“Heard of him, never met him.”
“He’s pretty tight with the Rogans and with Rick,” he said. “He’s also the former assistant director of White Collar Crimes at national headquarters. He took a demotion, of sorts, into an ASAC position in Sacramento after he got married, but still consults with DC because he’s the foremost expert we have in financial crimes. He’s sharp, and we need sharp on this.” He hesitated. “You know how I feel about bringing in civilian consultants.”
“I wouldn’t ask. And Sean respects ASAC Hooper tremendously, from what he’s told me.”
“I already asked Rick if I could bring in Sean if needed. I’ll talk to Sean tonight, because Dean already asked if he could use him locally. Our San Antonio office just isn’t as advanced in white-collar issues as we are in the other divisions.”
“Sean is out of town for the next two to three days.”
“Business?”
“A friend asked him to find her husband and son, who disappeared while on a working vacation in Acapulco.” She hesitated, then added, “Kane went with him.”
“You sound worried.”
“Sean wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t serious.” He’d been worried about her last night; she’d sensed it the minute she walked in. She must have looked like death warmed over. She did her best to show him that she was all right. And she was … she’d miss him, but she was a big girl. She needed to learn to decompress on her own. Lucy internalized her cases, and it sometimes got to her, resulting in little sleep and long nights. She found it both beneficial and terrifying that she often understood killers, that she could get inside their heads and emotionally dissect them. Sometimes, that was the only way to stop them.
But it took its toll. Insomnia, poor eating habits, lack of emotion—Lucy could psychoanalyze herself until the cows came home, she understood her defenses, but that didn’t help when she found herself alone and thinking too much about her cases.
Her last partner, Barry Crawford, had told her she didn’t know how to turn off the job. This was true. Sean could do it for her. He would take her hand, smile, and know exactly what to say or do to shut it down. Whether it was a quiet night at home, a dinner out at their favorite restaurant, or inviting friends over for a game of poker, Sean had this uncanny way of knowing exactly what she needed and when.
She was spoiled. She was going to miss him the next few days.
A phone rang in the backseat. Siobhan answered it. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m serious—I’m with Lucy and another agent … Don’t. I’m fine … I promise. One problem, I’ll call … I said I promise … And you know what? Next time Kane wants to know how I’m doing, have him call me direct.”
Siobhan pocketed her phone. “Impossible,” she muttered.
Lucy exchanged a glance with Noah. “What’s going on?” Lucy asked Siobhan.
“Kane told Ranger everything, and now Ranger’s worried.” To Noah she said, “Ranger works with Kane in hostage rescue. Ranger and his team are in Honduras escorting a medical unit through a dicey area. Far more dangerous and necessary than babysitting me. But Ranger said he’d drop everything if I needed help.”
Lucy didn’t quite know what to say. She’d seen the exchange between Kane and Siobhan that morning, before she and Sean gave them some privacy.
She was about to comment when Siobhan continued. “It’s the principle of the thing. Yes, I appreciate his help, but it’s Kane being dictatorial. Thinking I’m going to get in trouble. I lived and worked in Mexico for years. I know how to take care of myself. And he called Andie. Again.”
“Andie—your sister.”
“Now she’s worried. I mean, I know, I’m not a cop, I’m not a soldier, I don’t even like guns all that much—but I can hit the target when I have to. Andie made sure of that. But I’m not a child, and I resent being coddled and scolded like one.”
“They care about you,” Lucy said. “I am a cop, and I like guns, and my family still worries about me.”
Siobhan rubbed her eyes. “You’re right. I just … I’m stuck. I don’t know where else to look.”
“You don’t look anywhere,” Noah said firmly. “That’s why Lucy and I are here. You’re involved because you know these girls and you have contacts in the community, but you are not to go out on your own. Do you understand?”
“You’re a cop and military, aren’t you?”
“Air Force, ten years.”
“One of the nice guys.”
“Excuse me?”
“Air Force guys were always the nicest. There was one Airborne unit, after the mudslide in Mari and Ana’s village, who came in with extra medical supplies and water. And they brought me—there was no getting in and out of the village on foot because the bridge was taken out. It was risky—Vala Vida is remote and pristine and the cartels and rebels leave them alone, but to get there we have to go through some dangerous areas. There’s only one way in and out. Anyway, a unit raised the money on their own to bring in the supplies. It wasn’t the first time the Air Force came through for one of the sisters.”
“Okay, I’ll take being a nice guy.”
Lucy laughed.
Noah mocked indignation. “I am.”
“You are,” she agreed, glad for a little levity.
Noah pulled in front of the address of the hotel that Sean had reserved for Siobhan.
“No way,” Siobhan said. “This place costs a fortune.”
“The security is good,” Lucy said. “And Sean paid for it. You’ll hurt his feelings if you don’t stay here. Not to mention he’ll find out, tell Kane, and Kane will probably send Ranger up here. I know how they think.”
Noah parked in ten-minute parking and got out, opened the door for Siobhan. “I agree with Lucy. You stirred the hornets’ nest, and whoever was running the house in Freer knows you’re still looking for Marisol and Ana.”
“It’s just—it’s too much.” She looked pained.
Lucy picked up Siobhan’s backpack and started toward the door. Noah escorted Siobhan inside. They were greeted almost immediately by hotel security. “Ms. Walsh, it’s a privilege to have you with us. I’m Horatio Peterson, the head of security.”
“How do you know me?”
“Mr. Rogan said you’d be checking in this morning. Your safety is my number one concern. Our hotel has state-of-the-art security systems, and we monitor visitors closely. We’ve had many important people stay here—actors, musicians, presidents even—and I can assure you as long as you are here, no one will disturb you.” He handed his card to Siobhan, Noah, and Lucy. “Agents, I’m at your disposal if you need anything during your stay here.”
“We’re not staying,” Noah said.
“Nonetheless, there are two rooms adjoining Ms. Walsh’s suite also reserved for the week.” He handed out card keys. “It’s a long drive to San Antonio.”
Noah glanced at Lucy and shook his head, but she could see a slight smile on his face.
“I don’t know whether to shoot him or hug him,” Siobhan said.
“I often have that feeling,” Noah concurred.
Peterson said, “If you need to go anywhere, I have a driver at your disposal.”
“It’s a lost cause,” Lucy said. “Just enjoy it. And you’re close to the hospital.”
“Fine,” Siobhan said. “I’m going to owe Sean big time.”
“You owe him nothing.”
“He loaned me his camera. This hotel. Everything.”
Noah and Lucy left Siobhan at the hotel. Noah pulled out and said, “We’re going to pick up the files from the sheriff before we head out to Del Rio and track down Leo Musgrove.” The sheriff’s department was on the way. “Sean shouldn’t have done all this. We’re not going to stay—at least, I hope not.”
“He wanted to. Really. He didn’t want to go to Mexico, I think he was feeling a little guilty that he didn’t turn down the job.”
After they picked up the files of the mother and infant who’d disappeared three
months ago, and the subsequent arson fire, they turned onto the highway heading to Del Rio, which was nearly three hours northwest.
“This could be a total bust,” Noah said. “I wish I could have sent a local team, but the terrorism alert is on high—ICE caught more than a dozen questionable Middle Eastern detainees attempting to cross in Laredo last month. They have backgrounds to run and heightened security to deal with. I can’t pull them off for this.”
Violent crimes in the FBI took a far back burner to counter-terrorism, counter-intellience, and cybercrime. In fact, Lucy had the distinct feeling that Violent Crimes had moved to the bottom of the list. While on the one hand she understood that the FBI and other law enforcement agencies had stopped terrorist attacks before they occurred—planned attacks that they often didn’t share with the public—violent crime affected so many people. What was happening to these girls in Freer and Laredo was heartbreaking.
Noah muttered, “This is when I wish I owned my own airplane and made enough money to pay for fuel.”
“What, the FBI wouldn’t reimburse you?” Lucy teased.
Noah was on the phone most of the drive talking to nearly every agent on the Violent Crimes Squad seeking updates on cases, as well as giving Dean and Rick updates on their case. Lucy turned her attention to the thin file Zach had sent them on Leo Musgrove.
Born in Austin, Texas, to a science teacher and a nurse, Leo’s parents divorced after he graduated high school and moved to different states; he stayed, went to state college, dropped out after a year, and had taken a variety of odd jobs. He was suspected of dealing drugs, had been arrested multiple times, but charges didn’t stick until the third arrest when he served fourteen months of a two-year stint in minimum security for possession with intent. Good behavior, no problems, and he disappeared when he was released.
Now he was thirty-four with conflicting affiliations—Del Rio local law enforcement put him in a gang, while federal law enforcement marked him as an associate of one of the Juarez-based cartels. But Leo had kept his nose mostly clean, popping up on police radar as a middleman, then disappearing when the heat came down.
There were no recent photos of him, except the pictures Barrow had given them.
Lucy hadn’t liked Eric Barrow, but it appeared that his exposé on the brothel had resulted in its being completely shut down. On the one hand, that was good—most of the women there were forced to work, and many were illegal immigrants who’d been threatened or kidnapped or couldn’t find any way out of the sex trade. They didn’t trust law enforcement and they didn’t trust the system. They were considered property by the people who ran the brothels, brutalized because they didn’t have anyone to turn to for help. On the other hand, what had happened to them? Did the organization close up shop here and open elsewhere? Or was their fate worse?
Maybe that’s why Lucy didn’t like Barrow. He came in, wrote his story, and left. Let the pieces fall where they may, he didn’t care. No help for the girls, just expose a corrupt system and adios. How had he and Siobhan become friends? They were so different. In attitude, values, goals.
As they neared Del Rio, Noah took a call from the local resident agency in Del Rio. “It’s about time he called me back,” Noah muttered before he answered.
By the sounds of it, the conversation didn’t go well. Noah tossed his phone on the seat and slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he turned off the highway into town.
“We’re on our own.”
“Del Rio should have eight to ten agents. They don’t have anyone to assist?”
“Four are on a joint operation with border patrol and the others are spread thin because of it. The SSA never heard of Musgrove, said he’s not on their radar, and they can’t spare anyone.”
“What about the brothel?”
“Confirmed that it was shut down after Barrow ran his story, but said it opened up again—only this time they rotate locations. He’s sending me a list of possibles, but it would take days to investigate and there is no viable lead that the de la Rosa sisters are there.”
“I don’t think they’re here,” Lucy said. “Barrow indicated that the brothel had been shut down so a group of women could be brought in. New girls? Special business arrangement? We don’t know, but they didn’t stay around, according to Barrow’s source. If the source was right and Marisol de la Rosa was one of those special women, she’s not here now.” Not if she just gave birth. “Musgrove will know.”
Noah parked a block away from their target address. “Are you wearing a vest?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“You get used to it.”
Noah went around to the trunk, took off his jacket and shirt, and slipped on the thinnest available Kevlar vest over his undershirt. Then he buttoned back up and put on his jacket.
“I hope we don’t need them,” Noah said.
“If Leo Musgrove has been involved for years, and this brothel is connected to the house in Freer, he’ll know the people in Siobhan’s photographs. We need to find the woman.”
“You think she’ll cave? Did you get that just from her photo?”
“No—I think she’s in charge. Or is close to who’s in charge. When I was looking through the photos again, I couldn’t help but notice how the men deferred to her. It was subtle, the way they stood, they way they treated her as if she were their mother or someone of importance. The way she held her head—as if she owns everything in her path.”
“Okay, I can accept that. I trust your judgment.”
“Thanks.”
“Lucy, we’ve worked together often enough that you don’t need to thank me.” He smiled as they walked around the corner to a dive bar over which Musgrove lived. “We check the bar first, then go upstairs. Be alert—if he bolts, you take the back.”
As soon as they walked into the bar, they were made—two men sitting in the corner, neither of whom was Musgrove, slipped out the back.
Musgrove was at the bar drinking coffee, his back to the door, but he locked eyes with Noah in the mirror. Then he glanced at Lucy. Assessing both of them. He slowly rose from his seat and walked across the bar, past Noah and Lucy, and toward the back.
“Mr. Musgrove,” Noah said.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t run or slow, he just kept going.
Noah nodded to Lucy, who ran back out the front and sprinted to the alley. She encountered the two men who’d left getting into a beat-up truck. She ignored them, even though she felt them watching her as they pulled out of the rutted dirt parking lot. Her instincts, always knowing when someone was staring at her, had saved her ass many times. This time it didn’t matter; the truck drove off.
Musgrove exited and walked right over to Lucy. “You trying to get me killed? Walking in like you own the place?”
Lucy stood her ground, keeping his hands in view. He was likely carrying.
Noah was right behind him. “Leo Musgrove, we need to talk.”
“What do a couple of feds want with me?” He was jittery. “People will think I’m a snitch. And right now, being a snitch will get you dead. Who told you where I was?”
Of course he’d pegged them as feds, even before they ID’d themselves. Criminals had a sixth sense about cops.
“I’ll put cuffs on you, make it legit,” Noah said.
“Fuck that.” He was backing away from them, not overtly looking for an escape route, but he definitely didn’t want to be talking to them.
“You run, we’ll haul your ass in,” Noah said. “It’s too fucking hot out here to play this game.” He motioned toward the bar. The back wall was shaded. “Against the wall, Musgrove.”
He was weighing his options.
Noah stepped toward him. “I’m in much better shape than you are, Leo. Wall. Now.”
Leo swore and backed against the wall.
“Turn around.”
He complied.
Noah searched him. Removed a knife and a small gun. Slipped them
into his pocket. “Turn around.”
“I’d better get those back,” Leo said. “I’m no longer on probation, I can carry a fucking gun.”
Noah said, “Eight months ago you moved a small group of young women, ten to twelve of them, into the brothel on Seventh Street that was subsequently shut down after an investigative reporter exposed a bunch of cops and politicians using the place. But before that, the whole place came to a halt for three days while these girls were there. Who did you move them for and where did they go?”
Leo stared at Noah like he was asking him to drink cyanide.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Lucy handed Noah the thin folder with photos of Marisol and Ana.
Noah showed Leo the de la Rosa sisters. “Seen them?”
Leo didn’t even look at the photo. “No.”
“Look again.”
Leo waved his hand over the photo in dismissal. “Girls like them are a dime a dozen. In and out, working girls. I don’t know who they are, what they do, nothing. Nothing. Got it?”
Definitely protesting too much. Out of fear or because he was protecting someone?
“These girls were taken from Monterrey, Mexico. Which means this falls under border security issues. The fact that ICE and the FBI just captured a dozen Syrians over the last two weeks coming in from Mexico—three of whom are on the terror watch list—means that I can hold you indefinitely if I believe that you’re bringing known terrorists into the States.”
“Those girls are terrorists?” Leo laughed. “Right.”
Noah didn’t smile. “I’m not bluffing, Leo. You brought them across the border, I can make the case that you have knowledge of terrorist movements because of your illegal job as a coyote.”
Leo stared, weighing if Noah was bluffing.
Noah stepped closer. “I don’t like the heat, and you run out here and make me stand in the fucking sun. I don’t work here. I’m from DC headquarters. Which means I have a lot more clout than your average fed. One call, and I’ll bring the wrath of God down on you. I want to know who those girls were for. Who ordered the facility shut down in order to house them. Where they went. No more games.”
The Lost Girls Page 14
