Caught in the Act

by Jill Sorenson

  “I was outside with a secondary,” Ian continued. “My primary dragged her into a secluded location, against her will.”

  “You couldn’t leave and call for backup?”

  “Not in time to help her.”

  “Shit,” Adam muttered, understanding the dilemma.

  “The other guy was staring me down, spoiling for a fight. He’d warned me away from this girl before.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I was looking at her.”

  “She’s pretty?”

  “Very.”

  “Go on.”

  “I got this feeling that he didn’t like what was happening. But he couldn’t step up, either. So I just tackled him.”

  “Jesus, Ian.”

  “Yeah. He fought hard, obviously.”

  “Was he armed?”

  “He always carries a knife.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t shank you.”

  Ian nodded. “The target came out to break it up, and the girl got away.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “I told him the other guy was taunting me. We both pretended like the fight had nothing to do with the girl. He bought it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But I’m a good customer, so maybe he cut me some slack.”

  Adam leaned back in his chair, mulling the story over. “Okay, but why not report it? You took a gamble and it paid off. The girl is safe.”

  “If I make a report, my judgment will be questioned. I’ll be taken out of the field for a psych eval and a physical exam. Maybe even reassigned.”

  Adam glanced at Ian, wondering if that would be for the best. He didn’t say it, because he knew his friend had worked hard to get close to these guys. Ian wouldn’t give up before he brought them down.

  “There’s another complication,” Ian admitted.

  “What?”

  “The girl … I know her.”

  Adam straightened in his chair. “You know her?”

  “It’s Maria Santos. From El Caracol.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said, refusing to believe him. “Her face was bruised and battered when you found her.”

  “The swelling went down after a few days. I recognized her.”

  He searched Ian’s good eye, trying to assess his mental acuity. Undercover work had a way of messing with your mind, eating away at your soul. Adam knew that from experience. “Did she recognize you?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “This is why you stepped in, isn’t it? You’ve always been bugshit over that girl. You left CBP, quit Border Patrol—”

  “I hated that job, Adam.”

  “And you like this one? You enjoy living in a dump, looking like a bum?”

  “Do you enjoy destroying people’s dreams? Keeping families apart?”

  “Fuck you,” Adam said tiredly. “Fuck you if you think you’re doing something more honorable than I am.”

  Ian went back to his bowl of soup, finishing it with swift, angry motions.

  “If this girl from El Caracol remembers you, you’re done. She could blow your cover at any moment.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Ian said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You can’t keep this a secret, Ian. You’re endangering yourself and the investigation.”

  Drops of broth clung to his goatee, proving that his manners had become just as raw as his appearance. “Are you really going to lecture me on rules and procedures?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re the sneakiest bastard on CBP,” he said, rising to his feet. “And now you’re a fucking hypocrite, too.”

  Adam stood and walked over to the fridge, annoyed. Ian was pissing him off, but he had a point. He grabbed a beer for himself and a soda for Ian, making a peace offering. “Kari’s store got vandalized last night.”

  “Whose store?”

  “Kari Strauss’s. She owns Zócalo, on E Street.”

  Ian popped open the soda. “You’ve been watching her?”

  Adam nodded. He might be a sneaky bastard and a hypocrite, but he couldn’t lie to his best friend.

  “I’ve seen her before,” Ian admitted. “She’s nice-looking.”

  Adam took a pull on his beer, thinking about her smooth, tanned legs. “Yes, she is.” He’d seen a glimpse of her panties today, purple with little flowers. He’d have given anything to get inside them. “I think she has a girlfriend.”

  Ian almost choked on his soda. “Really?”

  Adam smiled, taking his beer to the couch. Ian followed close behind, eager to hear the rest. “I helped her paint over the graffiti this morning, and she cut her foot on some glass. We were in the bathroom, cleaning her up, and she was giving me these … signals, you know. Like she wanted more than a Band-Aid.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then her roommate walked in.”

  “And you had a steamy three-way, Penthouse Forum style?”

  He laughed ruefully. “No.”

  “What a letdown.”

  Adam felt disappointed for other reasons. If Kari Strauss was a drug-smuggling lesbian, his instincts were dead. And if she wasn’t, he didn’t have any reason to follow her. Either way, she was taken, off-limits. Out of reach.

  “Why do you think they’re together?” Ian asked.

  “She said she was seeing someone, and her roommate acted jealous. I thought they were going to start making out. Only, not with me.”

  Leaning back against the couch, Ian placed the bag of peas over his eye again, settling in. “What does she look like?”

  “The roommate? She’s hot, too. More your type than mine.”

  “Dark hair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Describe what they were wearing.”

  “No way,” he said, offended. “Get your own fantasy.”

  Ian laughed, shifting the frozen peas again. “I have a tip for you.”

  “What?”

  “Supposedly there’s some new stuff coming in. Blanca nieves.”

  “When?”

  “Tuesday.”

  Adam had met Kari on Tuesday. Maybe she made weekly trips to Tijuana. “Shit,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How much?”

  “I don’t know any other details.”

  “That’s useless to me, Ian. People smuggle drugs every hour, every day.”

  “Right. But I can’t ask for specifics without getting my head blown off.”

  Adam fell silent, brooding. He hated when Ian talked like that. It was almost as if he didn’t care if he lived or died. “Mom’s birthday is tomorrow.”

  “Are you doing anything?”

  Adam shrugged. Last year they’d had a big fiesta, with relatives from all over Mexico and California. Ian had been there, looking a damned sight better than he did now. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “Maybe I’ll go visit. Take some flowers.”

  “Give her one from me, okay?”

  “Sure,” he said, feeling numb.

  8

  Tuesday dawned bright and hot.

  Kari hadn’t slept at all the night before. She’d lain awake, thinking of everything she could have done differently. She should have called the police the first day, or on the night she met Sasha at the mall. Her sister had probably been carrying drugs, and she certainly had inside information. An arrest threat would have forced her cooperation.

  She should have staged an intervention years ago.

  If she could do it all over again, she’d have protected Sasha that night at the club, instead of sneaking away to be alone with her stupid boyfriend. She’d never have taken her to parties or given her that first joint.

  Wallowing in regrets, Kari got up early and ran hard, pushing herself, punishing herself. When she came back home, short of breath and covered in sweat, Maria was in the kitchen, makin
g breakfast.

  She slid an omelet onto a plate, offering Kari a serene smile.

  Kari took the plate and sat down, sipping her orange juice. The kitchen was warm and cozy with morning light, Maria demure and ethereal in her white nightgown. It was a comforting scene—but this was not how she pictured domestic bliss.

  “I always thought I’d be the wife,” she complained.

  Maria glanced at her, chuckling. “We can take turns, if you like.”

  Kari wondered if she’d be spending the next few years in jail, forced into a similar but much less pleasant living situation. She shuddered, eating a few bites of omelet without really tasting it. “What will you do if I don’t come back?”

  Maria sat down with her plate. “Stop saying that. Of course you’ll come back.”

  “I have some cash in my closet—”

  “No.”

  She held her palm to her stomach, hoping it would settle. Sasha hadn’t returned any of her calls over the weekend. Adam hadn’t come back to the store, which should have been a relief. Instead, she felt abandoned.

  Her life was spiraling out of control.

  “Tell me about your family,” Kari said, needing a distraction.

  Maria unfolded a napkin over her lap. “What would you like to know?”

  “Anything. Something good.”

  She nodded. “My father went to the U.S. when I was little to look for work. I was maybe five years old when he left, and seven when he came back. His shoes were falling apart, and his clothes were torn, but he brought me a doll. A beautiful American doll. He carried it all the way from Texas. That was the happiest day of my life.”

  Kari smiled as she pictured the touching scene. She’d had a similar fascination with American toys as a child. “Were you surprised to see him?”

  “Oh, yes. I didn’t know he was coming. He cried when he hugged me.”

  “Did he stay home?”

  “Only for a few months. By the time he went back, my mother was pregnant with my sister.”

  “You have a sister?”

  Maria swallowed a bite of omelet. “Two. And a brother who just turned fourteen. He’s dying to come here. I tell him to wait.”

  “Where is your father?”

  She dabbed her mouth with the napkin. “He fell off a train in the middle of the night. Ten years ago.”

  “Oh,” Kari murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It is a dangerous journey.”

  “Why not cross legally and apply for citizenship? Isn’t that less risky?”

  “Of course, but it is not easy. There is a long wait just for a work visa, and you need a signature from a U.S. employer. Without family connections, it is almost impossible to get a job offer in this country.” She gestured down at her plate. “For those who are hungry, the reward is worth the risk.”

  “So you’ve been in Tijuana for four years, hoping to cross again?”

  “And saving money, sending most of it to my family. My brother has a job now, so he helps to pay bills.” A crease formed between her brows. “I also was not eager to pay another coyote to bring me here. I did not want to be hurt by bad men again.”

  Kari finished her omelet and drank her orange juice, considering Maria in a new light. No wonder she didn’t seem distressed by Kari’s predicament; she’d been through worse scrapes and survived.

  If Kari got caught smuggling drugs, she’d ask for a lawyer and keep her mouth shut. She had no prior arrests, no convictions. That would work in her favor.

  And if she didn’t get caught, she would be complicit in Moreno’s crimes. He would have leverage against her, a dirty little secret to keep her quiet. But once she did this, she’d be free. Sasha would be free.

  The reward was worth the risk.

  “What about your family?” Maria asked.

  “Sasha is all I have.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “My mother died when I was eight. We moved here a year later. I think my father wanted to start over.”

  “Did he do well?”

  “Very well, for an immigrant. But he worked too hard and didn’t take care of his health. He died of a heart attack right after I graduated from high school.”

  Maria’s eyes softened with sympathy. “So your sister is everything to you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”

  After breakfast, Kari showered and dressed with care, choosing a brief outfit. Showing a little skin hadn’t hurt her chances last time. The cutoff jean skirt and skimpy tank top made her look like a party girl. She left her hair down and applied more eye makeup than usual. After putting on a pair of gladiator sandals, she left the room.

  Maria was standing by the door, ready. Since she’d lost her hat, the rest of her disguise had relaxed. Today she was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and sturdy blue jeans. Although her clothes were boyish and outdated, they didn’t detract from her beauty.

  “How do I look?” Kari asked.

  “Muy sexy.”

  “Is it too much?”

  “No,” Maria said, her gaze sharp. “Is just right.”

  Kari grabbed a light sweater anyway, draping it around her shoulders. “I’m so nervous, I feel like I might throw up.”

  “Pobrecita,” Maria murmured, giving her a hug. “If I could do it for you, I would.”

  She knew that was impossible. Maria would never get through without papers. “Are you sure you want to work today?”

  “Sí,” she said, determined.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  After taking Maria to the hotel, Kari stopped by Hands Across the Border, following her usual Tuesday morning routine. There were bags of clothing, toiletries, and some canned goods to disperse. Kari loaded the donations into her truck, smiling her thanks. She’d been working with the charity for more than a year now, and she loved it. At Christmas, she’d delivered a truckload of new toys. It felt good to make people happy.

  She dropped off the goods at the Iglesia de Santo Ignacio in downtown Tijuana and left in a hurry. Dressed as she was, about to commit a serious crime, she wasn’t comfortable hanging around in a church. She felt like a sinner. Normally she’d have done some shopping, another pleasant Tuesday task. Instead she went straight to the pickup location. She was much too anxious to stroll through the busy streets or chat with vendors.

  Chuy Pena had contacted her with terse instructions. She drove to the unfamiliar address he’d indicated, her heart racing. City traffic was always chaotic, and Mexican drivers committed every violation imaginable without blinking an eye. After thirty nerve-wracking minutes, she arrived at a dusty tile manufacturer called Saltillo Mundo.

  By this time it was almost 11:00 a.m. and the sun was blazing. Even so, she wrapped her sweater tight around her body and stayed inside the vehicle, sweating like crazy. A worker approached the driver’s side, his shirt stained orange. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to pick up an order for Carlos,” she said.

  He nodded, gesturing for her to pull forward. Kari stared into the dark garage with trepidation, wondering if Moreno’s plans for her were more sinister than drug smuggling. She got out of the van, her pulse pounding.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Her hands trembled as she gave him her keys. “I’ll stay out here.”

  Shrugging, he climbed behind the wheel, making no comment about the peculiar request. American customers were always right, apparently. Or maybe it wasn’t cool to argue with a woman sent by Moreno. Kari had no idea who was in on the deception and who wasn’t.

  She stood there in the hot sun, her mind blank and her shoulders trembling, for an interminable length of time. Finally the man backed out and turned her van around, facing the street. “It’s all loaded up,” he said as he exited the vehicle.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  Right. Feeling light-headed, she got into the van and drove away from Saltillo Mundo, heading north. The next few moments were surreal. Sh
e’d anticipated being freaked out, but she was shocked by how intense her anxiety was. Her heartbeat seemed erratic, her breathing too shallow. She clenched her sweat-slick hands around the steering wheel and checked her rearview mirror for police cars, hoping she wouldn’t faint.

  “I’m going to die,” she whispered, approaching the gridlock at the border. “I’m going to have a heart attack and die.”

  She took deep, even breaths and tried to stay calm. Her skin prickled with heat, and red splotches broke out on her chest, like panic hives. Tossing aside her sweater, she gulped bottled water and prayed for strength.

  “I have a plan,” she reminded herself. “I have a plan, and I’ll get through this.”

  Her plan involved Adam. She would enter his lane, smile pretty, and make nice. Maybe even hint that she’d reconsidered their date. Surely he wouldn’t inconvenience a woman he wanted to go out with. She’d agree to anything—even a ménage à trois with Maria—if he’d let her pass through!

  Maybe she was taking an additional risk by involving him. He might not give her deferential treatment. He might already suspect her of wrongdoing. He might be one of Moreno’s henchmen.

  God.

  Pushing a lock of damp hair off her forehead, she made her way toward lane sixteen, where she’d first met Adam. She couldn’t believe only a week had gone by since then. It seemed like months. The closer she got to his station, the worse she felt about using him. She didn’t want him to see her at such a desperate moment.

  But it was too late to turn back.

  The U.S. side of the border began about a hundred yards from the inspection stations. Street vendors stayed in Mexico, walking up and down the aisles of traffic. It was the point of no return. She’d already committed a felony.

  Kari couldn’t change lanes at this stage of the game, either.

  Sweat molded her tank top to her lower back and trickled between her breasts. She rolled the windows down on both sides, letting in hot air and smog. Catching sight of two officers on foot, she froze.

  The tactic wasn’t unusual. There were always uniformed men and women in the lanes, checking out passengers and monitoring the flow of traffic. Some were with the canine unit, directing drug-sniffing dogs.

  A large, alert German shepherd strained at his leash, just two cars down.