She looked up at Nacho, tried to speak, and burst into tears. As the sobs wracked her body, she felt Nacho’s silent watchful gaze.
He waited for her to collect herself before he continued. “Adolfo called me yesterday to get certain … information. He said El Lobo was asking about you.”
She hiccupped, took a deep breath, and spoke around the lump in her throat. “What does he want with me?”
The inkling of an answer edged its way in, setting off her internal alarm system. She’d suffered so much in the past few months. Through it all, she’d managed to keep her faith, her dignity, and her self-respect. She feared she would lose all three when she got to the compound.
“Sofia, I need to ask you a question.”
Unable to respond, she simply nodded.
Nacho shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Are you a virgin?” A red scald crept up from his collar past his bobbing Adam’s apple.
She bowed her head. Of course, he would have his doubts. She spent almost every waking minute with Nacho, but there had been times when one of the coyotes had ordered her to work on a personal computer or tablet. And there had been the days she’d spent in the dungeon, subject to the guards. Yet no one had touched her. And Señorita Daria had explained why.
But El Lobo would probably want to be certain. Daria had said virgins fetched a high price. Was he planning to auction her off like cattle?
“Sofia.”
Her head snapped up at Nacho’s impatient prompting. Should she lie? She did a quick calculation and decided she would almost certainly get caught. Better to go with the truth.
“I am a virgin.”
The look of relief on Nacho’s face stunned her. Was he about to get some sort of bonus for delivering her untouched? Anger followed quickly. She had believed he cared for her. Thought he was different because he’d never physically harmed anyone. Now he had shown her his true colors. And he was every bit as vile as those he served.
Nacho drew a deep breath as if steeling himself. “When we get to the compound, I have to turn you over to Adolfo. He’ll have you checked by a doctor and made presentable.”
“Presentable?” She pictured livestock on an auction block. “Presentable for what?”
“For El Lobo.” Nacho looked away. “He’ll want you for himself.”
The lump that had been in her throat plummeted down to her stomach, sending up a molten blast of bile in its place.
“No.” She shook her head. “No. This can’t be happening.”
Nacho clasped her hand. “I can’t let that happen.”
“So you’re going to take my virginity?” She blinked. “Now?”
“No.” He drew the word out, rolling his eyes. “I thought you knew. Thought you could tell. I … care about you. A lot.”
She could barely keep up with the emotions whirling through her. Instead of threatening her, Nacho was … what? Trying to help her? She couldn’t trust the tiny bud of hope that began to unfurl. Not when so many previous hopes had been crushed. Besides, why would he give a shit what happened to her when he clearly had a future with the cartel? Why would he risk it for a scrawny, beaten-down, underfed girl destined for one of the brothels when El Lobo tired of her?
“You care,” she whispered, “about me?”
“I know what’s in store for you if you go back to the compound.” He shook his head. “You’re so pretty, so delicate, so sweet.” Sorrow filled his eyes. “You won’t survive.”
Her face flamed. “You think I’m pretty?”
He pulled her into his arms. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Sofia Pacheco.” He kissed the top of her head. “But I’m a wanted fugitive and—oh yeah—I work for a ruthless killer who wants you for himself.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “No happily ever after for us.”
“You could leave the cartel,” she said.
He stroked her matted hair. “Then I would be on the run from the law and the cartel. I wouldn’t last a week. My best hope would be a US jail cell.” He snorted. “No thanks.”
She leaned against him quietly, aware he spoke the truth.
After holding her a long moment, he broke the embrace. “See that gas station?” He took out the key to her manacles as she nodded. “I’m going to pull in to top off the tank.” He laid the key on the console. “Then I’m going to the bathroom in the back and you’re going to escape.”
“Nacho, they’ll kill you if you come back without me. I know too much about their business.”
“You don’t know as much as you think. I’ve limited you to hacking. I’ve never let you work on Villalobos business accounts or handle banking transactions. I’ll take my beating. It’ll be worth it.”
The young man who had been her captor had become her savior. She couldn’t bear the idea of him suffering for helping her.
Anguish raised her voice to a shrill shreak. “They won’t beat you, they’ll butcher you!”
“I’ve made up my mind. If you won’t cooperate, I’ll leave you at the gas station unconscious.” He slid his knuckles along her cheek. “I’d rather not.”
“I’m scared for you, Nacho.”
“I only ask one thing.” His eyes bored into hers. “When the cops interview you, stick with the story that you escaped. That’s why I’m having you go through the motions. Your story will stand up to questioning if you can remember what you actually did rather than try to make shit up.” He framed her face with his hands. “El Lobo has spies everywhere. If he finds out I let you go, he’ll go out of his way to make my death memorable as an example to the others.” He brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “This has to stay between us. You cannot tell a single soul. Not even your mother or your sister. No one, understand? My life depends on it.”
Her heart broke. “No one can ever know that you saved my life? That you are a good man?”
“I chose this life, bonita. This is the price I must pay.” A single tear coursed down his cheek as he brought her lips to his for a tender kiss.
44
Veranda gave up on sleep. Lying awake most of the night in Chuy’s bed, her fitful bouts of slumber had all featured Sam crumpling to the ground in slow motion, blood seeping into the dusty earth beneath him.
She tumbled out of bed and staggered to the shower. The hot water failed to wash away images from the day before. She had to see Sam for herself.
Spurred into action by a clear goal, she toweled off and made her way to the stackable washer and dryer tucked behind a partition in the corner. Her hands found the black BDUs and fitted T-shirt she’d stuffed in before flopping onto the bed hours earlier. Working on autopilot, she slid on her clothes and stuffed her feet into scuffed black boots. After pausing to slurp down a K-cup’s worth of liquid stimulant, she steered Chuy’s custom Harley Fat Boy out of the garage. Still without a city car, her cousin’s motorcycle was her only transportation. And her only means of escaping Lieutenant Diaz.
Bright rays of morning sunlight slanted through bent venetian blinds, suffusing the hospital’s waiting area with a golden glow. Her head, her body, and her heart ached. Grumbling to herself, Veranda slouched deeper into the worn fabric of the visitor’s room chair and checked the wall clock again. Less than a minute until visiting hours began at eight. She recognized her Homicide squad’s voices coming from a corridor on her left as they meandered in her direction, and prayed Diaz wasn’t with them.
She’d been at Phoenix General for half an hour when her Homicide team arrived. One of the nurses had confirmed what Diaz had told her late last night. Sam had pulled through surgery and his condition had been upgraded to serious but stable.
“There you are,” Marci said, interrupting her reverie. “We’ve all been trying to reach you. Why aren’t you taking calls?” The rest of the squad filed in behind Marci, each face registering surprise at her presence.
“
I muted my cell last night to get some sleep,” she said, getting to her feet. “Not that it worked.” Her gaze drifted to the floor. “Must’ve forgot to turn it back on this morning.”
She’d silenced her phone to avoid her boss, but no one called her on the lie. Anxious to change the topic, she asked about the investigation.
“Like you said, I’ve been out of touch all morning. What’s going on at the pit building?”
“Still an active scene,” Marci said. “Agent Ortiz is there with the local ATF Field Office working with our bomb squad. They’re checking for booby traps, chemicals, or stockpiled explosives. What’s left of the structure is unstable, so they’re taking it slow.”
“How about Agent Rios?”
Everyone turned to Doc, who didn’t disappoint. “Agent Rios sustained a linear skull fracture,” he said, lifting his hand in a placating gesture at their looks of alarm. “He got off easy. That’ll heal on its own in about six weeks. No subdural hematoma or other complications. No need for surgery and the prognosis is excellent. He’ll be released tomorrow. The ER doc wants him to wait a couple of days before he gets on an airplane though.”
For the first time in days, Veranda laughed. “So, Diaz still has a roomie.”
Tony looked perplexed. “I don’t get it.”
Marci heaved the world-weary sigh of a detective whose partner tried her patience constantly. No one was fooled. Squabbling was their default setting. Neither would have it any other way.
Marci spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “It’s funny because they can’t stand each other.” She turned back to Veranda. “Maybe they’ll bond over a tub of Ben and Jerry’s while they watch telenovelas.”
Tony put his hands on his hips. “That’s just wrong.”
“You’re right, it’s not fair.” Marci nodded vehemently. “But there isn’t room for all three of you on that couch, Tony. You guys are all pretty big.” She widened her eyes. “I know. Maybe you can take the federale’s spot on the sofa when he leaves town. I don’t know what the lieutenant likes, but I can tell you’re a Chunky Monkey guy.”
It felt good to share a lighthearted moment. “Thanks,” she said to Marci. “I needed something to smile about.”
Frank, usually silent, spoke for the first time. “You can smile about Sofia Pacheco.” He waited a beat, then added, “She’s been found alive.”
“Where?” Veranda sucked in a breath. “Is she okay?”
“The owner of a gas station near the border found her yesterday afternoon,” Frank said. “She seems to be doing well under the circumstances. Apparently, she managed to escape from Nacho’s van when he stopped for gas. She got loose while he was in the men’s room.”
Her heart soared. She’d heard Sofia wasn’t there when SAU raided the cartel’s armory base. Everyone had concluded Nacho had taken her to Mexico. Searches along the borders had come up dry.
“One of our victim specialists is bringing her here.” Frank indicated the hospital around them. “She’ll get medical treatment and they’ll take her statement.”
Veranda had met Sofia’s mother and twin sister but had never seen her in person. “Has her family been notified?”
“They’re flying in to take her back to Mexico,” Frank said.
Marci grimaced. “I wouldn’t want to be Nacho right now.”
“I don’t think Hector will kill him,” Veranda said. “He’s too valuable, especially with Daria and Salazar out of the game.”
Tony eyed her. “We’ve got questions for you too. What did you do to the lieu yesterday?” Having started his career on the NYPD, Tony still peppered in some of their slang. “Diaz went loco after your phone call.” Tony darted a glance over his shoulder, leaned in, and lowered his voice. “Did you hang up on him?”
Where to start? Diaz had showed up at the pit building in a towering rage. After yanking her off Salazar, he’d scanned her from head to toe, asking if she was okay three separate times. She didn’t want to discuss it with her squad. Or anyone. Ever.
The sound of medical clogs on hospital-grade vinyl tile saved her from making an excuse not to answer, driving thoughts of her supervisor into the dark recesses of her mind.
A middle-aged woman whose black hair and dark skin contrasted with her neon green scrubs smiled at them. “Eight o’clock on the dot and he’s asking for his squad.” Her sweeping glance encompassed the entire group. “But only five minutes. He needs rest.”
Mumbling her thanks, Veranda blew past the nurse and headed for the corridor, anxious to lay eyes on her partner. She pushed through the door to the private room, wrinkling her nose at the antiseptic smell. Her gaze followed the sound of beeping monitors to settle on Sam. He sat upright with his back propped against two pillows. His normally ruddy complexion had paled, but his piercing gray eyes were sharp as they met hers.
“Heard you’ve been busy,” he said.
The familiar timbre of his deep voice cracked the dam holding her emotions in check. She rushed to the bedside and grasped both of his hands. Careful of the tubes, she bent down and kissed his cheek. Her squad mates were right behind her, offering greetings as they gathered around the bed.
Veranda drew in a steadying breath and composed herself. “It’s good to see you, Sam.”
She knew her words fell ridiculously short. Even if she hadn’t been surrounded by her fellow officers, wringing her hands and going on about how frightened she’d been at the prospect of losing him wasn’t her way.
Sam was old school, where cops weren’t supposed to gush to their partners about their innermost feelings, so his response was in kind.
“Good to be seen.”
Standing at the foot of the bed, Marci gently placed a hand on the white blanket covering his feet. “How do you feel?”
Before Sam could make up his mind, Doc spoke. “Some of the doctors talked to me off the record. Good news is you’ll make a full recovery. Bad news, you’ll have residual discomfort for weeks throughout your thoracic area. Also, we’ll have to watch you for signs of infection. If you notice any—”
Marci cut him off before he could start listing symptoms. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Sam groaned. “Last time I got shot, they released me the next day. Now they want to keep me for five days.”
“They’re not called cop-killer rounds for nothing,” Frank said. “And you’re lucky you took the hit from the Glock and not the fifty-cal.”
Sam’s mustache twitched. “Remind me to buy a lottery ticket.” He raised a bushy black brow at Veranda. “They told me what you did.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I improvised.”
“Tell us more about this improvised plan of yours,” Marci said, grinning. “The little I heard sounded completely nuts.”
“I’m surprised our lieutenant isn’t sharing this room with me,” Sam said. “I’m sure you gave him a coronary.”
Doc nodded, the fluorescent lights glinting from his glasses. “Judging by his florid coloration and the visible presence of veins in his neck and temple areas, I would say his blood pressure was close to stroke range when he left here yesterday.”
She grimaced at the memory. “He was worse by the time he got to me. You should’ve seen him throwing his weight around like an angry bull, barking orders at everyone in sight. And for a minute I thought he was going to take off Salazar’s cuffs and go a few rounds.”
“Damn,” Tony said, drawing the word out as only a Brooklyn-ite could. “Wouldn’t wanna be you right now.”
“He ordered me to get Daria’s bite wounds cleaned and checked.” She held up her fingers, showing off three Band-Aids. “Tried to explain myself while he drove me to the hospital yesterday, but he just gave me a death stare until I stopped talking.”
“Damn,” Tony repeated.
“After my debriefing last night, he took me to Chuy’s apart
ment. Told me he’d come by this morning to give me a ride to PSB.” She shrugged. “Oops. Guess I forgot.”
She would put off her trip to the Professional Standards Bureau as long as possible. Dealing with internal affairs always put her on edge, and this time she had a lot to answer for.
Tony gave her a knowing look. “Like you forgot to take your phone off mute?”
“Something like that.” She quickly changed the subject. “Does anyone have an update on Salazar?” Veranda assumed Doc would have pumped his hospital contacts for info on everybody.
Doc pushed his glasses up. “Salazar told the ER doc that a pile of cement chunks fell on him before he was pushed into a twelve-foot-deep hole, and then somebody gave him a scalp massage with a Glock.” He flicked a glance at Veranda. “Nobody believed him until they saw the radiographs. He sustained multiple contusions to his head consistent with his statement, but only suffered a mild concussion. The radiologist said his skull must be made of titanium and his pain threshold has got to be high enough to enter orbit.”
“Is he still here?” She recalled Diaz ordering Salazar transported to Phoenix General under heavy guard.
“In the lock-down ward on the fifth floor,” Doc said. “They’re keeping him for observation. When the treating physician signs off, he’ll go to jail.”
“Speaking of Salazar’s injuries,” Tony said, eyeing Veranda. “I saw photos of him taken in the ER. Are those claw marks on his face your handiwork?”
She snorted. “Daria’s the scratching and biting type. I’m the ass-kicking and pistol-whipping type.”
A broad grin lit Sam’s face. “Nothing but respect.”
Marci leaned forward to bump Veranda’s fist. “Wish I could’ve gotten in on that.”
“Stop it,” Tony said. “You two are gettin’ me all hot.”
Death Blow Page 26
