Fatal Secrets (37 page)

Noel threw a glass against the wall.

“Does no one have pride in their work? A military sniper can’t take out one little woman? You couldn’t kill one fucking
witness
and we have to leave my hotel?”

He hated the pressure of not being able to come and go as he pleased. He hated thinking that people were watching him, waiting for him to fuck up.

He wasn’t going to. Noel had a backup plan, didn’t he?

They were in a house on the Indian reservation. The Indians owed them—hadn’t Noel made them rich? It had been Xavier’s idea, and it had been brilliant, but it was mostly Noel’s money. So he had no problem coming to collect.

Once the casino was built, they’d have far more freedom.
He didn’t need Gleason after all, Ling had developed a rapport with the Rio Diablo tribe.

He threw another glass against the wall. It felt good to destroy something. He turned to Ling. “Call in every pilot, everyone you can trust. Have them on call to meet at the exchange site tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We’re moving everything up twenty-four hours. If the buyers don’t agree to my terms, we’ll kill the women and get out. I’m not staying in this fucking country to see another sunrise.”

“And Sonia Knight?”

“She’ll be dead before we leave.” Noel rubbed his face. Damn, he wanted to kill her himself. He wanted to slit her throat and watch her die. He hated her, hated her with more passion than he’d felt for anything in a very long time. Some of his colleagues said they appreciated a worthy adversary. Not Noel. He preferred idiots he could fool, bribe, or kill.

“You put yourself at risk if you pursue her alone,” Ling warned.

“Ten thousand to whoever kills her,” Noel said reluctantly. “And I’ll double it if they bring her to me, alive, before sunrise. But after that, I’ll be on my way home. I’m never setting foot on American soil again.” He spat on the floor to show his disdain.

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

Dean drove a circuitous route to his temporary apartment so he and Sonia could shower and change after the sniper incident and subsequent raid of Devereaux’s hotel suite. On Dean’s orders two agents followed to keep close watch on Sonia, though Dean wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.

While she showered, Dean called Sam Callahan to make sure he got the message about the task force meeting at headquarters. As far as Dean was concerned, they were on duty until Devereaux and the women were found.

“Callahan.”

“Did you get my message about the meeting?”

“Yes, but I’m still following Victoria Christopoulis. She just left Bank of America. She was inside for sixty-nine minutes. I stayed behind, while Trace followed her in my car. I talked to the manager, found out that she withdrew two hundred thousand in cash. Also learned that she had a safe-deposit box jointly with her son. He didn’t know what was in it, but she went in and cleaned it out—left the box on the table, open and empty.”

“Go on.”

“Trace called and said he thought she’s heading for the San Francisco Airport. He contacted the DOT at the airport and learned that she bought a ticket—from the time stamp, while she was still at home—to Vancouver, British Columbia, with a connection tomorrow morning to Montreal, and a connection from there to Greece.”

“She’s fleeing.”

“You bet. And getting out of the country as fast as possible. There’s a faster way going through New York City, but she’s headed across the border into Canada.”

“Who won’t extradite on a death penalty case.”

“I need an arrest warrant, before she gets on the plane. Definitely before it takes off.”

“I need a reason.”

“Suspicious behavior?”

“You’re funny.”

“Seriously, we show up and she clears out Omega’s business account, their joint safe-deposit box, and gets an international flight? She’s associating with known criminals? The photo?”

“How long has she been in America?”

“Ten days, but she comes often for both business and vacation. She’s in the country at least three months out of the year. We’ve been looking into Omega and no one has run before. There must be something more.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re closer.”

“Or she found out something we don’t know.”

“Detain her. Attempt to flee to avoid questioning in a capital offense. We’ll have her for seventy-two hours at least. I’ll call the U.S. attorney right now, give them a heads-up.”

“When Trace picks her up, where do you want him to take her? Immigration might have jurisdiction.”

“Bring her back to FBI headquarters. This is a joint task force, we’ll deal with jurisdictional issues later. Hell, maybe we’ll both take a stab at her. She sounds like a peach. But have him take backup.” He hung up and called the U.S. attorney he’d been working with.

The U.S. attorney wasn’t pleased, but understood that they couldn’t allow Christopoulis to get on the plane. If she left U.S. borders it would be far more costly to get her back. They’d likely have international diplomacy issues, but since ICE was involved, the Department of Homeland Security could take the heat.

Sonia came out of the bedroom, still flushed from her shower. She was putting her wet hair up. “Your turn.”

Dean said, “Victoria Christopoulis is fleeing.”

She paled. “Because I didn’t tell you about the photo fast enough?”

“No. Sam and Trace have been following her all afternoon. She withdrew over two hundred thousand U.S. dollars, plus whatever was in a safe-deposit box, and made flight arrangements to Canada. I told them to detain her and bring her in for questioning.”

“I want to be there for that one,” she said.

“I’ll be ten minutes, then we’ll go.”

Sonia called Simone Charles to find out if she’d learned anything from the three women who’d been killed and left in the warehouse.

“Actually, yes,” Simone said.

“And?”

“They were all pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

“Anywhere from two to four weeks.”

Sonia did the math. “Four weeks was about the time they were kidnapped.”

“There were signs of repeated rapes. Bruising, tearing. I have the embryos for DNA testing against possible suspects. You find them, I’ll nail them. Gladly.”

“How’d they know the girls were pregnant?” Sonia thought out loud.

“What? You think they knew?”

“They had to. It makes sense.” Her stomach churned and she swallowed uneasily. “You don’t just kill your meal ticket for no reason. They must have given them pregnancy tests when they arrived.”

“Oh shit, I think you’re right.”

“What evidence could you have?”

“The test sticks. You know—you pee on them and they turn blue if you’re pregnant. When we were processing the scene we found dozens of them tossed into a corner with trash.”

“Do you know exactly how many?”

“Just a sec—” Sonia heard the shuffling of paper. “Thirty-seven.”

“And three were blue?”

“Possibly, I don’t have that here, and the biological evidence would be contaminated at this point. But why kill the pregnant women?”

“Because abortions are more expensive than murder.” Sonia’s voice cracked. “And they wanted to intimidate me.”

“That’s sick.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Let me know if you find anything else.” She hung up and squeezed her eyes shut. Took a deep breath, then another, then another. But the damn tears came out; she couldn’t stop them.

They were so close, but they needed more information.
Better information. Jones’s journal was their only hope, but the analysts had only theories, no facts.

But Charlie could help. He knew more than he was saying. He might not know exactly where, but he’d been with Jones for months. He could narrow it down, make an educated guess.

Dean walked in, dressed in a white T-shirt and Dockers. She hadn’t seen him looking so casual. His hair was still wet and he was holstering his Glock. “Ready?” He looked at her and frowned. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She wiped away the remnant of her tears. “The women who were killed in the warehouse? They were pregnant. I think that’s why they were killed.”

Dean hugged her tightly. There really was nothing to say.

Sonia relished the comfort, breathed in Dean’s fresh-scrubbed scent. She wished she had more time. She took a deep breath and said, “I want you to let Charlie help.”

Dean’s entire body stiffened and he stepped back, his face unreadable. But she felt his anger, and disbelief, vibrating off his rigid body.

Sonia continued, nervous but gaining confidence in her idea. She began to pace, a bad habit but the constant movement helped her focus her thoughts. “I promised him I wouldn’t arrest him if he met with me. He gave us good information. He lived up to his end of the deal. And we now know he didn’t lead the sniper to us, that was Gleason and the bug in the conference room.”

“You don’t know that he wasn’t party to that,” Dean said in a low voice.

“For what reason?” She threw her hands up in the air and stared out the window. Downtown traffic had decreased
on the tail end of rush hour. Time was slipping away.

“You had him fired, for one.”

“That was ten years ago.” She turned around, faced Dean. She didn’t like that she couldn’t read him, that he stared at her so dispassionately. Bile rose up her throat as she thought about what might have been. She had thought he understood her, but maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she wasn’t worthy of love or any of the security she’d longed for.

She said, “Charlie could have killed me the other night in my house. Dean, please listen. Please understand. He doesn’t want to kill me, and he’s not working with the bad guys.”

“I cannot believe you are defending him.”

Sonia took a deep breath. Her uncertainty and confusion turned to anger. “I’m not! I’ve never defended him or what he did to me. Dammit, Dean, you didn’t live through it! You weren’t there. I’ve lived with what happened for ten years. Not just what happened to me, but going through the hearings, telling what happened to a panel full of bureaucrats—most of whom had never been in the field, who had no idea what we faced every day. I was cross-examined, I was questioned, I was made to feel guilty even though I had nothing to be guilty about—except naïveté and trusting my partner. This righteous anger of yours—don’t take it on for me. There’re more important things at stake. Charlie can help. He was in Jones’s operation for months. He may know something to help us find those women before it’s too late!”

Dean stepped toward her and grabbed her by the arms, pulled her to him so their faces were inches apart. She
thought he had been still as a rock, but she felt his muscles vibrating. “I hate him for what he did to you. That man is selfish, he doesn’t consider anyone but himself, never thinks of the consequences or who might be hurt. I can’t forget, it’s eating me up inside. I can’t forget because it happened to
you
. You, Sonia Knight, I can’t get you out of my mind. You complete me. You make me want more than this job. I want
you
. I think about what he did and see red. I feel your pain here.” He pounded his chest. “I look at you with such pride, knowing that most people would never have recovered from such an evil betrayal. Evil—that’s what Charlie Cammarata did. He may not have thought it through, he made excuses to himself to justify it, but he should have been in prison.”

Dean was shaking. Tears rolled down Sonia’s cheeks and she reached for his face. His mouth turned and kissed her hand, then his arms were around her, holding her tight, his lips on her lips, pulling her as close as he could, close to his body, his heart, his soul. Sonia felt every ounce of anger and passion and love pouring out of Dean. It humbled her and empowered her.

She kissed him, her hands around his neck, his hands fisted in her back. He kissed her neck, her ear, got down on his knees and held her, his face pressed against her stomach. His body shook and she dropped to her knees, took his face into her hands.

“Dean—” she whispered.

He stared at her, his eyes red with unshed tears. “I can’t lose you, Sonia.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You won’t.”

Dean sent two agents to bring Charlie Cammarata from the West Sacramento jail to FBI headquarters. Sonia was working with Sam Callahan in the war room putting together a map and search grid. She was certain that the women were being held on property owned by Jones or one of his three primary clients, and Dean concurred. Unfortunately, though the analysts were making great headway with Jones’s journal, they’d been premature in their declaration of knowing where the girls were being held. They did confirm, however, that Jones had paid two thousand U.S. dollars for their abduction.

Sam and Sonia were more than capable of coming up with a game plan. Dean needed to meet one-on-one with the man who had become a wild card—not only in this investigation, but in Dean’s relationship with Sonia. Whether Sonia realized it or not, Cammarata stood between them and the future.

The agents brought the former immigration agent into an interview room. Cammarata took one look at Dean and scowled.

Dean motioned for him to sit.

“How about taking off these handcuffs?”

“Not until we have an agreement,” Dean said. He
waited for the agents to leave, then sat down across from Cammarata.

“You can’t hold me. You have nothing on me. No case. I haven’t done anything.”

“Possession of fake identification and social security number, which is a federal crime.”

“Misdemeanor.”

“Possession of a concealed weapon without a CCW.”

“Misdemeanor.”

“Aiding and abetting a known trafficker. Obstruction of justice. Concealing information from a federal law enforcement officer. Resisting arrest. Breaking and entering. I think we’re getting into some pretty good felonies now.”

Cammarata scowled. “What the fuck do you want, Hooper?”

“I’d like you in prison. But I’m giving you an offer.”

“I’ll take my attorney.”