A Different Dawn (Nina Guerrera)

by Isabella Maldonado

  Carmen came to a halt again, lips pressed tight together, a clear indication that she did not want to say more. Frustration gnawed at Nina. She had been through root canals less painful and drawn out than this interview. She reminded herself that Carmen was fragile, and nothing could be gained from rushing the process. Wade had the background to take Carmen through her story without causing a complete shutdown, which was probably what would have occurred if Nina had been asking the questions.

  “Can you tell us about the shelter, Carmen?” Wade said.

  “I got some help there, but I also made friends with a couple of women who used. They knew where to find the good stuff. They gave me a little, just to take the edge off. I thought they were being nice.”

  “But they weren’t being nice, were they?” Wade said.

  Carmen shook her head. “I needed more, and they took me to the guy who gave them the stuff. He told me if I was one of his girls, he’d take care of me.”

  Nina had heard similar tales many times before. Carmen had been targeted. After a while, she had become addicted and fallen into the hands of a pimp. Nina would not judge this woman. She had not lived Carmen’s life, suffered her pain, felt her loss.

  “I started working for him,” Carmen said. “I had to move out of the shelter so no one would find out what was going on.”

  Undoubtedly, Carmen was aware that if the staff discovered she was taking illegal narcotics, engaging in prostitution, or neglecting her baby, they would call CPS immediately.

  Carmen looked Wade full in the face for the first time since the interview began, her eyes brimming. “For weeks, I tried to do it on my own, but I couldn’t.” A tear spilled over, sliding down her cheek. “I just couldn’t.”

  Firmly but patiently, Wade restated his question from earlier in the conversation. “What happened to the baby, Carmen?”

  Carmen’s stifled sobs were her only response.

  Nina wasn’t sure what to do, but she took her cue from Wade and Dr. Matthews, who made no move to touch her. Dr. Matthews had explained that Carmen didn’t like physical contact unless she initiated it. Nina could tell she was in a delicate state and didn’t want to do anything that might bring the interview to an abrupt end.

  Carmen finally sniffed and plucked a tissue from Wade’s outstretched hand. Her shoulders slumped slightly, a sign that she had given up resisting. After a shuddering breath, she began again. “One night, I was supposed to meet a guy in Virginia. Just off the beltway. I left the baby in the back of my car while I was taking care of the customer. All of a sudden, she starts crying. The guy got real mad. He hit me hard and left without paying.” She dabbed at her nose with the tissue and accepted another from Wade. “I knew I would get beat even worse when I came back without any money. I was still high—it’s no excuse, but I wasn’t real clear.”

  “What did you do, Carmen?” Wade prompted after another long pause.

  “I took my baby from the car and then I . . .”

  Nina’s heart pounded as Carmen’s head bent down, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Watching her, Nina realized that Carmen had stopped calling her child Linda, now only referring to “the baby.”

  Carmen’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. She was trying to say something. Finally, Carmen managed a single word. “B-besar.” After another round of tears, she said, “Le d-d . . . besar.”

  Wade raised a quizzical brow at Nina, who strained to make out the words.

  “¿Qué he hecho?” Carmen said, then let out a wail of anguish that dissolved into tears.

  “That’s enough,” Dr. Matthews said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I trust you two can find your way out.” She moved to sit beside Carmen and began speaking to her softly.

  Wade waited until they were in the hallway to question Nina. “What did she say?” he whispered.

  “After she said, ‘I took her from the car,’ it was hard for me to understand,” Nina said. “It sounded like she said ‘besar,’ which means ‘to kiss.’ Then it sounded like she said ‘Le di un beso,’ which means ‘I gave her a kiss.’”

  “What came after that?”

  “Then she said, ‘What have I done?’”

  Wade appeared to consider the comments. “Carmen couldn’t bear to admit what she did in English. She regressed to an earlier version of herself.”

  “It sounds like she kissed her baby goodbye,” Nina said, “then she was finally overwhelmed by guilt.”

  She read the intensity of Wade’s gaze and knew they were thinking along the same lines. They would not get any more out of Carmen Cardona, but what she had told them was as good as a confession.

  Chapter 28

  A knock at her apartment door interrupted Nina’s musing as she dumped the contents of her suitcase on her bed. Relieved for a reason to delay unpacking and laundry duties, she padded to the door to peer through the fish-eye lens. Spotting only the top of a jet-black ponytail, she opened it wide.

  “Where’ve you been?” Bianca said as she stalked past her and into the kitchen. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Bianca had the habit of dropping by shortly after Nina arrived home. Nina was convinced the eighteen-year-old college senior had installed some sort of monitoring system in the parking lot. Best not to ask.

  “Come on in,” Nina said wryly. “What’s up?”

  “Can’t you hear the noise?” Bianca gestured in the direction of her apartment next door. “Mrs. G is having a birthday party for one of my foster brothers.”

  “It’s not too loud.”

  “There is a wild pack of seven-year-olds running around an apartment designed to hold a family of four.” Bianca was practically bug-eyed. “It’s a friggin’ zoo. If I didn’t get out of there, I was going to go batshit.”

  “Little Gus,” Nina said, remembering their last conversation. “He’s turning seven today, isn’t he?”

  “Hello?” Bianca had set her snark level to maximum. “We talked about this a few days ago when Mrs. G and I brought a slice of tres leches cake over for you.”

  “Been a little busy.” Nina snarked back at her. “What with all the flying back and forth across the country, investigating murders, and chasing down leads, I’ve had a few things on my mind.”

  “Tell me you’re chasing more than just leads.” The corner of Bianca’s mouth quirked up. “Tell me you’re chasing that hottie on your team.” She wiggled her brows. “The one with the muscles and the glasses.”

  Nina felt her cheeks warm. “Agent Kent?”

  Bianca rolled her eyes. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t mean the old guy.”

  “If you’re referring to Agent Wade, he’s in his fifties.” Nina opened the refrigerator. “That’s not old.”

  “Yeah right, well, that Kent dude is closer to your age.” Bianca twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “And he’s totally worth investigating.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Nina bent to peer inside the fridge. “No fraternization allowed between team members.”

  Bianca stuck her hand on her hip. “Well, that sucks.” A mischievous gleam lit her eyes. “Then what about that tasty Phoenix detective I saw you with? He’s easy on the eyes.”

  “Wait, what?” Nina turned around, two bottles of water in her hand. “How could you have seen me with Detective Perez, he’s—”

  “It’s called the internet.” Bianca accepted one of the bottles. “I’ve been following articles and stories about your investigation in Phoenix, which, by the way, is getting more hits every day.”

  Nina took a long swig. “I’d rather not talk about the media right now. One reporter in particular is making life extremely difficult.”

  “I know the one you mean,” Bianca said. “But there are plenty of people posting things about the Llorona case being reopened.” She unscrewed the top of her bottle. “By the way, how creepy is that story? I can’t believe you grew up hearing stuff like that. I would never tell Gus something that scary—even if he annoyed me, which he does,
like, twice a day.”

  “You’re not fooling me,” Nina said. “I happen to know Gus is your favorite.”

  Bianca put a finger to her lips in mock secrecy. “Don’t tell anyone. If it gets back to Gus, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “I think he knows.” Nina smiled. “You’ve already got him doing fifth-grade math, and I saw you putting together a little handheld computer for him when you were over here last week.”

  “I had to give the little cookie cruncher something for his birthday.” Bianca’s tone was dismissive. “It’s not like I have a lot of funds.”

  “He’s wormed his way into your heart.”

  Bianca tilted her head thoughtfully. “Foster kids have to stick together.”

  Pride tugged at Nina’s heart. Bianca had been in a desperate situation when Nina had tracked her down as a teenage runaway. Now Bianca was paying it forward.

  “I’m glad you’re looking after Gus,” Nina said to her. “Mrs. G told me he never even knew his parents.”

  “Yeah, and we don’t even really know when his actual birthday is,” Bianca said. “We just celebrate March seventh because that’s the date the social workers assigned to him.”

  Nina put down her bottle of water. Something Bianca said had reminded her of the interview with Carmen Cardona. She clutched at the fragment of thought, but it was too ephemeral, too fleeting to grasp.

  Bianca, apparently aware of Nina’s distracted state, tossed her empty bottle into the recycling bin. “I suppose I should get back over to the party to help clean up. I’m sure those kids have totally trashed the place.”

  Nina felt another tingle of awareness. “Trash?”

  “You know—garbage, waste, a thousand plastic cups and sporks with gobs of frosting all over the floor?”

  The tingle grew stronger. “Garbage?”

  Bianca’s pierced brows drew together. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Something was bubbling up from her subconscious mind, but she needed peace and quiet to let it surface.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Wash away the travel.” She did her best thinking in a steamy bathroom with water pouring over her.

  “I can take a hint.” Bianca eyed her warily. “But I’m going to check back with you later.”

  A few minutes after her neighbor left to face the horrors of a seventh birthday party, Nina stood in her shower as the water sluiced down her skin, the interview with Carmen playing on a continuous loop in her brain. She strained to keep up with thoughts ricocheting inside her head, trying to piece what she had learned into a coherent picture. Something about the interview would not stop nagging at her.

  An idea began to coalesce. What if I misunderstood her? She’d thought Carmen said “Le di un beso,” which meant “I gave her a kiss.” What had she actually heard the woman say, though?

  She pictured Carmen, distraught, saying, “B-besar.” Then, “Le d-d . . . besar.”

  Translated precisely, besar means to kiss, not I kiss, or I kissed. A native Spanish speaker like Carmen would not have used the wrong form of the verb. If she’d meant to say “I gave her a kiss,” she would have said “Le di un beso,” or simply, “La besé.”

  Bianca’s talk about cleaning up after the kids at the party had shaken something loose. The Spanish word for trash is basura, which sounds a lot like besar, especially if the person speaking is sobbing.

  What if Carmen didn’t say “Le di un beso”? What if she had said “La dejé en la basura,” but she was choking out the words as she cried?

  Nina’s mind raced with possibilities. Had Carmen confessed to leaving her baby in the trash?

  Like what had happened to her.

  Nina grew queasy as something else Bianca mentioned brought random facts together to form a disturbing image. Little Gus had been abandoned as an infant, and the social workers had to estimate how old he was. Assign him a birthday.

  Like what had happened to her.

  A pediatrician had estimated her age after she’d been found in a dumpster, but what if the doctor got it wrong? What if she hadn’t been thriving because she hadn’t received proper care? What if she had been cared for by a drug-addicted woman?

  She would appear small, perhaps less developed. The doctor might assume she was younger than her actual age by a couple of weeks.

  Nina took the next logical step down a dangerous path. Someone who has been celebrating their birthday on, say, March eleventh might have actually been born on February twenty-third.

  The water became tepid as she stood motionless under the spray, continuing to the next inevitable conclusion.

  In the Llorona case, the baby was born on February twenty-third but died in Phoenix six days later. Except Victor and Maria’s baby didn’t die at that house. The babies were switched at the hospital. She sucked in a breath as she realized the case had truly become like the legend of La Llorona. Maria’s child was missing, and no one knew where the baby was.

  But maybe she did know . . . now.

  Perhaps the baby had been taken to Maryland when she was only a few days old. If Nina had interpreted Carmen’s statement correctly this time, she had been in northern Virginia when she left her baby in the trash.

  Nina had been found in a dumpster in Reston, which was in northern Virginia.

  If the baby had survived, she would have just turned twenty-eight.

  Nina’s age. Or the age she thought she was about to turn next week.

  She shut off the water and rushed from the shower, tugging her satin robe around her. Damp hair dripping on the table as she opened her laptop, she did a Google search for news reports of abandoned newborns in northern Virginia twenty-eight years ago.

  Six cases came up—all had made the local news. Fighting a sickening wave of dread, she clicked on each story in turn. Only three pertained to baby girls. Of those three, only one involved a one-month-old baby left in Reston. That case had occurred on April eleventh, the day Nina had been found in the trash.

  The trash. La basura.

  Her case.

  Pulse pounding in her ears, she accessed the FBI server and entered the same search parameters. The results were no different.

  She had been the only infant girl left in a dumpster in northern Virginia in April of the year she was born. A leap year.

  No one had made the connection. No one would have known there was a connection to be made. She felt in her bones, in every fiber of her being . . . she knew it now.

  With nerveless fingers, she pulled up the file for the Llorona case and stared at a photograph of Maria and Victor Vega.

  People she would never know.

  Her parents.

  Chapter 29

  The following day

  Hogan’s Alley, FBI Academy

  Quantico, Virginia

  “Stop, FBI!” Nina trained her sights on the gunman as he clutched the bank teller tight against his body, the muzzle of his pistol against the woman’s head. “Drop your weapon.”

  Nina had intended to use stealth to get closer before announcing her presence, but the bank robber had given her no choice. Now he had a hostage.

  His pale eyes narrowed on her. “Throw down your gun, or she’s dead.” His scruffy beard and mop of sandy-brown hair gave him a generally unkempt appearance. “Do it,” Scruffy said.

  Negotiation might be her best option, but it wasn’t her strongest skill. Fortunately, her partner was a psychologist.

  She risked a glance at Wade, who had taken cover behind a low wall across the bank’s lobby. Wade could engage the suspect while she figured out her next move. If he didn’t get Scruffy to surrender, Wade could distract him while she lined up a head shot. She gave Wade a brief nod, willing him to read her intentions.

  “I’m Special Agent Jeffrey Wade,” he called out, drawing Scruffy’s attention. “Let’s talk about this before it goes any further. No one’s been hurt yet.”

  The gunman squeezed his hostage tighter against him. �
��That’s going to change real soon if you don’t do what I tell you.”

  Nina inched sideways, keeping her Glock trained on Scruffy.

  He darted a glance in her direction. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “She’s getting out of the line of fire,” Wade said, his deep voice projecting calm.

  A not-so-subtle reminder that she had left her position of cover. She hadn’t followed protocol, and Wade was apparently trying to rein her in.

  “I don’t want her sneaking around behind me,” Scruffy said. “Tell her to get back over here where I can see her.”

  With the gunman’s attention on Wade, Nina focused on the hostage, who appeared to be Latina. An idea began to take shape. It was a huge gamble, but she would not have a better opportunity to save the woman.

  Nina let out a slow, steady breath as she squeezed her index finger a fraction, taking up the slack in the trigger. She flicked a glance at the hostage and gave her a sharp command. “¡Agáchate!”

  The woman froze, mouth open, for a heart-stopping instant, then pitched forward and screamed as Nina pulled the trigger.

  An instant later, Scruffy and the hostage both dropped to the floor out of Nina’s line of sight.

  Wade rushed out from cover. “What the hell was that about, Guerrera?”

  Scruffy sat up and yanked off his helmet. “Damn, that hurt.” He rubbed his forehead. “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to shoot.”

  “They weren’t.” Special Agent Denbry, one of the instructors assigned to the academy, strode into view. “That wasn’t part of the scenario. Guerrera was supposed to allow for negotiations.”

  Instructors at the FBI training facility in Quantico had set up a simulation exercise for the team in Hogan’s Alley, which consisted of several storefronts lining the streets of a fake city inside the sprawling academy grounds. For today’s scenario, local actors played the roles of bank teller and robber in a hostage situation at the Bank of Hogan, affectionately known as the most robbed bank in the world.

  Nina slid her visor up. “I had a shot, and I took it.” She gestured toward the actor, who was struggling to his feet. “That was a kill shot. He wouldn’t have hurt the hostage.”