No One Heard Her Scream no-1

by Jordan Dane

  If the guy tailing her had his heart set on a blockbuster movie, why drive to the burbs to satisfy his stale popcorn and Goobers addiction? Becca would know soon enough. If the jerk had other things on his mind, she wouldn't lead the bastard straight to Sonja. Hell, if things played out her way, she might get the chance to ask him herself, up close and personal.

  With fewer cars on the residential side streets, her pursuer would have to lag farther behind and risk losing her. A major disadvantage. But Becca had a problem, too. She'd be easier to track. Timing would be everything. She'd have to pick her spot and pray her luck held.

  Becca saw the cinema up ahead on top of a ridge, a sprawling facility. Moviegoers pulled in and out of the lot. A hive of activity. One of the reasons Sonja had picked it. Some big movie must have let out. She glanced at the clock on her dash. Fifteen minutes before the meet time. Becca knew she'd be late.

  Avoiding the theater down the street, she made an immediate right and accelerated up Ingram, into an older section of town. Callaghan Road was the next major intersection. Fewer houses lined the streets, making the road darker. Bigger lots with acreage for sale, but not many lights. Better odds for her, she figured. Plus, Becca's car was the only one on the road. She slowed down, waiting to see if her tail drove straight for the theater or followed her down the side street. Becca smiled when the Lexus turned and shut off his one good headlight. A careless move. He had made things way too easy. Now she had no doubt the surveillance was meant for her.

  Becca felt the pressure of her Glock in its holster under her jacket. Time to play.

  The street elevations in this section of town would serve her purpose. She gunned it over a ridge and searched for the right timing to turn off her headlights. Two could play that game. After cresting a hill, she killed her lights and sped for a dark side street to the right. Her tires squealed as she made the abrupt turn.

  Becca turned her Crown Vic around at a cross street and kept her motor running. She waited in the dark, looking like a parked car at the curb. Adrenaline jacked her up, forcing her heart to beat full throttle. The sound of her breathing filled the vacuum of the car. No sign of the Lexus. She licked her lips and leaned forward, chest heaving.

  "Where are you, buddy?" she whispered, her voice dry and raspy. "Come on. Don't let me down."

  Finally, the sedan drove past the street. Becca hit the gas pedal and gunned it to the corner. When she hit the main drag, she turned right and spotted the Lexus up ahead. She accelerated to close the gap, to read a tag or catch a look at the driver. But as soon as the car got near Callaghan Road, the guy must have spotted her. He spun out, heading east at high speed. No lights.

  "Damn it." She only got a partial read on the tag. The rest, she couldn't be sure.

  Becca had a decision to make in the blink of an eye. Pursue the bastard or let him go? A high-speed chase in this area of San Antonio had a lower risk than one in a more densely populated residential neighborhood. But if she did this thing, she had no choice but to run Code 3 to act as a warning beacon. The way the Lexus tore through city streets without headlights put innocent bystanders at risk.

  Not backing down, Becca floored the Crown Vic in pursuit and hit the switch panel on her dash. At the punch of a button, her headlights flashed, and her siren wailed. The spiraling lights cast eerie shadows onto the mesquite trees, scrub oaks, and barbed-wire fence posts whizzing by.

  Suddenly, the Lexus swerved hard left onto a side street, trying to lose her.

  "Shit."

  She gripped the wheel, leaning into the turn. His car spun out, kicking up gravel in a spray. Rocks pummeled her windshield. Each loud smack sounded like a bullet. In reflex, she shielded her face with a hand. Becca's heart leapt into her throat. Her breaths came in short gasps.

  "Now you're just pissing me off."

  She gritted her teeth and maneuvered through narrow streets and low-water areas, trying to make up ground. She zipped past low-rent horse stables to her right. Her flashers reflected off the eyes of a curious bay quarter horse. The animal bolted and trotted off for a quieter piece of ground.

  "Sorry, big fella."

  Suddenly, her Crown Vic hit a pothole and the jolt jarred her teeth. One of her hands popped loose from the wheel. Her seat belt locked and drew tight across her chest, the edge cutting into her neck. Becca tugged to make it release. No luck.

  That's when the guy hit a series of S curves and a fork in the road. He never slowed down. His tires screeched at every turn. With only her headlights to guide her, she peered through the shadows up ahead for a way to end this.

  "What the hell are you doing?" She had no idea if her question had been directed at the maniac up ahead or herself, the crazed woman behind the wheel of the Crown Vic.

  Normally, Becca would call for backup on her radio. But explaining her reason for the high-speed chase would get her butt in a sling, no matter how justified. Santiago might cover for her, but Draper was another matter. He'd have her ass canned and throw away the opener.

  The way she saw it, she only had a short window of opportunity. She had to catch the Lexus—fast.

  But her luck had run out. The madman had been heading for the lights of the freeway. Now, one of the side streets cut onto the frontage road of Loop 410. With more traffic, too much could go wrong. Unable to make her chase official, she had no choice but to back off and kill her pursuit.

  "That's it. I'm gone." She couldn't risk it, not anymore. People might get hurt.

  But the bastard took advantage of his lead and ran a light. He cut across lanes of traffic to hit the freeway entrance ramp. Becca grimaced as other drivers veered to miss him. Tires skidded to a halt. She let the asshole go, never getting close enough to pull more than a partial tag. After turning into the left lane, she cut her speed and watched the red taillights of the Lexus merge into traffic up the hill. With his headlights back on, he headed east, back the way he came.

  "Damn it to hell." She pounded the steering wheel with a fist and groaned in frustration at being so close. "Arrgh."

  Becca took a deep breath to slow her heart. She checked out the time on her dash and made a turn back to the movie theater. A quarter to nine. She had no idea if Sonja would wait long, but she'd find out soon enough.

  Who had tailed her in the Lexus and why? The pricey car ruled out almost her entire list of suspects—all except one.

  Cool water. A placid surface as unchanging as glass. Diego pictured the image and tried to maintain his composure as he watched Brogan in silence. His muscles tense like a tight spring, he sat ready to defend himself if it came to that. His dangerous companion stared back with dead eyes, like a coiled rattler in tall grass. Brogan looked content with the absence of conversation as traffic and road noise droned in the background.

  The limo headed downtown. Diego kept a vigilant eye on the route they took. He had no way of knowing whether Draper followed, but he was sure the FBI man had his back. The guy had the tenacity of a pit bull and the face to match. But Diego hated not knowing what lay ahead. With their destination being downtown, Rebecca's home turf, he had a growing suspicion she played a part in Cavanaugh's game of intimidation.

  After Diego's last glance out the window, Brogan smirked as if he read his mind.

  "You don't look like a guy who likes surprises, Mex." Brogan smirked.

  "Neither do you." His steely gaze and quick, understated comeback made the man flinch. Brogan's sneer faded.

  The limousine maneuvered through the historic arts village of La Villita and pulled up to the curb outside a trendy new restaurant called Fusion on the River. Diego had read about it. Its new and innovative menu combined the melting pot of cultures located in the region. An extravagant fare of continental cuisine blended with the old-world charm and grace of San Antonio. The limo driver let them out, and Diego followed Brogan inside. Hunter Cavanaugh had reserved a private dining room in the rear.

  "Gentlemen. Glad you could join me." Cavanaugh welcomed them with open arm
s and a glass of wine. "Diego, please take the seat across from me."

  An intimate scene. Polished silver on white linen, flickering candles, and fresh-cut flowers created an elegant table setting. Tasteful oil paintings of local artists decked the stucco walls. The restaurant was a maze of small rooms with terraced outside patios carved into the south bank hillside of the San Antonio River.

  They placed their order and dined on an array of appetizers, compliments of the house. The owner of the restaurant was an old acquaintance of Hunter's.

  "You have admirable taste, Mr. Cavanaugh." Diego gave the man his due as he admired the restaurant. "Is this a special occasion?"

  "Yes, you might say that." With his Nordic good looks and aristocratic features, Hunter Cavanaugh commanded the evening with his usual flair for the dramatic. His eloquent voice resonated in the private room. "Sometimes a man must cut his losses and begin afresh. And I am on the verge of being reborn."

  "A spiritual awakening, or are you referring to a business venture?" Diego asked. He forced a smile, hiding the knot in his gut. In his most subtle way, Cavanaugh enjoyed twisting the knife. And tonight, Diego knew the man would take his time. He would not be rushed.

  His polar opposite, Brogan sprawled in his chair and gulped wine without the slightest interest in conversation. The ambience was wasted on him. The bastard would be in his element if you shoved a cold brew and a TV remote in his hand with a Barcalo-unger under his ass. Diego heard the vibrating buzz of the man's cell phone under the table. But Brogan only checked out the phone display, not answering. Glancing at his watch, he looked preoccupied.

  "Ah, a spiritual rebirth or a new business venture? An astute question, Diego." Cavanaugh raised a finger and winked. "Over the years of our association with Global Enterprises, I have been impressed by you. And your loyalty to Mr. Rivera is certainly commendable. In similar fashion, Mr. Brogan would do anything for me. And I assure you, he has."

  "You seem to be making a point." Diego narrowed his eyes and took a sip of wine. "And I'm content to wait for it."

  "Yes." Cavanaugh grinned. "I've noticed. You are a very patient man. In that regard, you and I are very much alike. I, too, value composure . . . especially under stress. And I'm not afraid to make difficult decisions even at the expense of others. Perhaps this is where we part company."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You talk a good game. And you hold your own in a fight." Cavanaugh glanced at Brogan. The man jerked his head, suddenly paying attention. "On more than one occasion, Mr. Brogan reported for work sporting unexplained bruises or a broken nose, presumably after having a conversation with you. But deep down, Diego, you have a soft heart. Don't try and deny it."

  "Why do I get the impression you consider compassion to be a sign of weakness?"

  "Because it is, my dear Diego. It is." Cavanaugh smiled, his fierce eyes unwavering.

  Brogan leaned his elbows on the table and glared at Diego as if he played a hand in the coy conversation. But when his cell phone sprang to life again, the smug bastard checked the incoming number and excused himself from the table to take the call.

  On the surface, Diego was a pristine lake at dawn, but underneath, he churned to know what was happening with Brogan. And worse, Cavanaugh pretended not to notice or even care. Diego had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy Cavanaugh's brand of after-dinner entertainment.

  "I'm waiting to hear about the proposition you have for me."

  "All in good time, Diego. All in good time."

  An old mustard-colored Ford Fiesta sat at the back of the cinema parking lot, rust eating at its wheel wells and belching puffs of black smoke. The car was running with someone inside. Becca circled the vehicle, getting a good look at the driver. She pulled up facing in the opposite direction on the driver's side and rolled down her window. Sonja had her arm out, flicking ashes from her smoke. Between the exhaust fumes and the cigarettes, her lungs had to be a ticking time bomb.

  "I almost left." She chewed at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes darted to her rearview mirror, checking out the empty lot behind them. Real antsy. "How come you were . . ." She stopped in midquestion and tossed her butt. "I got scared, is all."

  "Yeah, I'm sorry." Becca had no intention of telling Sonja what had happened. The woman was spooked enough. "But I'm here now. You said you had something to tell me in person. You got my ear."

  The high-speed chase had left Becca's nerves frayed. On edge, she kept her foot on the brake and her car running, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. And she gripped her Glock. The weapon was out of its holster and in her lap. The meet left her leery, her senses wired. Under any other circumstances, meeting a first-time snitch, Becca would have asked Sonja to keep her hands visible. But the move might kill any chance she had to get the young woman to open up. Becca had to take a risk.

  "The other day ... at my apartment," Sonja began, her voice choked with emotion. She didn't look Becca in the eye. "I didn't tell you everything. And I may have lied."

  Nice opener. Sonja had her attention.

  "May have? That's like saying I'm sort of pregnant. What did you lie about?" Without trying to alarm Sonja, Becca kept an eye out for a burgundy Lexus. She scanned the cars parked in the lot for any unusual movement.

  "You gotta understand. I was scared. Talking about Isabel after all this time, it brought back the nightmares. I haven't been able to sleep." She clutched her steering wheel and peered through the windshield and into her rearview mirror. Agitated. "Fuck, I don't think I can do this," she muttered, letting her head fall back against her headrest. Her shoulders slumped.

  "Oh, no. You got me out in the burbs, Sonja." Becca shook her head and tried a little lame humor to put the girl at ease. "You gotta understand, I don't do burbs. Too many malls and minivans. You can't clam up on me now."

  Eyes wide, Sonja stared at her before she ventured a faint smile. The gesture didn't last.

  Becca softened her tone, but her eyes made one more pass at the parking lot. "Come on. You want to clear the air, or else you wouldn't have called. Talk to me."

  "I lied about . . . the Mercedes." Sonja looked out the corner of her eye, but shut them tight and took a deep breath. "I got into that car . . . with Isabel."

  "Tell me what happened, Sonja? And why did you lie about it?"

  "You're mad. I can hear it in your voice." Sonja fidgeted in her seat, a hand tight on the wheel. Eyes alert.

  "I only want to get at the truth here." Becca softened her tone. "Tell me about the trip you took in the Mercedes. Let's focus on that."

  Sonja lit another smoke. After a few drags, she loosened up. "Isabel had arranged everything. We drove out I-10, some rich guy's place. I never paid attention how we got there."

  Sonja's latest version of the truth corroborated Rudy's story. Becca had never told her Isabel's brother had followed the Mercedes out I-10 to the Cavanaugh estate. Pieces to the puzzle were fitting into place.

  "We never went into the mansion, only stayed in the back. They had a pool house. Everything was lit up. A real fancy party. Lots of hot older guys in expensive clothes. And plenty of girls, too, dressed real nice. I felt out of place. My dress wasn't the best, but it was all I could afford. I felt so grown-up in it, even though we were kind of young compared to everyone else. But none of the people made us feel like party crashers, you know?"

  "The party sounded real friendly."

  "Yeah, it was. Those rich people made me feel like a rock star. The guys flirted and got me drinks. Isabel said they were always like that. Real gentlemen."

  "Isabel must have been to a few of their parties if she knew that."

  Sonja narrowed her eyes, a questioning look on her face. "Yeah, guess so, but I never figured that out until later."

  "What happened next?" Becca prompted.

  "I started to feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. I thought I had too much to drink, you know? But one of the guys took care of me. He took me into the pool house, let me lie down on a bed."
<
br />   "But something must have happened. You kept this part from me. Why?"

  A dark memory shrouded her face. Sonja tensed her jaw and avoided looking at Becca. "That's because later, I found out... I was the big attraction. You see, they had a special room set up, just for me."

  Sonja smiled with a look of confusion on her face, a strange, distant gaze. Her cigarette hung between her fingers, burned almost to the stub. Couldn't she feel the heat?

  "The guy started to take my clothes off. I told him no, but he only laughed. Other men were in the room. They did things to me. But I couldn't move."

  Sonja dropped the butt from her fingers, barely noticing. She looked too numb to move a muscle, mesmerized and haunted by her past. As much as she wanted to console the girl, Becca kept her eyes trained on the parking lot and the empty acreage behind them. She wiped the sweat off her palm, the one holding the Glock.

  "After that, it got real fuzzy. All those rich men at the party? Their faces kept coming at me, one after another. Laughing. Pointing. Some of them were naked, sometimes more than one. I can still hear 'em." She cried. "And I have nightmares . . . even now."

  Sonja went on, each remembrance worse than the last. A lost soul with rock-bottom self-esteem. No wonder she suffered from nightmares. The shame. The degradation. Becca couldn't imagine a young life being shut down by such cruelty. Each new revelation brought Sonja's tragic world closer. Its oppressive weight made it hard for Becca to breathe.

  Danielle must have suffered the same way, only her ordeal ended in a torturous, violent death. Overwhelming grief flooded Becca, sucking the air from her lungs. She couldn't catch her breath. Tears blurred her sight, but Becca fought the urge to cry. She kept her mind focused on the case. On the here and now. On Sonja.