Charlie any information, so she simply said, “Yes. And I need to debrief you. Let’s go.”

He shook his head. “I have-”

“There’s a shipment of girls coming in any day and I need to nail Jones with them. We know that he uses Omega Shipping, and we searched their ships coming through Stockton last week, but found nothing.” As Sonia said it she realized that she and Dean Hooper had been in the middle of that conversation when she heard about Riley’s attack. She needed to compare her notes with Dean’s.

She rubbed her temples, tense from this verbal and emotional battle with Charlie.

“I need the names and players. I want to stop Jones from selling people. Not just one-all of them. You’re there. You have to help! We can arrest him red-handed. What do you know about it?” She didn’t want to sound desperate, but her frustration level had reached the breaking point.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a long minute. Sonia fidgeted but didn’t take her eyes off him. “I know he keeps them somewhere in the foothills. I don’t know where. The shipment is planned for midnight on Saturday. That’s all I know. If I had found out what happened to Ashley, I would have tipped you off.”

“If you didn’t find her would you have tipped me off? What about those girls?”

Charlie was obviously torn. “I would have found a way to rescue them, too.” He didn’t sound as confident.

“You are but one man, Charlie Cammarata. You can’t do it all. It’s amazing you’re still alive.”

“Hell, Sonia, you didn’t even know the day and time.”

She glared at him. “You’re in over your head. You’re under arrest, Charlie.”

“No, I’m not. Honey, I-” “Don’t call me honey.”

“I’ve always cared for you. You know that. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“You care for no one but yourself.”

“I love you.”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” Charlie had told her ten years ago, after she had testified against him, that he loved her. She didn’t believe him then. Maybe in his own warped way he had affection for her, but he had no concept of how to love. She’d never thought of him as anything more than a respected mentor. She had loved him like she loved Wendell Knight, the Texas Ranger who had saved her twenty-one years ago. But Wendell had never lied to her, never betrayed her, never left her to die.

Charlie said flatly, “Jones is dead.”

It couldn’t be true. “Did you kill him?”

“Hell no!”

“What the hell is going on, Charlie?”

“I drove him to a meeting at his restaurant-the one under renovation in Clarksburg, on the river-and he told me to stay hidden and keep watch. If things turned, I was supposed to kill the man he was meeting. There were three of them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and it was dark. I don’t know who they were-two were well over six feet, one, the man in charge, was not more than five foot ten. Lean.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that you don’t know who these men were.”

“I don’t.”

She didn’t believe him. He was lying to her yet again. When she was younger, she had believed everything Charlie said, now she saw his “tell”-he could look her in the eye and lie, but he was calm. Too calm. “And?”

“They spoke. The short man, the one in charge, and Jones. Jones was angry about something. Ten minutes into the conversation, without warning, the stranger shot Jones in the stomach. When he was down, he shot him four more times. One of the other men picked up the body and carried it to the end of the pier and dropped it in the river. Then he was also shot, point-blank range three times, and fell into the river.”

Charlie was sincere. She saw it in his eyes and posture. This part, at least, was true.

“You’re telling me that the UNSUB shot his own man?”

“It’s true.”

“And you couldn’t see them? You don’t know who they are?”

“I couldn’t see them. Sonia, I don’t care if you believe me, but I now have free access to all of Jones’s material. He doesn’t keep his documentation in his house. The FBI are a bunch of spineless idiots. Going after Jones for racketeering. Bullshit. They just alerted him to be even more careful. He has bank accounts the FBI doesn’t even know about.”

“And you do?”

“Some. And I have a copy of one of his journals. I’ve almost cracked the code.”

“I want that journal, now.”

“You’re not getting it, Sonia, not until I know where Ashley Fox is. I promised her mother-”

“You’re going to let an unknown number of girls die or disappear this weekend to maybe save one? Ashley disappeared a year ago. These girls who are being sold Saturday night? They have a real chance!”

“So does Ashley.”

“Damn you! Give me the fucking journal!” She had been edging closer to him, and now she lunged, tackling him and slamming him against the wall.

He grunted and hit her with the butt of her gun. God, she thought as she fell to the floor, her eyes burning with unshed tears and hot anger, she had been a fool.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Held her close to him, face-to-face while she shook her head to clear it. “I shouldn’t have come here. I thought you could fish out the bodies in the river. Jones has his current journal on his person.”

“Waterlogged.”

“Maybe. But I’m sure your friends in the FBI can work with it. Maybe in time to figure out where the exchange is Saturday night.”

“I can’t let you walk out of here, Charlie.”

“You have no choice.”

He pushed her down hard enough so she couldn’t quickly follow, and fled the bedroom. Her cheek hit the edge of her nightstand and she bit her tongue, blood filling her mouth. She swallowed with a grimace and pulled herself up, shaking off a dizzy moment. She grabbed her backup gun from the drawer in the hall as she ran after him.

“Stop!” she shouted as she followed Charlie.

He was already in her backyard. She ran after him, barefoot because she hadn’t taken time to put on her shoes.

But by the time she hopped the fence and ran to her front yard, he was gone. He’d left her gun on the hood of her car.