by Jo Robertson
Her face flushed prettily and somehow that made him angrier. Lupe might be dead and she was thinking of their tryst? Irrational to blame her, he knew, and so he clenched his jaw to keep from making a complete jackass out of himself.
Understanding dawned on her and her words stumbled over themselves. "Oh God, no. I didn't mean that. I meant the attack in the alley."
"Sorry," he said shortly, annoyed with himself for having thought the worst of her. Irritated that his own mind had gone to sex first.
"What's wrong," she asked again, her voice more insistent this time.
But he ignored the question, grabbed his cell phone, and speed-dialed Detective Max Jensen. He turned his back on her for the second time in as many minutes.
"Yeah?" Max's voice seemed distracted.
"Can you hurry up the forensics on that blood?" Rafe looked over his shoulder to see Isabella leaning across the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Eavesdropper.
"Fuck you, Hashish," Max returned good naturedly. "No greeting, no hello? And here I thought your eleven o'clock appointment was about getting laid."
"Why would you think that?"
"Duh. Maybe because the woman I saw when I left your office was exactly your type? Porcelain skin, hair like a Hershey's chocolate bar. Oh, and the legs, don't forget the legs, man."
Damn Max's powers of observation. "Cut the poetic crap." Rafe lowered his voice. "The blood in the alley might belong to Lupe."
"Aw, fuck me!" Max was the only person who knew Lupe was a C.I. for the DEA, and he knew that only because he and Rafe had been friends since college and were still tight. Lupe's safety depended on complete anonymity. Rafe's too.
"Sure, buddy, right away. I'll get on it immediately." Max hesitated, his voice strained. "But Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about it, okay? It's probably just the animal blood anyway. Lupe's smart."
"Yeah, sure. You're right. But, Max, just in case ... "
"I'll get right back to you."
Max hung up with a click, and Rafe sat staring at the phone in his hand.
When he turned around to face Isabella, he worked hard to keep the emotion from his face. Lupe had been his C.I. for almost three years, infiltrating Vargas' gang and passing the information on to the DEA.
He swiped his hand across his face. He needed a shave, he thought irrelevantly. He looked at Isabella, momentarily forgetting why she sat opposite him and what she wanted. She lifted her brows expectantly.
And then he recalled that Lupe had a pregnant girlfriend and ... Jesus! But there was nothing he could do about Lupe or his girlfriend right now.
The low rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd missed breakfast this morning. "I'm leaving," he said abruptly, replacing his cell phone in his jacket and striding toward the office door. When he looked back, Isabella still sat there, turning to stare at him. "Well, come on," he snapped. "If you want to work this case with me, you'll have to move faster than that."
Max would check out the blood and call him back as soon as he knew anything. Rafe couldn't worry about Lupe now.
Chapter Twelve
Bella waited until the outer office door slammed behind Rafe with a resounding thwack. Who did he think he was, issuing orders like that? Usually she was the one telling people what to do.
She didn't want to follow him like a puppy, but she'd do anything to stay involved in the Diego Vargas case. She'd won the first round. Better to put her pride aside for the moment. She jumped up and scrambled after him, leaving her briefcase unlocked on the floor.
For Maria's sake, she told herself.
The sudden image of her dead sister and the last time she'd ever seen her popped into her head. Seven-year-old Bella was hugging her sister's neck with pudgy hands. Maria was laughing and kissing her sticky fingers and mouth. "Hey, baby-girl, it's only a week," Maria had said. "And I'll be back before you know it."
"Don't go, Casa," Bella begged, using her pet name for her older sister. "I'll miss you so much."
Maria pulled her sister away and knelt beside her, hands on her shoulders. "I'm all grown up and graduated high school now, Button. I worked hard to get this celebration trip. You don't want me to miss it, do you?"
Bella's lower lip trembled and tears spilled down her baby cheeks. "N – no," she muttered.
"I'm coming back, Button. I promise you."
But Maria hadn't come back and she'd never kept her promise to her baby sister.
Bella caught up with Rafe at the elevator banks just as the doors were closing. "Whoa, there, buster," she said, sticking her handbag through the opening and alerting the sensor. The elevator doors bounced open again and she stepped inside. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
Rafe slanted a look at her from the corner of his eye. A look that said he'd not only like to see the last of her for good, but he'd also take pleasure in strangling her. Then he turned his attention to the closed elevator doors, a worried frown between his dark brows.
The two of them descended in silence to the lower level where he stepped out into the spaciousness of a vast underground parking garage. He strode to the left where parked cars waited in designated spaces. His assigned space read, "Director DEA," on a big, blue sign attached to a pole, like a handicapped space.
As Rafe bleeped off the car alarm, Bella couldn't help quipping, "Director, huh? The whole damn Drug Enforcement Agency. That's pretty impressive."
"Don't be a smart-ass. Get in."
"Where are we going?"
Rafe glared at her over the top of the car. "It's lunchtime. Don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He got in the car, started the ignition, and pulled out sharply just as Bella shut her car door. Not big on fastening seat belts apparently.
Bella felt a momentary pang of regret at resorting to trickery and snide comments to get what she wanted from him. She wished the A. Hashemi she'd planned to barrage with all kinds of rudeness when she was back in her Bigler County office wasn't the man whose company she'd enjoyed so much last night. But if A. Hashemi wanted to get tough, she figured she could do that, too.
They pulled onto the Santa Monica Freeway and fifteen minutes later exited and turned into the parking area of a sleek, low restaurant that sat back off the road some distance and had the authenticity of a real Mexican hacienda.
"You like Mexican food?" Rafe asked.
Had he not noticed she was Latina? She gave him an exaggerated duh look, but when he didn't respond she said, "Absolutamente."
Inside the restaurant, a matronly woman of indeterminate age greeted Rafe with familiarity and eyed Bella with dark, frank eyes. "Hola, Rafe. Your usual booth?"
"Cómo estás, Carmen?" he asked, hugging her in greeting and kissing her soundly on both cheeks. "Yes, the booth, por favor. ¿Estás tu familia en buena salud? ¿Comó es su nieto?"
The woman beamed and patted Rafe's arm affectionately. "Ay, my family is very well and mi nieto, my grandson, is so beautiful he breaks my heart."
A minute later, seated at the booth, Bella appraised Rafe over the top of her menu, pretending to scan the lunch choices. The charm he could whip out so easily and put away again just as quickly annoyed the hell out of her. Was that what he'd done last night, deluged her with charm so he could get laid?
And how come he was downright sweet to others but uncivil to her? And why the hell was she bothered that he could put their ... their brief encounter behind him so easily? "You come here often, Agent Hashemi?"
He looked up, a blank look on his face, almost as if he'd forgotten she was sitting there, and she knew his mind was far away. "Often enough."
"Sounds like you know that woman pretty well." She nodded toward the hostess, who smiled from her station behind the entry podium.
"I do," he answered shortly.
"Your Spanish is excellent."
"It is."
"Almost as good as mine," she said fiddling with the condiment holder as a young Hispanic teenager l
aid salsa and tortillas chips on the table and then retreated.
Rafe finished studying the menu and laid it aside. "Look, Torres, let's get something straight." He leaned his elbows on the plastic tablecloth and tented his fingers. "You don't have to make nice with me. You don't have to like me. You don't even have to turn over those ... what did you call them? Ah, yes, work product files," he said, an edge to his voice.
She opened her mouth to form a half-hearted protest.
"But," he interrupted with a steely gaze, pointing a finger at her like a pistol, "you do have to be honest with me. I won't put up with any bullshit tricks if I'm going to let you work this case with me."
She began sputtering. "Wh – what, you're letting me work the case? Diego Vargas has committed crimes in Bigler County. He's been under our scrutiny there, in my county, for over a year. You have no more right than I to nab him for the depraved and accumulated atrocities – "
"Shut up, Torres," he said pleasantly, which effectively took the wind out of her sails.
She stared at him with her mouth a round oh of surprise while their server returned and Rafe gave the woman both their orders.
"The federal government has jurisdiction over anything interstate," he reminded her after the server left. "You know that and I know that. Vargas' atrocities include intra-state and international drug trafficking which comes under federal drug enforcement."
He continued in a neutral, even-tenored voice as if his logic were reasonable and indisputable. "Now, in exchange for your personal files, I'll continue to allow you to work the case rather than call your boss and have you jerked off it and sent back to Hicksville."
Bella felt the hot sting of outrage creep up her neck to stain her cheeks. Not only had he steamrolled her case, but he had the affront to order her lunch for her! She blinked furiously while trying to formulate a sharp enough response for both insults.
Rafe reached for a chip and dipped it in the thick salsa. "Actually, it's a pretty good deal. You ought to take it."
The chomping of his tortilla chip and the calm look on his face made her want to smack him, but she snapped her teeth together, nearly biting the inside of her lip. She resisted because she recognized the pragmatism in his words.
He was right. He had the power to call in a hell of a lot of favors. And D.A. Charles Barrington never took on anything controversial. Or difficult. He'd pull her off the case in a heartbeat, sloth that he was, forcing her to turn over every single file she had.
Except those she'd hidden at home in a thin, plastic box under her bed, she thought smugly. The ones Charles knew nothing about. The ones she wasn't about to tell Hashemi about.
"What gives you the right to offer a deal?" she grumbled, feeling herself capitulate. Other than that you're a big bully.
He confirmed her thought by leaning across the table and answering, "Because I'm a whole lot bigger than you are, I'm infinitely more influential, and" – his eyes dropped to her mouth, "I'm more experienced."
She didn't miss the double entendre. Bella shut up just as Rafe had suggested.
The middle-aged server plunked their lunches down on the table and beamed cheerfully at the two of them before placing the check under the basket of warm tortillas. With relish Rafe tackled his plate of beef enchiladas. He dipped a home-made tortilla into the rich, reddish-brown sauce and looked up at Isabella. "Good, huh?" he asked with relish, his mouth stuffed.
Bella positioned a small bite of chicken and sauce on a tortilla chip. "Hmmm." Her mouth opened wide around the concoction as she popped it into her mouth. "Delicious," she agreed around the mouthful of food. "¡Absolutamente perfecto! I gotta tell you, Hashemi, this is the best Mexican food I ever ate."
She swallowed a large gulp of Pepsi and frowned. "But don't ever tell my mom that."
Amused by her hefty appetite, Rafe smiled. "Scout's honor." He quickly sobered up, the grin slipping. He shouldn't be enjoying anything, much less lunch with an attractive woman, until he learned what'd happened to Lupe.
He cleared his throat. "Let's talk about your notes on Vargas," he said. "When can I get hold of them?"
"We're really going to put this whole personal thing behind us?" she asked quietly.
He almost flinched under her clear, direct gaze. Wasn't that already a dead issue? Why did she want to take it up again? God, women were so unpredictable.
"Yes." He paused before continuing. "Unless you can think of a better idea."
She wiped her mouth. "It was just a casual thing anyway."
"Right, nothing serious."
"Just a lot of talk at the bar."
"And then we got attacked."
"Sure, and those kinds of high-tension moments cause people to lower their guards, do things they wouldn't otherwise do." She looked up at Rafe through her lashes. "You said so yourself."
"So I did."
"And we were two consenting adults who got caught up in the moment of ... Besides, nothing really happened. Right?"
Rafe stared at her wide, dark eyes, at her full lips and porcelain skin, at the high color of her cheeks.
Nothing really happened?
Chapter Thirteen
Shirley Winston had been in the business a long time. More years than she admitted to the few johns who still asked for her when they visited La Casa de Mujeres.
Heaving a sigh, she hauled her body off the chaise and plopped down on the delicate stool in front of the small vanity she used for putting on her makeup. The brassy blonde that looked back at her as she applied a thick layer of cosmetics looked old, she thought. Hell, she was forty-one, but looked sixty, no matter how much makeup she smeared on. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth.
Shirley liked to say she was in the management portion of the business. She was very good at her job and ran the house with an iron hand, mainly 'cause nothing bothered her no more. Live and let live, that was her motto.
She started working for Diego Vargas when she was a natural blonde and barely eighteen years old. A looker in those days, even if she said so herself. Diego didn't ask for her no more like he did in the old days, which was hunky-dory by her.
She'd had enough of ugly bruises and broken bones.
A loud pounding on the downstairs door brought her to the top of the staircase. Little Audrey sat behind the reception desk and Buck guarded the door as it swung open. Damn! Too early for regular customers, she thought as Gabriel Santos walked into the entry and stared up at her with those damned flat eyes of his, silent as the grave, like usual.
Diego Vargas followed right behind him. "Shirley, bebé." Diego beamed up at her. "How is my favorite madam?"
It cost Shirley a lot to smile at him. Last time he visited, the girl he asked for bled to death before he finished with her. Business was business, but still, Diego liked mixin' his business with too much pleasure for her taste.
"Hey, there, Councilman. What can I get for you? Wine, whiskey?" Not my girls, she prayed silently.
"No, no, I have brought the girls with me."
"Yourself?" Shirley couldn't hide her surprise. Diego almost never delivered the girls himself. Transporting them across the border was a tricky business.
"This was muy especial, a very special trip for a particular cargo." Vargas beckoned her down the stairs. "Come, I will show you."
Shirley wrapped the silk gown around her plump belly and started down the curved staircase.
"Bring the girls into the sitting room," Vargas ordered Santos.
Five minutes later, the big giant brought the girls in and lined them up in front of where Shirley and Diego sat on a soft paisley print sofa. God, what a string of dirty kids, she thought. Children. What the hell kinda thing was Diego gettin' her mixed up in now? "I don't wanna deal in no kids," she whined.
"Don't be estúpida, Shirley. How many times do you have customers who ask for peticiones especiales?"
Five of Vargas' special requests stood there, all of them with blown pupils, leaning
weakly on each other. Drugs, prolly. He woulda drugged 'em for the trip to keep them quiet.
"Take their clothes off," Diego ordered. "I want to see my merchandise."
The girls were dressed skimpy and it wasn't long before they were all naked, looking around the fancy sitting room with bruised eyes. Just babies, she thought. Flat-chested babies.
Jesus on a crutch, but what the hell could she do? She was just a old worn-out hooker, way past her prime. No one was gonna pay to screw her any more.
She turned away as Diego reached for the smallest girl.
#
Rafe stared at Isabella across the restaurant table and wondered how she could say nothing had happened between then, even though a few hours ago he'd tried to convince himself of the same thing. He'd kissed her, hell, fondled her in a pretty damned intimate way. How could he think nothing had happened? How could she think it?
Under other circumstances, it might've been everything. What they'd done last night seemed sexier than if he'd been inside her, pounding his urgent lusts into her more than willing body.
He coughed and got his head together. Water under the bridge. No point to that kind of thinking. Right now, he needed to find out whose blood was in that alley. Determine if his confidential informant was safe or ...
"You're right," he said, reaching for the check and standing. "Let's put this behind us. And get the hell out of here."
Torres didn't hide the flash of surprise that crossed her face. "Sure," she said slowly. "Right now the important thing is to focus on the human trafficking case against Vargas."
Rafe sat back down, raised his eyebrows, and thought surely she was joking. "Human trafficking? How about a very big drug trafficking ring? One that puts the Colombian cartels to shame."
"Drugs?" Her voice pitched higher and he heard the strain under her words. "What are you talking about?"
"Diego Vargas and his use of the Norteños to create brand new drug routes into the country through California." He shrugged. "What else?"
"Illegal drugs have been around for decades. What we need to get Vargas on is the human trafficking." Her face was a study in astonishment. "Surely, you can't think the drug deals are more serious than the slavery of human beings?"
