“Come on, then, let’s grab our witness before they get to her.”
~*~
The front desk nurses steered the local cops their way. Michelle had Jinx’s blood all over her jeans, so there would have been no hiding, and so she’d been prepared for this. She gave her official statement – sticking to the truth save the part where they’d been intentionally trying to root out the cartel’s whereabouts – and sent them both on their way with the proper amount of worry and sadness.
“It’s scary how good you are at that,” Candy said when they were gone, smirking at her.
She tossed her hair and affected bored. “Lots of practice.”
God, but it felt good to have talked. To be on the same page again; allies and friends and just…them. She loved being them.
Albie and Axelle came around the corner and into the waiting room, dropping into chairs across from them. Michelle didn’t miss the way Albie’s hand had rested on the small of Axelle’s back the whole time, a thoughtless sort of gesture, automatic and caring. It left her smiling inwardly, so as not to spook Axelle, who still didn’t seem certain about all this. She was happy for her uncle, though. Albie deserved someone to fuss over, after all his years alone.
“We passed the cops,” Albie said.
“Standard stuff,” Candy said. “They’ll be back later to get a statement from Jinx when he’s out of surgery.”
“How’s your upholstery?” Michelle asked.
Axelle made a face. “I bought some towels and Clorox wipes in the gift shop. It’s mostly okay.”
“We’ll pay to have it deep-cleaned,” Candy told her, and surprise touched her expression.
“Oh. You don’t have to. Hazards of the job, you know?”
“One of my guys bleeds all over a lady’s cherry GTO, I’m gonna pay,” he insisted, firmly.
Axelle darted a glance to Albie, and then back to Candy, caught between wowed and nervous. “Oh. Well. Um. Thanks.”
Albie not-so-casually draped his arm across the back of her chair.
“What now?” she asked, scanning all their faces. “I mean…” She darted a glance around Albie, toward the open entrance of the waiting room, hands closing tight on her thighs. “Is the cartel gonna send guys right in here after us?”
“No, love,” Albie said, hand dropping down onto her shoulder.
“They won’t do something that obvious,” Candy said. “I told Cantrell it was the Chupacabras, and after today, I’d say they know we’re onto them. If the feds are worth a shit, they’ll start doing some real digging. But they will come after us.”
Michelle shivered, and not entirely from fear.
“Today kicked off a war,” Candy said. “Or picked an old one back up. And we’re all involved, now, so we’ll work together, all of us. Us against them.”
Axelle blew out a shaky breath. “Okay. Cool.”
Albie’s hand flexed where it rested on her shoulder.
Michelle spotted the same doctor from before coming toward them, mask dangling from her neck. “Jinx is out of surgery.”
~*~
Gwen jumped about a foot when Eden walked up and laid a hand on her shoulder. Let out a huge, whooshing breath when Eden smiled at her and said, “It’s only me. I thought we could have a chat.”
She hadn’t brought Fox with her – he’d said he needed to see to the young ones and an interrogation, and she’d waved him off, more than a little pleased that he leaned in to kiss her before he left – and was glad of it when she got Gwen settled in the cafeteria with a dish of chocolate pudding and a cup of coffee. The girl touched neither, and once again pulled her feet up in the chair with her. Her gaze darted in every direction, fleeting back and forth like a startled bird. Fox was no good at comforting; Eden wouldn’t say she had the softest touch, or the gentlest heart, but she’d had plenty of practice dealing with spooked witnesses with MI6.
“Gwen,” she started, and the girl startled. “You seem terribly frightened,” she said, with sympathy, offering another smile.
Gwen had been holding one hand up near her mouth, the damp, chewed bit of her hoodie sleeve within easy reach; she slammed her fist down into her lap, now, lip trembling. “Yeah, well I–” she began, much too loud, nearly shouting.
Eden noticed several heads whip in their direction.
Gwen paled further and dropped her voice to a rough whisper, leaning forward across the table toward her. She didn’t seem to notice that her hoodie strings wound up trailing through the pudding. “I got shot at. Yeah, I’m pretty fucking frightened.” Eden thought she’d wanted to sound indignant and petulant, but she sounded young and scared instead.
Eden rested an elbow on the table, her own voice very low and modulated so that it wouldn’t carry; she’d had lots of practice in that, too. “There was lots of shooting, and it was terribly unsettling for you, yes. But no one was shooting at you, specifically, dear.”
Gwen stared at her a moment in disbelief, and then outrage put the first, much-needed bit of color into her face. “Yes, they were!” she hissed.
“Why? Because they saw you with us and knew you’d betrayed them?”
“I–” Her lips clamped shut, and she paled again.
“Typically,” Eden said, “receptionists aren’t privy to sensitive criminal information. I understand being suspicious of your employer, but why would you immediately assume they would want you dead, I wonder.”
“I…”
“You know something,” Eden said.
Gwen stared at her, terrified again, all her indignation evaporated.
“If you share it with me, I can offer you protection.”
A head shake.
“If you don’t, I’ll walk out of this cafeteria right now, and leave you to fend for yourself.”
Her eyes widened another impossible fraction, and she chewed at her lip.
Eden pushed her chair back.
“Wait!”
Eden paused.
Gwen took a long moment, surveying the room again, shrinking down into herself, all hunched up like a timid mouse in her chair. Her gaze fixed on the double doors of the cafeteria, and she spoke in a rapid, breathless whisper. “It really was just a job at first. I got fired from my last one – that little goth place downtown, Tootsie’s – for shoplifting. I couldn’t get hired anywhere else, but Carlos finally took me on. I just had to answer the phone and shit, make appointments.” She gave a fast shrug. “It sucked, but it was a check.
“And then–” She broke off, and chewed her lip another moment, gaze skipping over to Eden.
“What happened?”
The girl swallowed with obvious effort. “I went back late one day, after I’d left. I forgot my laptop. The lights were off, up front, but they were on in the back, and I heard voices. I recognized Carlos’s. But, like, a lot of voices. Way more than just the mechanics. I thought they were having a party or something. So when I went around to get my bag, I just peeked over the wall, and–”
Another swallow. Her jaw trembled, and she blinked hard. Eden had seen this kind of fear before; it had a scent; had an aura that vibrated like a plucked guitar string in the air around a person.
“Carlos and the mechanics were there, but so were a bunch of other guys.”
“The guys who stormed the place today?” Eden asked.
“Yeah. The crew. Luis’s guys.”
“You’ve met Luis?” She made a mental note of the name; Jinx had been too busy passing out to forward that information along, if indeed he’d learned it inside the office before.
“Once. That night.” Gwen had begun to tremble all over. “There was – there was a girl there. They were all standing around her. She was lying flat out on one of the work benches, just…staring. Not moving. Her dress was all dirty. And Luis – he was standing beside her. He pulled her dress down, and was, like – he was showing her to them.”
Human trafficking, as Eden suspected. Her stomach soured, and she took a sip of her tea in hopes of
soothing it.
“And then” – tears filled Gwen’s eyes – “he looked up, and he saw me.”
“Did you try to get away?”
“Yeah. But I wasn’t fast. It was Carlos who caught me.” She closed her eyes, tears trembling on her lashes. “He took me back over there, behind the counter, and sat me down in a chair. Luis came up, and he was…” She winced. “I was expecting some old sweaty gangster, you know? Fat and gross and ugly. But Luis was – he was hot.” She bowed her head, ashamed. “And he was really polite, you know? He was sweet? He introduced himself to me, and he asked what my name was, and he asked if I was going to tell anyone what I saw.”
“Oh, Gwen,” Eden sighed. “They never let you walk away. Promises don’t mean anything to people like Luis.”
Gwen lifted her head, fresh tears sliding down the dried mascara tracks on her cheeks. “I told him I’d help them.”
Eden pitied her, really. “The cartel needs you to answer phones?”
For a moment, she thought the girl would bristle again. It stung to be insulted, even if it was well-deserved. But she only took a shaky breath and said, “I’m the go-between with the trucking companies.”
Eden felt her brows go up.
“How so?”
“They don’t use their own trucks – less risk that way. If a truck gets stopped, and the cops search it, there’s not cartel guys behind the wheel to arrest. They let me make the phone calls and go drop off checks in person, with either Mack or Shawn.”
In the melee, Eden had spotted two big, muscled white guys rushing toward them. “Shit,” she said. “They need you because you don’t look like you’re attached to the cartel.”
Gwen nodded.
“Well. I give them points for creativity.”
~*~
Melanie wasn’t in serious condition. A mild concussion and some bruised ribs, the nurse told Michelle and Axelle. She was awake, and would be fine to have visitors. Michelle made all the right concerned noises and faces until she knocked once on the indicated door, and let herself in.
Melanie’s bed was elevated, her head propped on two pillows. She already had a black eye coming up, and the white light, white sheets, and white gown had washed out some of her golden beauty. Under the fluorescent tubes, she looked lined, and tired, and older than she had the night Michelle had first met her.
She’d been studying her hands where they lay on the blanket, but lifted her head when she heard them enter, a for-show smile already forming – one that froze and vanished when she locked eyes on Michelle.
“Hello, Melanie,” Michelle said, coolly, and walked straight to the bed. She heard Axelle shut the door behind them.
At their first meeting, when Melanie had strutted into TLC with her big hair and her even bigger Texas drawl, Michelle had been wrong-footed, over-tired, and, yes, a little jealous. But now, today, buoyed by a good rush of adrenaline and her conversation with Candy, she felt like she had the upper hand – because she did.
There was a chair against the far wall, and Michelle dragged it over by the bed and sat, legs crossed. She picked bits of link from her jeans, and examined her fingernails, and said, “Oh, damn, Axe, I’m afraid there’s nowhere for you to sit.”
“I can stand,” the other girl said, slouching back against the wall, right beside the door. With her bored expression, and her clunky boots, she projected just enough of a threat. Everything about the way she stood said, Try something, and see if I hit like a girl. “Pregnant ladies should get dibs on the chairs.”
Michelle caught her gaze, before she turned to the bed, and read Axelle’s little smirk as encouraging. She loved knowing that Candy had her back, that he supported her, but it was damn nice to have a friend on her side, too.
Then, finally, she turned her gaze fully on Melanie, gratified when the woman shrank back against her pillows. “How are you feeling?” Michelle asked.
Melanie darted a glance toward Axelle, and then to the folding tray at her bedside – the call button there, specifically.
Michelle lifted her brows. “Really? Are you so frightened you want a nurse to come and save you from me?”
Melanie sucked in a breath. “What – what are you gonna do?”
It was pathetic, really. But not so pathetic that Michelle wasn’t going to enjoy it.
She sighed for show, and shifted down lower in the chair. “I was going to ask you some questions. I didn’t expect to walk in and find you nervous as a cat. Am I really as frightening as all that?”
Melanie gulped audibly. The difference between her now, and her a few days ago, was so stark Michelle nearly laughed. “I – I just talked to the cops.”
“Great. Good. Now maybe you can tell me what really happened? Because I don’t believe for a second you were randomly kidnapped as leverage.”
Melanie stared at her, unblinking, a rabbit in a trap.
“That is what you told them, yes? It’s what I would have, being involved in the sort of counterculture dealings I am. ‘Oh, officers, it was terrible, they put a knife to my throat, and dragged me away, and told my brother they’d kill me if he came after them.’ Right?”
Melanie kept staring.
“But that isn’t what happened at all, is it?”
A long beat passed before Melanie’s lashes lowered, and she whispered, “No.”
“I didn’t hear that. Did she say no?” Axelle asked.
Michelle shot her a quick glance – there was no sense playing the Bad Cop card too soon or too aggressively – and earned another smirk and a facial shrug. Axe was enjoying this, too.
“No,” Melanie repeated. She let out an unsteady breath and lifted her head again, visibly composing herself, her expression resigned. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“Considering you came crying to Candy for help and didn’t fill him in on all the important details? Yeah, yeah you do,” Michelle said.
That earned a nod. Melanie closed her eyes a long moment, fingers knotted together in her lap. “You’re gonna think I’m stupid.”
“I already do.”
Melanie glanced toward her, startled.
“Let’s not pretend,” Michelle clarified. “I have my suspicions about you, and they aren’t flattering. This isn’t about saving face, now. Shit is sideways. The cartel is threatening all of us, and your brother’s dead.”
Melanie made a low, wounded sound, her lips parted.
“I am sorry about that,” Michelle said, tone softening. “If it helps – I don’t think he suffered.”
Melanie’s eyes welled, and Michelle worried the moment would dissolve into tears and awkward retreats. But she took a few more breaths and composed herself, blinking hard until her eyes looked dry again, if a little red around the edges.
“Okay, okay,” Melanie murmured. She plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed her eyes, blew her nose. Crumpled the tissue up in her fist. “I…” Some last bit of tension, of shame, worked through her shoulders – but then it left with a shiver, and she seemed to cave in on herself. “It started about two months ago.”
Michelle got settled and waited, schooling her features: open enough to invite confession, but not so friendly as to invite lies, hopefully.
“I was at work,” Melanie continued. “I run the front desk for a place that rents luxury cars. Breton’s, you know?” Michelle didn’t know, and gave no indication either way, so Melanie forged ahead. “A guy came in. Young, and real good-looking. I mean real good-looking.”
“We’ve seen him,” Michelle said.
Melanie blushed, her gaze full of shame. She fiddled with the crumpled tissue in her hand. “He wanted to rent a Porsche, he said, and he leaned down on the counter, and he winked at me, and said maybe he’d take me for a spin in it.”
“Jeez, he ain’t subtle,” Axelle mused.
“But he wasn’t, like, creepy about it,” Melanie said, turning to her, sounding defensive. “He wasn’t a schmuck, or, like, a corny old guy. He was
really smooth.”
“I bet,” Michelle said.
“He was sweet,” Melanie insisted.
“He was hot.”
“Well, yeah. You said you saw him. When he asked for my number, I gave it to him, and he called me later that night.”
“He took you out?”
“Dinner, drinks, and then back to his hotel – he was in town on business and hadn’t found a place to rent, yet.”
“Business,” Axelle said with a snort.
“That’s what he told me. How was I supposed to know he was in the fucking cartel?” Melanie snapped, temper flaring again.
“A gorgeous guy twenty years your junior, living out of a hotel, renting foreign cars, waltzes up to your desk one day, picks you up, and beds you on the first date,” Michelle said, coldly, “and you’re not a little suspicious?” It was a low blow – she knew that before Melanie went goggled-eyed – but she needed to get her off her game; rattle her, spook her, shame her, whatever. There was no room for courtesy here. “It was flattering, wasn’t it?” she pressed. “He was winking at you. Took you out and complimented you. Here’s this beautiful guy all over you, and you can’t believe your luck. It was thrilling.”
Melanie’s throat moved as she swallowed, and she didn’t deny it.
“When did you realize what he was?”
Another swallow. Her voice came out unsteady, the defiance and hurt gone again. “A couple weeks. He started asking too many questions about Pacer…” Her gaze drew inward, glazed. Her lip trembled, and Michelle knew it was crashing over her again, that ugly, crushing knowledge that her brother was dead. She didn’t succumb to it, though. Blinked and shredded the tissues between her fingers, and pressed on, voice strained. “I’d mentioned I had a brother, but then, one night, he wasn’t just asking casually. Not like he was trying to get to know me better – he knew Pacer had a bike, and an RC, and he was – he was grilling me about it. He wanted to know if Pacer was a Lean Dog, and I said no, and that made him angry.”
“How angry?”
Melanie hesitated. “He didn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7) Page 25
