Cold Snap (3 page)

Patrick realized then that something much, much bigger was going on. “Why not call the police? They can help.”

She spun around. “Look, you’re going to have to trust me on this. If I tell anyone she ran away, they’ll put a bench warrant out for her and she’ll not only go to jail before she testifies, but her plea deal is off. She’s fifteen. She’s been on and off the streets since she was eleven. I got her a great arrangement, and if she testifies she’ll be put in a group home that can protect her, send her to school, make sure she has a real shot at a future. And that’s why I’m not going to San Diego. Because her hearing is the day after Christmas, and she needs one person around who cares what happens to her.”

Patrick had a dozen questions: Was Kami a client of hers? What kind of law firm did she work for? Why would she agree to bring a client to live with her? Who was the girl testifying against? Had she left the apartment willingly? Had she been taken?

Elle led the way to a carport in the building next to hers. “I don’t have my own spot, but my best friend is a flight attendant and she’s gone half the time and lets me park in hers.” She glanced back at Patrick as she headed for her car. “I’m going to retrace my steps, but she’s probably hiding out in the Haight.”

“The infamous Haight Ashbury?”

Elle rolled her eyes as she stopped next to an older blue Honda Civic. The city’s salt air hadn’t done the paint any favors. She put the bag of clothes in the backseat, which was packed with blankets, boxes of granola bars, and Gatorade bottles. “Just get in.”

“Santana!” a voice shouted from behind them.

Patrick turned and saw two men running toward them.

“Get in!” She was already turning the key to the ignition before she’d closed her door.

Patrick did. “More social workers?”

A gunshot rang out.

“That’s a warning, bitch!”

Elle pulled out of the carport and sideswiped one of the guys. He shouted profanities at them and his partner fired another shot, this time at the car. It missed.

“How did they know where I live?” Elle glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide, knuckles white on the steering wheel. She turned onto Howard from the alley and sped up.

“Who are they?”

“I think they work for Richie Lorenzo.”

“Who the hell is that?” Patrick was getting testy, because he really hated being shot at—especially when he didn’t have his gun.

“A drug dealer. Kami used to work for him. That’s what got her in trouble with the police.”

“Is that who she’s testifying against?”

“No,” Elle said in a tone that made Patrick feel like he’d missed several conversations. But she didn’t clarify as she turned onto another street and started winding through hills.

“Elle, talk to me! Who is this kid testifying against? Who’s Lorenzo?”

“He’s a twenty-three-year-old punk who uses runaways to sell his trash.”

“And the case? The trial?”

Elle hesitated, then said, “Kami is testifying against a prominent businessman who Lorenzo sometimes works for. The bastard has a teen center over in Dogpatch, an area desperate for revitalization, and a factory a bit south of there, near the old Candlestick Park. He hires kids from the teen center to buy their loyalty. But he’s into serious shit. No one will speak against him. Without Kami, the guy walks.” She bit her lip and glanced at Patrick. Though there were tears in her eyes, her jaw was clenched in anger. “I have to find her, Patrick. I can’t lose another kid to those bastards.”

CHAPTER 2

Until Lorenzo’s boys started shooting at them, Elle had planned to get rid of Patrick Kincaid. She’d considered losing him in the streets of San Francisco, an easy enough job for her considering she knew the city and he didn’t. But now? She was scared, and she didn’t like being scared. Not just for herself, but for Kami.

Elle figured she could protect herself well enough. She put aside the threats Lorenzo had leveled at her when he found out she’d been the one who’d convinced Kami to turn against him and Christopher Lee. It infuriated Elle that Lee received accolades for his good works when he was really a criminal bastard bringing in drugs from overseas. Lorenzo provided Lee with the network of street kids to both buy and sell the poison that ended too often with prison or death. She’d been trying to nail him for over a year.

A brief, painful memory broke Elle’s concentration. She shook her head, but not before her eyes burned with rage-filled tears she refused to shed.

Lee was a killer. She knew—in her heart—that he’d killed Doreen, a teenage girl who had learned about his involvement with drug shipments. But Doreen had been buried as a victim of a drug overdose. No one, not even Elle, knew her last name.

After Doreen was murdered, Elle had snapped and acted without thinking. She regretted confronting Lee without hard proof of his crimes, because at that point she’d lost any chance of turning public sentiment in her favor. Worse, she nearly lost everything she’d fought so hard to earn since she’d become an attorney. She was reprimanded by her boss, ridiculed by the press, and ostracized by her colleagues.

Elle hadn’t been able to get close to Lee again after her very public verbal attack on the so-called philanthropist. She’d seethed quietly, keeping her nose clean but never ending her search for proof. When one of her pro bono clients, Kami Toland, came to her with information that pointed to Lee’s involvement in the drug trade, Elle told her to steer clear. Yet Elle feared she hadn’t been emphatic enough with Kami because of her own deep-seated need to expose Christopher Lee for the predator he was.

Kami hadn’t listened—maybe because youth gave these kids a sense of invulnerability, or maybe because street kids faced danger on a daily basis—and she’d gone on her own quest for answers. Which landed her right back in Elle’s world when Kami was arrested for possession with intent to sell. Kami would have gone to juvie because it wasn’t her first arrest, but Elle intervened. Kami told Elle she had physical proof of Lee’s drug running, and Elle cut a deal with the prosecution.

But Elle had to be sneaky to avoid tipping anyone off. Kami associated with Richie Lorenzo, a known drug dealer in the city. She cut the deal for Kami to reveal Lorenzo’s suppliers without naming the supplier in the paperwork, because she feared Lee’s friends in government and law enforcement would alert him to any sting operation. Kami would name Lee and reveal the proof in front of a judge in a closed hearing on Wednesday. Then she’d be sent to live in a group home in a different county, away from those who would want to hurt her. She’d be given a chance to survive the shitty life that had been handed her by her worthless parents. Elle couldn’t save Doreen, but she’d damn well save Kami.

Now Kami was missing. Something—or someone—had scared her and she’d bolted. If Elle didn’t find her before Lorenzo or Lee, Kami would be dead. Elle was certain of that.

And Elle couldn’t have another death on her conscience.

She glanced at Patrick, who looked like a cop even if he wasn’t one. Tall, long, angular face—he didn’t look half Cuban, like his sisters; he took after his Irish father, with his light eyes and conservatively cut dark hair. Elle had been around enough cops in her life to know Patrick thrived in a law-and-order environment. Yet, having an extra set of eyes and hands would help as she sorted out this mess.

But Patrick Kincaid? Dear God, what had her mother done?

She’d had the biggest crush on Patrick for years. She had begged Veronica to take her to Patrick’s baseball games in high school. He’d never noticed that Veronica spent all her time talking and socializing, while Elle was the one who had watched Patrick play. He was the first boy she’d found truly hot. He’d always had a terrific sense of humor and was so easygoing and kind, even to Veronica’s little sister. He’d gone to college, and then his nephew died and he became a cop. She went off to college and never looked back.

Patrick had a sharper edge now, quieter but still sexy. She could much better appreciate his sex appeal. But dammit, she wasn’t a child anymore, and she’d had enough of the Kincaids.

Her entire life she’d heard about the Kincaids
ad nauseam
as if they were damn saints. As her sisters had married and started their own families, they bought into her mother’s mantra. Why can’t you be more like Carina Kincaid? She’s a police detective, one of the youngest women to make detective in San Diego. And now she’s married! Or Dillon Kincaid—he’s a doctor, and now he’s married, too! Connor Kincaid, private investigator, and look at this! He married a prosecutor. A lawyer, like you, but she puts bad guys in prison. And even Jack Kincaid, big bad special forces army guy, is—yes, you guessed it—married.

Elle tried marriage. It had been a mistake. They’d both known it was a mistake—except for the sex part. That was really good. But neither she nor Dwight had been ready for marriage, they were both stubborn and opinionated. They divorced before they ended up hating each other. Which was a good thing, because Dwight was a prosecutor and she worked with him all the time. They had drinks on occasion, sometimes had sex when they were both free, and they didn’t argue anymore. Much.

When she told her mother they were getting divorced, you’d have thought she’d admitted to murder. Was it any wonder Elle didn’t want to go home for Christmas? She was the only Santana who wasn’t married (remarried) yet—even her baby sister, Marissa, had married her high school sweetheart and they were so sickly-sweet in love Elle needed an insulin shot whenever she spent five minutes with them.

And her mother sends the only unattached Kincaid to San Francisco simply because Elle hadn’t returned her phone calls for two days.

She was going to give her mother a piece of her mind. After she found Kami.

Elle needed to figure out what to do with Patrick. She wanted his help, but she didn’t.

“You’re not talking,” Patrick said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Start at the beginning.”

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered—”

“Dammit, Elle, I need information if I’m going to help you.”

“Look, this is a bad idea. Where’s your car? I’ll drop you off—”

“I already told you. I’m here, I’m helping, or I’m calling the police about the shooting. In fact, why didn’t you?”

“I’m sure one of my neighbors phoned it in.” She turned off Howard Street and headed toward the Haight. “If the police know Kami isn’t with me, they’re going to arrest her.”

“What did the girl do?”

“What hasn’t she done? She’s a street kid, has been for four years. Tossed out of her house by her father and his girlfriend when she was eleven because they didn’t want her around anymore. She’s been in and out of the system. Shoplifting. Grand theft auto. Lorenzo took her in when she was thirteen and had her pickpocketing tourists at the pier and museums. I met her six months ago through the pro bono work my law firm does and helped arrange a plea agreement to keep her out of juvie. She picked the wrong pocket, the mark was a cop on vacation from Bakersfield who nailed Kami. When the cops picked Kami up again last week, this time possession with intent, she called me. Swore she wasn’t selling, she didn’t know what was in the package she was delivering, but the D.A. wasn’t going to budge because Kami hangs with Lorenzo, a known dealer.” Elle hesitated, then added, “Kami wants to change. We’ve kept in contact, I’ve been helping her study so she can get her GED. She has information about a bastard named Christopher Lee, a philanthropist.”

She rolled her eyes. That’s what the press called him.

“Philanthropist?”

“He just got some stupid plaque from the city for building that new teen center mentioned, near Dogpatch, a depressed area of the city.”

“Sounds like a rotten bastard,” Patrick said sarcastically.

Elle bit back a snide comment. “Well, on the one hand he gives homeless and runaway teens minimum-wage jobs in his garment business, and built them this great place where they can do their homework and apply for colleges and hang out. On the other hand, he’s importing drugs that are distributed all over northern California and Nevada. The DEA raided him—once. But they found nothing, and he ended up suing the government. It was settled out of court as far as I know, but he has everyone snowed. If anyone speaks out against him, they end up dead.”
Like Doreen
. “He has to be stopped, and Kami can do it.”

“If you really have even a hair of proof, the feds will start an investigation. You don’t need to put yourself in the middle—”

Elle groaned, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick frown. “Are you really that naïve?”

“I’m not an idiot,” he said. He was pissed, and Elle didn’t blame him, but he didn’t understand what they were facing here. He was part of the system. The system was broken.

“Lee has inside information. He’s been raided before. He was nailed for minor OSHA violations, paid a fine, but the feds haven’t been able to prove he’s breaking any laws. The child labor laws are complex, and Lee keeps detailed records. The borderline sweatshops he’s running are more or less legit. But he makes kids disappear when they make waves. No one is going to turn on him.”

“Still—”

“Look, I had a girl inside, and she turned up dead last year when she was about to bring me physical proof of Lee’s operation.”

“And Kami?”

“She says she has proof.”

Elle shut up. She couldn’t reveal everything about Kami, and she didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know exactly what proof Kami had. She was an eyewitness to Lee’s drug trafficking, but the D.A. had made it clear that Kami’s statement alone wouldn’t fly. Lee was too powerful and had too much money and had spent too much money in the city—the D.A. wasn’t going to prosecute anyone on the word of a teenage criminal. The only reason Elle had gotten as far as she had was because of her friendship with her ex-husband, Dwight Bishop. If she screwed this up, she’d ruin that relationship as well.

Patrick asked, “What evidence?”

Elle didn’t say anything. They were nearing the Haight and she looked for a place to park.