Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  “Because she lied. She said she had spoken to your sister a few weeks ago.”

  Brie shook her head, still feeling half-asleep. “Wait. You found her and you’ve already lost her?”

  “I know.” Frowning, he added, “She said she was going to check on her baby…but then she fled, leaving the baby there, screaming.”

  His words were running amok in her head. She moved to the sofa and dropped down, her brain trying to play catch-up. “She left her baby?”

  “Yeah. What kind of mother does that?” He sat beside her. She almost got up and moved to a chair. “We’ve got a BOLO out on her. We found out what kind of car she drives. Hopefully, we’ll find her. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

  “What else?”

  “One of the other names you gave us, Tammy Alberts. It was familiar to one of the vice cops. He’d helped out on some cases with ICE last year and he asked if he could run the name by them. He did and found out he was right about the name. On one of their cases, a fake driver’s license with that name was found last year at a crime scene right across the Mexican border.”

  “What kind of crime scene?”

  “Six bodies were found in the back of an old delivery truck. All females. They are believed to be victims of human trafficking. The truck had been set on fire, but it appeared the women had died a day or two earlier. Probably from heat exposure.”

  Brie closed her eyes, then opened them. “So I’m right. That’s what happened to my sister. Human trafficking.” Brie had believed it from the start, but hearing it brought the hurt to her chest all over again, and not just for her sister, but for the other victims as well.

  “It looks like it.”

  “Do you have the other victims’ names? Do any of them link up with the Black Diamond or Dillon Armand?”

  “They’re looking into it. They couldn’t get prints on all of them, and a couple of them still haven’t been identified.”

  “Why didn’t the name come up when I searched the database for a Tammy Alberts?”

  “ICE used the real names they had on the report. The license was damaged in the fire, all they got was the name on it. They could tell it was a fake, but they weren’t even sure which girl’s picture was on it.”

  She shook her head. “And we don’t have anyone on Armand. He’s in the wind. He could be kidnapping other women right now. He could be halfway to Guatemala.”

  “ICE has been looking into the human trafficking case. They have agreed to help. We have an agent going to the strip club in Houston where my friend said he spotted him.” Connor pulled out his phone. “He should be getting there any time now, and will let us know when he has eyes on Armand.”

  She swallowed, trying to find relief in what little he offered.

  “I also contacted the airlines, and if any changes are made to the ticket Armand flew over here on, we’ll be contacted. I want this guy as badly as you do.”

  Yeah, but wanting something didn’t make it happen. If so, Armand would have been behind bars from the instant she’d recognized his name in the Guatemalan police report. And the FBI, her own agency, would have been the ones to investigate it.

  “What if he decides to leave the U.S. the same way he got my sister out? There was no record of her leaving.”

  “I don’t think he’d do that unless he believes we’re on to him. We’re doing everything we can.”

  She sat there silent, trying to wrap her brain around the new information.

  Right then, Psycho came strolling into the room. He moved between the coffee table and sofa, and sniffed Connor’s pants leg. It was then Brie remembered what had happened the last time they’d shared the sofa.

  Connor didn’t move. Neither did her cat. Then the feline jumped up on the sofa between them, almost as if he’d decided Connor wasn’t out to hurt him.

  Brie’s mind went back to the news he’d delivered. “Do you think Berger knows what happened to my sister?” Psycho eased closer and curled up in her lap.

  “I think she was lying and ran for a reason.”

  Before he could say more, Connor’s phone rang. When he pulled it out, Psycho watched him—leery—but he didn’t jump down.

  “It’s the ICE agent in Houston.” He took the call. Brie held her breath, hoping it was good news.

  “You got him?” Connor asked in lieu of hello. His frown told her what she needed to know. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, do that.” He hung up.

  She fought the wave of disappointment. “He’s not there, is he?”

  “No.”

  She shook her head. “How are they proceeding? If they talk to the owner, he could warn Armand we are on to him.”

  “He’s been told to stay completely under the radar. The agent is going to remain at the club to see if Armand returns. Mark and Juan are calling to see if Armand checked into a hotel in the area.” He dropped his hand over hers.

  The touch sent a spark—part pain, part pleasure—right to her chest. She pulled her hand out from under his. “Thanks for coming here to tell me. But you should go.”

  For one second, she thought he was going to argue, and a small part of her wanted him to. Instead, he stood up. “I’m going with you to Willowcreek tomorrow to interview the waitress.”

  The thought of being in the car with him for several hours had her chest tightening. “What time?”

  “Nine okay? You want me to pick you up here?” he asked.

  “No. At the hospital. I’ll be there.”

  He started for the door then turned. “I called on the way over here and they said Agent Olvera’s vitals are doing better.”

  “Yeah.” Was his concern for Carlos supposed to make her feel better? It didn’t.

  It appeared as if he wanted to say something else, but he finally just walked out.

  Her cat meowed. She looked at the feline. “Great. You start trusting him right when I realize I can’t.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I can’t believe we ate it all.” Tory stared at the four empty pint-sized cartons of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream spread over the table in the ICU waiting room. Unable to sleep, Brie had decided to come to the hospital.

  “I can,” Eliot said. “I can feel my arteries clogging as I sit here.”

  “Oh, please,” Tory said. “Carlos says ice cream fixes everything.”

  “I know,” Brie said, choking up. “That’s why I brought it.” She couldn’t count how many ice cream runs she and Carlos had made when they lived in the same apartment complex. They’d truly been best friends, turning to each other, because neither of them had anyone else.

  As happy as Brie had been when Carlos met Tory, she missed the times they’d shared when they were both single.

  Brie hung out at the hospital until eleven, then after giving out hugs, she headed out. Keys in hand, she’d just walked out of the automatic doors when her phone rang. On the screen, the name DAVID MILES flashed.

  Why was he calling her? And this late?

  “Yeah?” she answered as she continued walking to her car. Only a few cars filled the lot, but no one seemed to be out. His voice sounded garbled. Then the line went dead. She hugged her leather coat tighter, as the night air brought a chill.

  The dark sky above seemed to hang low. One of the lights on a post in the parking lot buzzed, as if about to blow. She kept walking, but her steps suddenly seemed too loud and the night too quiet. The hair on the back of her neck began dancing.

  Reaching into her coat, she put her hand on her Glock. Senses heightened, she stopped and did a full circle. Nothing. Nobody.

  She started walking again but couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Clicking her doors open, she slid behind the wheel, locked the car, and sat there, staring out into the night. She checked and rechecked every shadow.

  After a few minutes, Miles called her again.

  “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Why?” Was he here?

  “I need t
o talk to you.”

  “What about?” A dark shadow darted between a car and a truck.

  “I think I know who Olvera saw in Willowcreek.”

  “Who?” Brie leaned into the steering wheel, staring toward the truck.

  “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  She pulled her gun from her holster. The cold weight of it against her palm sent a chill through her.

  “Brie? Are you listening?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I know they’re going to blame me. I look guilty, but I didn’t do it.”

  The inside light of the car parked beside the truck came on. A woman appeared, and got inside.

  Brie exhaled. “Who’s gonna blame you?”

  “The detectives.”

  “Why?” He didn’t answer, so she tossed another question out. “Who do you think Carlos met?”

  “Not over the phone. I’m at your apartment. I’m coming up.”

  “I’m not…Wait. How do you know where I live?”

  “I followed you earlier.”

  Did he also follow me to the Black Diamond?

  “I’m not home. There’s a Denny’s two blocks from the hospital. On Pebble and Green Street. Meet me there.”

  Brie hung up and drove straight to Denny’s. But she pulled into a spot next door, where she could watch and wait for Miles to arrive. Make sure he came alone.

  With her gun still in hand, she waited. Fifteen minutes later, a Toyota pulled into the parking lot. She watched him walk inside.

  Did she trust him?

  No. But she didn’t think he was stupid enough to try something in public. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he did know who Carlos had met. And maybe it behooved her to know why he thought the detectives were going to suspect him.

  Pretending she wasn’t afraid, she went to meet him.

  He sat in a back booth.

  She moved in. “How about I take your gun?”

  “You think I’d shoot you?” he asked.

  “Just do it.”

  For one second, she thought he was going to argue. Her hold on her piece tightened. “Fine.” He handed her his gun. “You want to pat me down to make sure I’m not carrying a second piece?”

  She almost said yes, but suddenly she believed him. It hurt to suspect him when less than five months ago she’d been working by his side.

  She dropped into the booth, then set both guns beside her on the seat, pulled off her jacket, and covered them up.

  “Now. Start talking.”

  He started to respond just as the waitress walked over. They ordered coffee and when she left, he leaned in. “They contacted my mom, didn’t they?”

  “They?”

  “The detectives.”

  “Why would they…?”

  “They checked my financial records, didn’t they? But it’s not what they think. I have a problem. A gambling problem. I’d stopped, but this last year…I’m getting help. I haven’t gambled in three months. This could cost me my job. But I can prove that’s all this is. You’re in tight with them. If you—”

  “So you lied to get me here? You said you knew who Carlos met with.”

  “No. I wasn’t lying.” The conversation halted as the waitress dropped off their coffees.

  Once she’d left, Brie asked, “Who did Carlos meet?”

  “Are they handing the report over to Agent Calvin?”

  “I don’t know.” But she suspected they would. “Who did Carlos meet?”

  “Ask your cop friend to give me a chance to prove what I’m telling you is true, before he takes what he learned to Calvin. He can tell him, just let me get ahead of this first. I’ll go to personnel Monday morning. That way, I might salvage my job.”

  “I’ll talk to them, but I can’t make any promises. Now tell me who you think Carlos met with.”

  He nodded. “The day before Olvera came here, he stayed at the office late, I overheard him talking…He said the name Rosaria.”

  “Rosaria Altura?” Pablo’s girlfriend. The one Brie suspected had been killed.

  “Yeah. That’s why I said he might have been in on this.”

  “He was trying to find answers. He wasn’t…Are you sure you heard right?”

  “He called her by her name. And he asked where she’d been all this time.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “Maybe I would have if you hadn’t told me to get out.”

  She sat trying to digest the information.

  “Look, this afternoon I ran all of her family through the database again. I found out she has a sister who just moved to Texas. She lives right outside of Willowcreek. She recently married a José Hernandez.”

  José Hernandez? The name from Carlos’s burner phone.

  “I have an address.” He pulled a paper from his front pocket and pushed it over.

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “Knows about what?”

  “Do Agents Bara and Calvin know about the call? About you giving me the address?”

  “About me coming here and finding the address, no. But I mentioned hearing Carlos talking to Rosaria when we found out he’d been shot. And…if I found this address, either one of them could have as well.”

  * * *

  After Connor left Brie’s apartment, he’d gone home and crashed. He’d slept hard for four hours, then had woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep. He thought about how Brie looked at him when she insisted he leave. He thought about the other women Brie thought were missing and wondered if they were still alive. He even thought about the baby and wondered if whoever was taking care of her was doing a better job than the CPS worker.

  How fucking hard would it have been to bounce her?

  Frustrated, he got up, got dressed, and went to the diner. As he walked in, he grabbed a newspaper someone had left on the counter and sat at a table in Flora’s section. For some reason, Brie’s words filled his head: grief and guilt can fit into the same pocket. She was right. He still grieved for his mom, for his partner, and for Flora’s son. He grieved for the man he used to be before that god-awful night changed everything. And he felt guilty for it all.

  Flora stopped at his table and tapped her pencil on her pad. “You really have no lady friend to keep you company?”

  “I’m too big a bastard,” he told her, only half-joking.

  “All men are bastards, until the right woman changes them.”

  He smiled. “That seems like a big burden on you women.”

  “It can be,” she said. “Same order?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hey, I need a refill!” a man yelled out from a booth.

  Flora flinched and frowned. Connor looked back at the guy as he banged his cup on the table. With him, slumped over, was another man.

  Leaning in, Flora whispered, “Of course, some men aren’t worth saving.” She left, grabbed a coffeepot, and went to refill the drunk’s cup.

  Connor moved to the other side of the booth, where he could keep an eye on the potential problem.

  In a few minutes, Flora set a coffee and some creams in front of him. “You agree?”

  “Huh?” he asked.

  She pointed to the newspaper. He looked at the article and read the headline. DOES A MARIJUANA CONVICT DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE?

  “Oh. I haven’t read it.”

  “Do you believe in second chances?”

  He picked up one of the creamers, pulled back the top, emptied it into his coffee, and considered her question. And the irony of the person who was asking.

  Without looking at her, he answered, “I think some people deserve a second chance and some don’t.” Picking up a spoon, he stirred the cream into his cup, watching the dark brew turn lighter. When she didn’t leave, he finally looked up. “What do you think?”

  “The same. Some do. Some don’t. The hard part is knowing which is which.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s the hard part.”

  She nodded
somberly and left. He stared at the paper without reading it. In a few minutes, a plate of food was set in front of him. “Thank you.”

  She hesitated, as if wanting to say something. Then she walked away.

  He was almost finished eating when the drunk in the other booth yelled out, “You cheated me, bitch. You owe me five dollars!”

  Connor set his fork down and watched Flora hesitantly walk over to the man. “No, sir. I gave you the correct change.”

  “Liar!” He pounded his fist on the booth. “You owe me five bucks.”

  Flora flinched. “Fine!” She reached into her apron.

  Connor stood up. “She said she gave you what you were owed.”

  “Stay out of it,” the bozo said to Connor.

  “I’ll just give it to him,” Flora said, her accent thickening under the stress.

  “Who is she to you? The old lady suck your dick or something? If she wants to, she can suck mine instead of giving me five dollars.”

  Connor leaned down and placed both of his palms on the table. “Apologize.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Connor straightened, pulled back his jacket, and showed the guy his badge. “Apologize.”

  “Just ’cause you’re a cop doesn’t mean you—”

  “I’ll just give him the money,” Flora said again.

  Connor ignored her. “I said apologize.”

  The man and his friend stood up. Connor moved in. “You aren’t leaving until you apologize.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  “But I can arrest you.” He pulled his handcuffs off his belt, and his phone from his pocket.

  “For what?” Spittle came out of his mouth. “Not apologizing?”

  “For public intoxication.” He punched in a number. “This is Detective Pierce. I need a patrol car.”

  Connor was so focused on the perp in front of him, he didn’t see the guy’s friend throw a punch.

  Then again, Connor wasn’t famous for seeing a fight coming. But he was famous for ending them.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brie sat in her car, staring at the address scribbled on the piece of paper. Rosaria Altura was alive. Which probably meant she’d been in hiding all this time because she’d seen something or knew something about Pablo’s death.