by Misty Evans
Nelson got out of the car and started walking. Head down, he tromped through the rain, his gut cramping. He knew exactly who was responsible for the underground railroad.
And he was about to spend one last night with her before he had to arrest her for breaking the federal immigration laws.
Chapter Twenty-five
Yolanda wasn’t there.
Sophie parked two blocks away, the windshield wipers fighting furiously to keep the rain at bay and failing. Her pulse beat right along with them.
When Yolanda was at Chica Bonita and had determined the coast was clear, she always hung an orange rag on the front gate. Wind could have blown it off in the storm, or perhaps Yolanda had suspected someone was watching them.
Who in their right mind would be out in this weather? And no one knew what they were doing here except those directly involved.
Sophie texted the woman and waited.
“What is wrong?” Rosalie asked.
She didn’t dare tell her, not after making it this far. “Nothing. This is how it works.”
Since Rosalie only knew the bare basics about the operation, she didn’t know that anything was amiss. “What happened to your face?”
Sophie touched her cheek. “I fell.”
“Hmm.” Rosalie’s tone told her she knew Sophie was lying. “You should be more careful.”
Sophie’s phone vibrated with an incoming text. Yolanda.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Kids home alone and scared of storm.
Crap. Now she was on her own.
Rosalie is with me. How do I get her to Juan and Martha?
Juan and Martha Ramirez were the next stop. Each person or couple involved with the lost girls only knew a limited amount of information. No one had the complete details in case any one of them got caught.
The reply text was an address north of town. Sophie was slightly surprised Yolanda would give it up that easily, but perhaps the woman sensed this would be their last transport.
Plus, while Yolanda didn’t particularly like her, Rosalie had helped them find the lost girls, and Yolanda, as well as Sophie, knew they owed her this chance.
Pocketing her phone, Sophie smiled at Rosalie and put the car in drive. “We’re all set.”
Slowly, they drove through the storm, winging their way north with the hope of freedom in both of their hearts.
In recent years, human trafficking had become the fastest growing activity for criminal organizations around the world. Sex slaves, forced laborers, commercial sexual exploitation, forced marriages, organ harvesting…it all added up to billions of dollars in crime.
When Sophie came through the door just after midnight, Nelson was waiting for her on the couch. He’d been working on deciphering the first ledger, using the code decryption Agent Rios had provided him. He’d found several logs of Chica Bonita’s trade of human beings.
“Oh,” Sophie said, pulling up short inside the doorway. “You’re back.”
She didn’t sound happy to see him.
Nelson didn’t reply, refocusing on the ledger. The entries did not include the girls’ names, but he’d found a physical description that resembled Angelique. Sixteen year old Mexican-Caucasian female. Long, straight brown hair. 5’7”. One-hundred twenty pounds. An asterisk had been placed by the color of her eyes: Green.
Green must have brought more money.
But in the six years Chica Bonita had been trading in girls, Angelique couldn’t be the only one to meet that specific description. Nelson hated more than anything to get Sophie’s hopes up.
So he didn’t say anything.
Sophie hung up her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and shook out her wet hair. “How did it go in town?”
“Fine.”
Although illegal, human smuggling was not the same thing as human trafficking. The women Nelson suspected Sophie was helping across the US border were not forced into slavery. They weren’t drug mules. They were on a quest for a better life, trying to escape poverty and persecution while securing more opportunities for themselves and possibly their families back in Mexico. They sought higher education, better living conditions, jobs, and healthcare.
Who could blame them?
But there were laws in place to assist those seeking a new life in America. Nelson was the first to admit the system was flawed, and often took years for processing and approval for many who applied. The girls in Sophie’s care probably didn’t have years. Some of them might not have even had months, weeks. She wouldn’t break the law for just anyone. These girls reminded her of her sister, and to get involved in this operation of human smuggling, he imagined Sophie knew the girls were destined for human trafficking.
Didn’t make it right, but sometimes the heart trumped rules and regulations.
“Where have you been?” he asked without looking up.
She told the same lie she’d told the guard whom Nelson had questioned the minute he got back. “…and I couldn’t get a text through to Rodrigo’s bodyguard, probably because of this awful storm, so I had to park the car and go inside and wait. The doofus running the poker game wouldn’t let me in and he wouldn’t interrupt it to tell Rodrigo I was there. No one ever came out, and finally, I gave up.” She gave a full body shake. “I’m chilled to the bone. I need a cup of tea.”
She escaped to the kitchen.
In the past, human smuggling rings had been done by small entrepreneurs. Since Nelson had been with ICE, human smuggling had become big business. Entire syndicates had arisen to meet the need, some networks spreading across multiple countries. Smuggling routes weren’t limited to two countries anymore either. Some routes took the person in question through multiple places before ending at their final destination.
Nelson focused on the details of the possible Angelique entry again. If he was deciphering the code correctly, she’d been sold to someone in the US as a child bride.
He double-checked the formula Rios had provided. Scanned the ledger notation. Sex slaves were coded with the number 33. There was a similar number system for a different group of girls, but these appeared to be “models”. For commercial pornography, if Nelson’s guess was accurate.
From the kitchen, he heard sounds of Sophie moving around, filling a tea kettle, setting out a mug.
Forced marriages, while much fewer than the other two, were coded with an alpha-numeric listing. Probably because the clients didn’t require more than one to fill a need. Unless the marriage didn’t work out, or the bride ran away.
In Nelson’s experience, those forced to be brides were treated no better than those sold into the sex trade or labor force. In fact, many ended up as both porn star and maid to their husband.
Sophie appeared, hurrying through the living room only to disappear into the bathroom. She emerged a moment later with a towel, and as she dried her hair, she hustled back to the kitchen, never looking at him. She hadn’t even noticed the ledgers.
He needed to tell her about this entry. Needed to question her about Chica Bonita. Yet, he sat on the couch, his mind a tangle of past and present.
A few hours ago, he’d been stupid enough to think about a relationship with her. Now, here he was, racking his mind for a way to get her out of the deep hole she’d dug for herself, and knowing there wasn’t a way out unless he turned his back on her.
He either had to turn her in or completely forget about the bracelets and the lies she’d been telling him.
God, he wanted to save her. Had to save her. He couldn’t arrest her, no matter what she’d done.
But if he didn’t, and the truth came out that he knew she was leading the smuggling operation, he’d lose his job and do prison time.
While he was stewing, she appeared in the doorway holding her cup of steaming tea, the towel now draped around her shoulders. “Do you want anything?”
He marked the page with the bracelet Lexie had given him and closed the ledger. It was now or never. How she played this out would tell him what he had to do. “How
about the truth, Soph? I’d like some of that.”
Her brows dipped and she gave him an incredulous smile. “About what? And what are you doing with Rodrigo’s ledgers again? I thought you put them back.”
Yep, he should have known. Denial, distraction…two of her favorite avoidance weapons. “Don’t worry about the ledgers. Tell me about Chica Bonita and your underground railroad of human smugglers.”
On a sharp inhale, she stepped back, eyes wide.
He waited for the denial. Steeled himself for the lies about to come out of her mouth. Forced himself not to jump up and shake some sense into her.
As he kept his gaze locked on hers, he gritted his jaw. His heart was shredding. His pride as well.
And then her shoulders fell. The smile drooped. She shut her eyes, pressing her lids tight as if she could erase him from her vision. “How did you figure it out?”
Whoa. Wait. Was she coming clean?
“Little things.” He pointed at the friendship bracelet on her wrist. “The bracelets, the kid at the bingo hall. I saw you driving the Benz tonight. Harris, Rios, and I had the place staked out. They don’t know it was you driving that car, by the way.”
Silence stretched. He saw her throat constrict with a tight swallow before she finally opened her eyes and spoke. “I screwed up, Nelson, but…”
“Screwed up? Honey, you didn’t just screw up. You set fire to your career. Hell, you’re putting my career in danger.”
Her chin rose a notch. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Goddammit, Sophie.” Anger, sharp and biting, shot through his limbs. During his teenage years, Nelson had been a lifeguard. The first rule in lifeguarding was to utilize any means possible before actually jumping in to pull someone out of the water. Even though you were a strong swimmer and the person you were trying to help was half your size, a desperate person could drown you in their efforts to survive.
Drowning with her was better than living without her. He had no choice but to jump into the water and try to save her.
Unable to sit any longer, he jumped up and gripped her by the shoulders. “Of course, I have to stay. I care about you, don’t you get that? Still pisses me off that you’ve put yourself in so much danger and broken every law in the book to boot. What were you thinking? This isn’t like you.”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “Wrong. This is like me. All I’ve ever wanted was to do is the right thing. Make everyone happy. Always the good girl who followed the rules. Well, not anymore. When a young girl needs help, I’m going to help them. I’m not letting them be kidnapped and sold off, or even killed, because I did my job instead of doing the right thing.”
Used to be those two were synonymous.
Her eyes snapped. “Believe it or not, what I’ve done here? I’d do it all over again. Losing my career, losing you… I know what’s going to happen and it sucks, that’s for damn sure. I’d do anything to keep my job. Anything to keep you. But if helping those girls across the border costs me everything I hold dear, it was still worth it. To give them a new life, new hope. I had to help them, Nelson. They’ve lost everyone they care about. They have no future here. And even when I’m back in the States, I don’t intend to quit helping those in need, either. Even if it means writing letters from jail.”
In that instant, his heart melted. She stood before him, barefoot, still wet from her trip to save the goddamn world, and sporting that bruise on her cheek. She was every bit the warrior he’d first fallen for, and while her shoulders were slumped from exhaustion, her back was straight. There was no wavering, no hesitation.
He loved her for that. Loved her for what she was doing, even though it was illegal, and God help him, he was going to do everything in his power to protect her from the US government.
Definitely drowning with her.
Forcing himself not to open his mouth and yell at her for being so fucking wonderful and stupid at the same time, he went to the bathroom and grabbed the jar of wild yam cream, came back, and patted the seat next to him. “Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”
She eyed the spot, stayed where she stood. “What are you up to? Getting me to confess my sins so you can put it all in your report tomorrow?”
The back of his neck heated. “Sit down and tell me about the operation. I want the details so I can figure out how to save your sorry ass.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline. “You’re serious?”
He just looked at her.
She shook her head. “No one can implicate you if you don’t know the details.”
He reached out, grabbed her empty hand, and dragged her to the sofa. Taking the cup from her, he set it on the table and began dabbing her cheek with the cream. “My mother was an illegal.”
“What?”
“My dad married her to keep her from being deported. Luckily, they fell in love and had a happy marriage. Thirty-three years, in fact.”
She was staring at him. As if she wondered why he was telling her this.
“If she hadn’t taken a chance, risked life and limb to enter America, I wouldn’t be here. I think of that every time I have to arrest an illegal and send them back home.”
“Why did you become an ICE agent then?”
Her skin was smooth and cool as he gently doctored it. “I wanted to fix the system, and my specialty has always been counterterrorism and violent crimes, not deportation. That’s why I’m on the taskforce as an undercover operative. Doesn’t mean I don’t come across plenty of illegals, but they aren’t my primary concern.”
“What are you going to do about me?”
“I’m going to help you.”
Her whole body sagged. She bent forward, knocking his hand away, and hugged her knees. Her voice was muffled, but the sheer exhaustion in her voice was still clear. “You can’t help me. Nobody can help me.”
He replaced the cover on the jar. “You’re undercover, and making decisions based on your mission. I’m not your boss and I’m not your judge and jury. My job here was to protect you, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“And tomorrow, when my operation is over?”
“We’ll play it by ear. I’m the only one who knows you’re involved in the smuggling ring. If I keep my mouth shut…”
Straightening, the incredulous look returned to her face, this time for real. “That’s why I didn’t tell you, you know. About all of this. I didn’t want you implicated when the shit hit the fan.”
Even with their past history, he believed her. “Who provides you with the papers? Agent Blue?”
She nodded. “It was part of our deal. If I hunted for the ledgers and turned them over to him, he provided legitimate papers for the lost girls.”
“Lost girls?”
“That’s what we call them.”
“Who did you help tonight?”
“Her name’s Rosalie. She worked for Ciro Morales as his accountant before me and it didn’t end well for her. She lost her daughter, her home, everything she had. Her daughter was thirteen.”
Nelson’s stomach burned. “What happened?”
“She wouldn’t tell me the details about her and Ciro, but she obviously crossed him—or possibly Blue when he was still working for Ciro. One of the Savages kidnapped her daughter when she was walking home from school. Rosalie saw it; she was walking to meet her at the ice cream shop that Lexie loves. She knew all about the Savages and sending girls to Chica Bonita, so she confronted him. One of Morales’s bodyguards beat her to a pulp, broke her arm, wrecked a couple discs in her back. Her daughter’s body turned up a few days later. Rosalie’s house was burnt to the ground, all her belongings and what little cash she had, destroyed along with it.”
Sophie’s voice was raw with emotion. “Rosalie ended up in one of the squatter tents on the edge of town. I saw her at the bingo hall and heard her story, and knew I had to find a way to help her. She’d lost everything, even her dignity, but the one thing she had was anger. She wanted revenge
and I couldn’t blame her, but I wanted to give her something more. I wanted her to feel needed again. Necessary. That’s all any of us ever really wants, isn’t it? To know we can make a difference in this ugly world?”
“So you recruited her to help with the underground railroad.”
“More like she recruited me. She and Yolanda, one of the other leaders of the network, already had most of it in place. They got a couple of girls across the border, but the paperwork never held up under scrutiny and several had been deported back here. Blue was pressuring me to find the ledgers, so I cut a deal with him.”
Smart girl. “Speaking of.” Nelson tapped the ledger. “I found three years’ worth of entries for Chica Bonita.”
She did another hard swallow. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Angel?”
“I’ve been decoding as fast as I can, but haven’t found anything definitive on her yet. From what I can tell, the girls were processed and entered into this system by physical description rather than names. There’s at least one that matches Angelique around the time of her disappearance.”
“Show it to me.”
Side by side, they sat on the couch and he walked her through the code and the entry he’d found that matched Angelique’s description. “How do we figure out where she ended up?” Sophie asked.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” He pointed to a column at the far right. “The decryption code doesn’t work on these entries. Number, number, letter, number, number, letter, number. Five numbers, two letters. I don’t know what they mean.”
Sophie studied them and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t know either, but there’s something about them that looks familiar.”
“Have you seen something like this in your books?”
“Maybe.” She fought a yawn, blinked a couple of times. “Would help if my eyes weren’t blurring.”
“You’re tired.” He brushed the side of her hair with his hand. “And I need to get these back to the pit before Morales gets home from his poker game.”
