“What about reciprocity? Talk to Maxwell. Tell him to ask for the guy who killed José after the Feds bring everybody else down.”
“Okay. Yeah. Good idea.”
“Holy shit, you’re patronizing me.” She looked at him, her mouth open in astonishment. “I really am all alone in this.”
“Well, you know, Mia, if you continue to act like the rules don’t matter, then yeah, you probably are. The feds are involved and whether or not we get José’s killer now is not up to us and those are just the plain facts.”
“I don’t accept that.”
Jack crossed his arms and stared at her. She knew he was frustrated too but he was also a company man. If the feds took José’s killer, Jack wouldn’t like it. But he’d live with it.
She stood up and faced him. “For the sake of everybody who matters—José, Maria and even you, Jack—I refuse to accept that.” Then, without touching the rest of her breakfast, she turned and left the room.
*****
How long had she been here? How long since she saw Mama? Or her dear, dear José? What crime had she committed to condemn her to this hell?
Maria sat at the kitchen table, a cold cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t remember who had given her the coffee or when. She waited while two girls walked through the kitchen on their way to the van parked in the driveway.
Before she wondered why they never spoke to her. Now she knew. She also was forbidden to talk to the other women.
And now she knew why.
The night Senor—he was no longer Carino to her although she loved him every bit as much—brought the two men into her bedroom was the first day of the hell that was her life. After that night, Maria no longer slept in Senor’s bedroom. That was a privilege now reserved for a new girl named Imelda. A girl who wept and cried for her mother and to whom the rest of them were forbidden to speak.
Since that night, Maria slept on blankets in the garage with twenty other women. When they were alone, sometimes they talked. But mostly they cried or slept. And now Maria knew why they slept. It wasn’t just to escape this living nightmare from which there was no escape. It was because the drugs made them sleepy. And the drugs made the nights endurable. Barely.
Two days after she moved to the garage, Senor pulled her from the other women and pushed her into the master bathroom. “Clean up,” was all he said. Inside she found shampoo, soap, and a used razor. She showered and toweled off. Her prayer and hope was that whatever she had done to upset Senor was forgotten now. She desperately missed his arms, his kisses, his love and protection.
When she emerged from the bathroom, the towel around her, she found him sitting on the bed talking on the phone. He gestured to an outfit on the bed and resumed his conversation. He spoke in English and too fast for Maria to understand.
The outfit on the bed was a negligee. She stared at it.
“Hold on a second,” Senor said into the phone before turning to her. “Put it on, Maria,” he said kindly.
She looked at him uncertainly.
“Go on,” he said and she could hear the patience in his voice.
“But must I—?”
“Put it on, Maria,” he said with a sigh, “or I’ll beat you until you pass out. And you’ll still have to do it when you wake up.” He turned back to his conversation.
She dropped the towel on the floor and put on the flimsy costume. She felt naked.
“Okay, see you later,” Senor said as he hung up. He walked over and scooped up the wet towel and tossed it in the bathroom. As he left the room he said over his shoulder, “The first one will be in shortly.”
That night there were ten in all.
8
The day Jack gave her the news that they were to immediately stop all work on José’s murder—which meant, of course, all work in trying to find Maria—Mia spent closed up in her bedroom. There didn’t seem any real point in going out. There were no leads to follow up on. There were no witnesses or possible contacts to interview. There was only a big fat Do Not Enter sign across the one small hope they had that might lead them somewhere.
Aren’t we back where we always end up? Jack doesn’t approve of my tactics so I have to go forward without him? Worse, I have to sneak around him to do it! Some partner!
When Mia heard the condo door open and close, she guessed Jack had gone out and she emerged from her room to make herself a tuna salad sandwich. The kitchen was in its usual immaculate condition since Jack moved in but she noticed that his foldable food cart was missing from the corner of the kitchen. A quick scan of the pantry confirmed that his chef’s jacket was gone too. She looked at her watch. Seemed kind of early for a personal chef job but not if he were preparing an elaborate dinner somewhere in the suburbs.
She went back to the counter to finish her sandwich and felt a black cloud of guilt descend on her. She hated that he didn’t feel like he could share with her what he was doing. This would be his first gig since the fire—which had destroyed all his equipment, his knives, clogs, and cookware. She knew he’d replaced most of it but hadn’t realized until now that he must have had a full roster of events that needed to be cancelled or rescheduled.
Because I’ve been such a bitch I’ve made it impossible to share with me.
She set her dish in the sink, resolving to make it up to him when he returned. Her cellphone vibrated. But when she glanced at the screen she didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Kazmaroff? This is Liz Magnuson. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No, not at all, Ms. Magnuson.” Mia felt the excitement well up in her chest.
“I am calling because I have the contact information for a young woman who I think you might want to speak with.”
“Really?”
“She was one of the people rescued in the FBI sting here in the city a couple of months back. She’s about the same age as the young woman you seek and she agreed to talk with you. Are you interested?”
“Am I ever,” Mia said. “Where and when?”
An hour later, Mia sat in a fast food restaurant downtown. She bought two chicken dinners with two large sweetened iced teas and sat facing the door. Liz had said that the girl was African-American but that she had been held with several young Hispanic girls. It was probably a long shot. But it was the only shot Mia had.
When the girl walked in, she looked so young that at first Mia wondered what the child was doing here without her parents. The minute she saw the girl scan the restaurant patrons, she knew it was her. Mia held up her hand to get her attention. The girl smiled and moved to slide into the booth opposite Mia.
“Hi,” she said shyly. “Ms. Magnuson said I should talk with you.”
Up close, Mia could see the girl was older than she originally thought. Still not out of her teens, but not a child. And her eyes were older still.
“Yes, thank you, Taneka,” Mia said. “I really appreciate this.”
“Is…this for me?” The young woman opened one of the food bags and pulled out a piece of fried chicken and bit into. “Oh, God, I love fried chicken,” she said around a mouthful. “That’s practically all they fed us at the house. My pimp said it’s because it was cheap but I didn’t care. I could eat it all day and not get tired of it.”
Mia cleared her throat. “Your pimp…?” she prompted.
Taneka nodded. “First he was my boyfriend. I miss him and I pray every night that he don’t stay in jail long, that his lawyer helps him get out soon. Ms. Magnuson says not to worry. She say him and all the pimps got great lawyers.”
Mia nodded as she watched the girl finish off the first chicken piece and dive back in the bag for another.
“I’m looking for a girl,” Mia said.
“Your daughter?”
“No. A friend. She’s about seventeen. And Hispanic.”
“They’s a lot of them Mexican sisters at the houses,” Taneka said, pulling the second bag of chicken over to her. “Dayron would fuss at
me if I ate too much.” She grinned mischievously at Mia. “But Dayron ain’t here right now, is he?”
Mia dug into her purse and pulled out her smartphone. As soon as she did, Taneka began wiping her greasy fingers on a paper napkin, her eyes on the phone. Jess had taken a covert snapshot of José that night at Jack’s and Mia had thanked God every day since then that she had. She brought the photo up on her phone and held it out to the girl.
Taneka took the phone from her, peering at the screen.
“Have you ever seen that boy before?” Mia asked. She watched as Taneka pushed a button to scroll through Mia’s photos. She forced herself not to snatch it back.
“No’m,” Taneka said, distractedly as she looked at Mia’s photos. “Mostly I doan look at the john’s faces when they on me. You got a horse?” Taneka looked up at Mia, her eyes bright with excitement. “I never ridden no horse before. Is this you?” She turned the phone around to show a photo of Mia sitting on Shiloh. “Oh, he’s beautiful,” Taneka said, turning the phone back around and studying the picture.
Mia watched Taneka as she ate and played with her phone and tried to understand. She didn’t act like a victim or as if she had been unhappy in her life before the feds came swooping in.
“How did you and Dayron get together?” Mia asked finally.
Taneka put the phone down and wiped her fingers again on a napkin. Her face had lost its luminous sheen. “Oh, I was thinking of running away from home. My grades wasn’t good and my step daddy was always drunk and, well, I just didn’t want to be there no more. I was out late one night with my friends…talking about not going home again ever and I met Dayron.”
“And he was nice to you?”
Taneka shrugged. “He said I didn’t never have to go home again. He treated me so good, you know?”
Mia nodded.
“So I stayed with him that night. We just hung out and had fun. After awhile, it stopped being so much fun and I wanted to call my Mama. I knew she must be worried half out of her mind.”
“But Dayron wouldn’t let you?”
“He…didn’t say no,” Taneka said slowly. “He just said shit like, ‘she goan hate who you are now, Taneka. She goan see you a hoor and throw you out for good.’” Taneka looked at Mia. “So I din call.”
“You seen your mother since the police put Dayron in jail?”
Taneka nodded but now she shoved her food bags away. Mia thought she looked a little nauseated.
“And was it like Dayron said?”
Taneka looked at her hands and Mia had to lean in to hear her. “No, she liked to die of a broke heart when I run off. I hurt her real bad.”
“You wished now you’d called.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Dayron really would’ve let you?”
“I doan know.”
They sat in silence for a moment and then Taneka began massaging her abdomen. “I doan feel so good, missus,” she said plaintively. “I got the screwed up insides and I’m not supposed to eat like I just done.”
“I’m so sorry, Taneka. Is there anything I can do?”
“No’m,” Taneka said, miserably. “The doctor say I got my belly messed up with all them johns and the reason I didn’t get no baby is because I’m ruined that way.”
Mia forced the tears in her eyes not to fall. At least not until this poor girl couldn’t see.
“My Mama’s waiting outside,” Taneka said, standing up abruptly. “I need to go.”
Mia stood too. “Of course, of course. Thank you so much, Taneka, for coming to talk to me. I don’t suppose you could tell me where it was you first met Dayron? Where in the city that was?”
“No’m, I can’t right now,” Taneka said. “I need to go,” she said as she bolted for the door.
Mia saw a heavy-set African-American woman standing outside the door looking in, her face a mask of worry and pain.
*****
That evening, Mia pulled the afghan across her legs and repositioned her laptop on her knees. For the last hour she’d done a search across all sites for human trafficking and Atlanta. The FBI rescue of the children a few months back, of which Taneka had been a part, was considered a major blow against the child sex rings in Georgia. But as quickly as the pimps were put away it seems new ones had stepped in to take their places.
The phone rang and without taking her eyes from her computer screen, she punched Accept and clicked on the speaker phone.
“This is Mia,” she said.
“Hi, sweetie, this is your mother.”
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Just called to see if you and Jack can come to dinner tomorrow night.”
“You know we’re not a couple, right?”
“I invite all kinds of people to my house for dinner,” her mother said. “Singles, couples, sometimes some of each…”
“I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”
“Where is your roommate tonight?”
“He’s cooking somewhere tonight.”
“Oh? Dunwoody? Buckhead?”
“I really don’t know, Mom.”
“Oh, well.” Mia noted the pause on the other end of the line. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you need any help,” her mother said.
“You mean money.”
“Well, yes. So do you?”
Mia paused and let out a sigh. “Maybe a little. I hate to ask.”
“You didn’t. I offered.”
“What I really need is a job. Unemployment sucks.”
“Are you looking for one?”
“Well, no. Right now I’m trying to find background information on human trafficking.”
“I don’t suppose that pays very well.”
Mia grinned at her mother’s gentle chiding. “No, but it’s really informative. Did you know that sex slavery is more popular than selling drugs or weapons? Unlike a pound of heroin, that you sell once and it’s gone, you can sell a girl ten to fifteen times a day.”
“My goodness. That’s terrible.”
“And Atlanta is one of the worst cities in the world for child prostitution.”
“Is that what you and Jack think happened to poor Maria?”
Mia closed her laptop and sighed. “It’s the most likely scenario,” she said. “I just wish we had a single clue to help us in the direction of where she might be.”
“I know it’s frustrating.”
Mia saw a call was coming in from Ben. She had toyed earlier with the idea of calling him but really wanted him to call her first. “Hey, Mom, someone’s calling. Can I take it?”
“Of course. Seven o’clock tomorrow.”
“Great. See you then.”
Mia disconnected and put on her most mysterious, sexiest voice. “Hi, there,” she said.
Immediately, she heard noise in the background that made her think he was calling from work. A public address system was going off but she couldn’t make out the words.
“Hey, Mia,” Ben said, his voice was muffled as if he were covering the phone with his hand. “There’s a girl here that was brought in a couple hours ago. They don’t have a security detail on her yet but I’m pretty sure she’s one of the girls you were talking about last night.”
Mia swung her legs off the couch, the afghan dropping to the carpet when she did.
“A sex worker?” she said.
“Yeah, but she’s young. Like maybe thirteen.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Well, you better hurry. I didn’t see a pimp but that doesn’t mean he’s not lurking around…”
“Just keep her there, Ben,” Mia said, slipping her bare feet into her sneakers and grabbing her car keys as she ran to the door, scooping up her jacket from the hall chair as she did. “I’m on my way.”
9
It had been a long night. And his client was even crazier than usual. Was this really what he wanted to do with his life? The exhaustion settled into Jack’s shoulders as he dragged his food cart and culin
ary tools out of the elevator in Mia’s building. He tried not to make noise. His mind flashed back to his fight with Mia. During the evening—starting with shrimp cocktails, and steak au poivre and finishing up with dessert and coffee and brandy—he’d already worked out his strategy as far as she was concerned.
He’d apologize first. What was the point of being partners if they were always at odds with each other? He glanced at his watch. It was nearly one. The party hadn’t ended until midnight but the hostess insisted he stay on in case anyone wanted coffee or liquors. And of course, God forbid she could wash up six coffee cups by herself.
As he opened the front door, he was surprised to hear giggling.
From more than one person.
“Mia?” He rolled his chef’s cart behind him and shrugged out of his overcoat.
“Oh, Jack! You’re finally here.”
Mia met him in the foyer. For one mad moment, he thought she was going to kiss him in greeting. It felt so relaxed and normal.
“I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
“Hi, Mr. Jack!” A young voice piped up from the living room. Mia took his arm and led him into the living room where he saw a young girl sitting on the couch in a pair of Mia’s pajamas. On the coffee table was a big bowl of popcorn and a board game. The television set was on too.
“Jack, this is Lorna.”
Jack nodded at the girl. She was small, dirty blonde, with big blue eyes and dimples. She looked swallowed up in Mia’s pink pajamas. She waved to him.
“Hey, Lorna,” he said. “Looks like a slumber party.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Mia said, handing the remote control to Lorna. “You’re getting in late. Long night?”
“Something like that.” He watched the girl direct her attention back to the television as the volume increased. He looked questioningly at Mia.
“Why don’t I make you a hot chocolate?” Mia said as she walked toward the kitchen. He followed and nearly ran into her as she turned abruptly, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen with her. Her voice dropped conspiratorially.
Complete Mia Kazmaroff Romantic Suspense Series, 1-4 Page 29
