It was Ellie Hernandez. Valerie’s little sister. She was here and she was looking right at her.
Twenty-one
He’d promised not to hurt her if she did what he asked.
He lied.
Maggie lay in the dark, battered cheek pressed against the rough concrete floor, long gone warm under her feverish skin. She was bleeding. She could feel the sluggish weep of it drying against her face. Her back. Her arms. Between her legs.
Thinking of it—of what he’d done to her—made her want to curl into a ball, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t protect herself. Couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t run.
She’d tried and she’d failed.
What he’d asked her to do was impossible. How could she give someone a miracle? She wasn’t God. She wasn’t anyone. But she’d done as he asked anyway because he’d promised …
I want you to give to Robert what has been given to you. I want you to give him a miracle. Save his life.
Feeling foolish, Maggie had lifted her bound hands, dropping them onto Robert’s chest. The man standing beside her watched, his gaze riveted to the place where her fingers pressed against the sick man’s sternum. She’d been about to ask if she was doing it right. To tell him she didn’t know what she was doing but then her gaze traveled the length of his arm, giving her a good look at what he held. As a vet tech, she’d seen something like it before. Knew what it was used for. It was a snap-action bolt gun, used by ranchers to kill cattle and horses. Pressed against the base of the skull, once triggered, it would shoot a bolt, as long and as thick as a man’s finger, through bone and soft tissue and into the brain.
Maggie looked away, fixing her eyes on the wire wrapped around her wrists. The raw red rings left from where she’d fought against her restraints. She thought of the woman she’d heard earlier—her terrified screams, the keening wail of them suddenly cut short—and knew how she’d died.
Maggie had bowed her head and began to pray. Out of practice, she fumbled the words before she found their familiar rhythm. Her palms flat against the man’s chest, she could feel the shallow rise and fall of it. How close he was to dying.
Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope, to thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve …
She didn’t know how long she prayed but when she finally raised her head, she looked up to find that the man beside her was watching her. As soon as she made eye contact with him, she tried to look away. She didn’t like what she saw there.
“You please me, Margaret,” he said to her, reaching for her hands before she had a chance to pull away. He led her across the room, toward the door. Relief sapped the strength from her bones, causing her knees to buckle slightly, and she stumbled to keep pace with him.
He’d take her back to the room he kept her in. She’d sit in the dark and wait quietly. She’d be good. Do as he said and he’d keep his promise. She’d get to go home soon.
But he didn’t take her back and he didn’t keep his promise.
Instead he reached for the screen that stood across from the door. The one she’d seen when she came in. Thinking of what she saw behind it, she jolted back, yanking on the grip he had on her. Ignoring her protests, he simply jerked her forward before folding the screen back to prop it against the wall, giving her a full view of what she’d only caught a glimpse of before. It looked like a sawhorse, the kind you’d find on a construction site. Harmless—until you noticed the leather straps.
Like the bolt gun, she’d seen this thing before too. It was a breeding stand. Dog fighting was prevalent in the area and so was the brutal, disgusting practice of forced breeding. She knew without asking what he intended to do with it.
She pulled against the hold he had on her. The wire bit deeper, chewing at the sensitive flesh of her wrist. “You promised,” she said, digging her bloodstained heels in to the cement floor, even as she started to shake her head. “You said if I did what you wanted, you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her voice climbed an octave, taking on the same hysterical edge she’d heard in the other woman’s screams. “Please, you promised. You can’t—”
He hit her, his closed fist slamming into the side of her head. Stars exploded across her field of vision. She crumpled to the ground, stunned, a high-pitched peal sounding between her ears, making her nauseated.
“I did no such thing, Margaret,” he said, bending at the waist to lift her to her feet. The sudden shift knocked her off balance and she tilted forward, gagging on the oily roll of her stomach as she pitched forward again, her shoulder hitting the floor with another dull thud. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you—yet.” He sighed as if exasperated and gave up on trying to stand her up. He settled for dragging her to the stand instead. “Unfortunately, suffering is a part of the process,” he said, lifting her again but only far enough to sling her over the back of the bench, looping her bound hands around the hook set at its top. “I hope you understand this gives me no pleasure, Margaret.”
He lied about that too.
–––––
She could hear him through the stout metal door, his voice penetrating the dark cocoon she’d wrapped herself in. He was talking. The rise and fall of his tone said he was speaking to someone else, but there had been no one. She’d screamed for help and no one came. Strained and tore against the leather straps he’d used to keep her in place. The only person she’d seen had been the man who lay dying in the corner of the room where he’d hurt her. Listening to him talk now, she slipped away. A final thought came before the dark pulled her under.
He isn’t alone.
Twenty-two
What the hell was Ellie Hernandez doing here? Not only in Yuma, but here—at her crime scene?
It took Sabrina a moment to realize that while there was plenty of hostility in Ellie’s sharp gaze, there wasn’t an ounce of recognition. She was plenty angry but it wasn’t at Sabrina. Ellie had no idea who she was.
“Thank you,” she said, shoving aside the shock of seeing Val’s little sister. “Find anything interesting?”
“She has blood on her hands—I think she might have touched the body.” Ellie shot Vega a quick look, the angle of her shoulders making it obvious she was not including him in the conversation. “I took swabs and I took her shoes to do a comparative analysis against the shoe prints we cast at the scene.” Ellie held up the bag. Through the heavy plastic she could see a pair of sturdy, expensive-
looking leather shoes.
Beside her, Church reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “We’d like everything run through our lab,” she said, handing Ellie the card. “Just call the number on the back and our guys will get you set up.” The lie was so smooth, for a second, Sabrina actually believed they had access to the FBI forensics lab. Then she remembered Ben had things like that—Lear jets that flew him around the world at the drop of a hat and secure, anonymous labs that processed evidence in hours, not weeks. For all she knew it actually was an FBI forensics lab he had access to.
Ellie nodded, aiming another look at Vega over her shoulder. “I’ll do that as soon as I get back to the office,” she said, tucking the card into the front pocket of her pants. If she didn’t know any better, Sabrina would swear she looked relieved. She thought of the way the officer had addressed Vega. Like he was the only one who deserved respect and deference. It was obvious Ellie saw it too and she didn’t share the sentiment.
“Did you know the victim?” Sabrina blurted it out, following instincts that felt rusty at best. Ellie would have seen the body at the crime scene. If she knew Rachel Meeks, she would have recognized her.
Ellie shifted in her boots. She didn’t look hostile anymore; now she just looked sad. “We went to high school together,” she answered vaguely, shooting another quick glance over her shoulder. “I should go,” she said, making her way toward the door. Before she could say another word Ellie was
gone, the front door slamming behind her.
“What about you, Mr. Vega?” she said as soon as Ellie was gone. “Did you know the victim?” Something was going on between Vega and Ellie, she just couldn’t figure out what.
“Me?” Vega leaned away from her as he said it. Guilty people did that. Tried to physically distance themselves from the truth.
Reading the situation perfectly, Church stepped forward. “Mrs. Lopez, I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” she said, her tone easy and nonthreatening. Even though the old woman didn’t respond, Church took a seat on the ottoman in front of her, flicking Sabrina a glance before bouncing it to the man standing in front of her. She’d caught it too—Vega was hiding something.
“Mr. Vega, would you mind stepping into the foyer with me for a few minutes,” she said, gesturing toward the open doorway Ellie had just disappeared through. Despite her words, it was clear she wasn’t making a request. She was giving him an order.
Vega hesitated like he was going to refuse but thought better of it. “Of course,” he said, following her into the foyer. “But, to be honest, I’m afraid I won’t be much help. There isn’t a whole lot I can tell you.”
“You can start with answering my question: did you know the victim?” She nailed him with a glare she hadn’t used in well over a year. One that said lying was useless.
“How can I answer that?” he said, running a hand over his short dark hair. “I don’t even know who the victim is.”
“Preliminary ID says she’s a missing person by the name of Rachel Meeks,” she told him while watching him closely and she wasn’t disappointed. Whether he knew it or not, he’d just answered her question. Not only had he known Rachel Meeks, he’d had some sort of relationship with her.
Best watch yourself now, darlin’. This one wouldn’t know the truth if it walked up and slapped him the face.
“Like Ellie said, we all went to high school together,” he said, shaking his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “And I don’t think—”
“Where were you when Mrs. Lopez discovered the victim?” She cut him off before he could say it. He was about to ask for a lawyer. Once he did that, she was done asking questions. While it was perfectly legal for her to question a witness without legal counsel present, she was walking a thin line and they both knew it.
“I—” He hesitated again before giving her a defeated shrug. “I was in my study, answering e-mails. Graciella poked her head in to tell me she was going home and I offered to drive her but she declined. She said she’d rather walk—I’m assuming so she could stop at the shrine and light a candle for Hector.” Hector must be the jammed-up grandson. He shrugged. “Anyway, she left. Next thing I know, she’s back … and screaming.”
Sabrina listened to his story, trying to find an angle. “Do you always do that? Give your maids rides home?”
“Graciella isn’t just my maid,” he said, his tone suddenly going defensive. “She was my nanny. She raised me.” Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d hit a sore spot. “And I’m through talking.” He reached into the snap pocket on the front of his shirt and pulled out a card of his own. “If you want to talk to me again, you’ll have to set it up through my attorney.” No sooner did she have the business card in her hand than he moved toward the front door. “I’ll see you out.”
Before she knew it, she was turned out like a stray cat, left to wait for Church to finish her interview with the witness on her own. She glanced down at the thick, satiny piece of cardstock in her hand, running her thumb over rich, raised letters.
Arturo Bautista, Esquire
Attorney at Law
“Agent Vance?” There was only one uniform attending the door—the other would have left with Ellie to transport the evidence back to the crime scene. The skies had finally opened up, letting a loose a torrent of desperately needed water. Whatever evidence the CSU techs hadn’t managed to lift before now was being washed away.
“Yes,” she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of falling rain.
The uniform looked over his shoulder, like he felt guilty for what he was about to do.
“There was someone here to see you,” he said, his tone telling her that whoever it was, he didn’t approve. “He asked me to give this to you.” He thrust a piece of paper at her. “Said he needed to talk to you.”
It was a phone number, scrawled on the back of a fast food receipt—one she didn’t recognize. She was about to stuff it into her pocket when she caught the short message and name that accompanied it.
We need to talk.
—Croft
Twenty-three
First Val’s little sister and now Jaxon Croft. In the space of a few seconds, it became abundantly clear to Sabrina that as far as the case went, she wasn’t going to be catching many breaks. The only difference between Croft and Ellie was Croft had recognized her right away. And judging from the note in her hand, he hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d last seen him.
As usual, he wanted something from her. Something she would more than likely be hard-pressed to give.
“Thanks,” she said stuffing the scrap into her pocket before turning and making a mad dash through the downpour, heading for the car. There was no doubt the officer who’d talked to Croft would tell his superior a reporter had come sniffing around, looking to talk to the FBI. That wasn’t going to sit well with the locals, especially after Church had made it clear that handling the media would be left to them.
Not trusting herself to remain calm, Sabrina used the cell Michael had given her to send a text to the number Croft left for her.
What are you doing here, Croft?
She waited less than thirty seconds for a reply.
Meet me at Luck’s. 10 o’clock and I’ll explain.
Luck’s. Of course Croft would want to meet her at Luck’s. It was the restaurant she’d worked at when she lived here as a young woman. Where she’d met Val. It was the place Wade had found her. She’d been heading home from Luck’s when he’d abducted her. Dragged her into the dark and kept her there.
Before she had a chance to respond, another text came through.
It’s important.
She laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. Important? Yeah, extortion and blackmail usually were. It was nearly six in the evening now. Four hours would give her plenty of time to figure out how she was going to shake Church.
As if a mere thought could conjure her into being, Church appeared. Darting off the porch, she made a run for the car, calling over her shoulder to someone standing in the open doorway of the house. She caught a glimpse of Vega, silhouetted against the lights inside the house. She couldn’t see his face but Sabrina was sure he was looking at her.
“Holy shit,” Church squealed as she flung the door open and dove into the driver’s seat. “It’s like the end of the world out there.”
“No,” she answered vaguely, attention still trained on the cell screen. “Just Arizona monsoon season.” Another text came through.
It’s about Wade.
“You get anything useful out of Old McDonald?” Church said, running a hand over her face, trying to squeegee the rain off her skin. Sabrina didn’t have to look up to know she was trying to get a glimpse of the phone’s screen.
“Just that he knew the victim,” she said, stabbing her thumbs against the cell’s touchscreen, punching out a text before she could change her mind. “And the number for his attorney.” Beyond the window, the darkening sky continued to pour. Rain and thunder so close it shook the car she sat in. Before she could change her mind, she hit send.
I’ll be there.
Twenty-four
You sure about this, darlin’?
The voice inside her head had been trying to talk her out of her meeting with Croft for hours now. Logic told her it was just her subconscious wa
rning her Croft couldn’t be trusted. That the last time she’d trusted him she’d regretted it, but now, as then, she ignored the warning. Meeting Croft was risky but so was refusing him. He’d recognized her. If he wanted to make trouble for her, he could … and it would be the last thing he ever did.
In the end, she’d decided to try honesty for a change and tell Church what was going on. She’d been less than pleased to find out they hadn’t even made it a full twenty-four hours into their investigation before she’d been recognized. “Let me go instead, I’ll find out what he wants,” she’d said in the same easy tone she’d use to describe garroting someone. “Report back before you know it.”
Now there’s an idea. Let your new partner do your dirty work.
“Yeah—would that be before or after you killed him?” she said while she pulled on the only t-shirt she’d packed, along with a pair of worn jeans.
Church shrugged. “Probably after.”
Sabrina shook her head. “Working with you is like working with a psychotic toddler, you know that right?”
“Thanks,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased by the comparison. “What does he want, anyway?”
It’s about Wade.
Suddenly, her new honesty policy began to chafe. “He didn’t really say—just that it was important.”
“So, he wants to meet you but won’t say why?” Church shook her head, skeptical. Whether it was because she didn’t trust Croft or because she could sense the lie, Sabrina couldn’t tell. “Smells fishy, Kitten. Just stay here, let me take care of it.”
Sabrina laughed. She couldn’t help it. The truly insane part of it all was that for a few seconds, she actually considered it. “This is where I’ll be,” she said, bending over to write Luck’s address across the hotel notepad tossed on the nightstand. “If I’m not back by midnight, you can kill him—deal?”
Suddenly all business, Church glared at her. “I’m being serious, Sabrina. I was sent here to do a job and despite my recent lackluster performance concerning your family, I do my fucking job.”
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