No One Heard Her Scream (14 page)

He couldn't help it. A chuckle rolled through his chest, giving voice to the smirk on his face. The gesture made his bruises ache and his broken nose throb—a merciless reminder of the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Diego Galvan.

But no more.

He would finally have the upper hand with the Mex. Brogan had tried to catch Galvan off the estate by following him, to see where he went after hours. But he'd been caught every time and ridiculed afterward by the slick SOB. He should have thought of this before. All he needed was the right bait. Brogan couldn't wait to see the look on Cavanaugh's face when he reported this. The old man would be pleased. He might even earn points with Rivera, uncovering his boy playing tonsil hockey with a cop from the SAPD.

Matt Brogan would enjoy killing Diego Galvan, a slow, agonizing death—a gift to the boss man and a show of respect to the Rivera clan. All in one package. And with any luck, Cavanaugh would reward him for a job well done by giving him the sexy cop. He grew hard just thinking about it.

"I told you it would only be a matter of time, Mex. Now you're mine."

Cavanaugh Estate
An Hour Later

He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Overnight, the universe must have realigned and his luck turned—and not in a good way. A dark premonition weighed heavy.

After a quick finger comb of his ashen hair, Hunter Cavanaugh pulled at the sash of his black silk robe, as he stood at the top of the grand staircase. Only minutes earlier, a servant had awakened him, rapping on his bedroom door. An urgent matter. Now he looked down into the foyer, awash in pale light. Brogan paced near the entry. The man's heavy footfalls echoed on imported tile, an ominous noise at this hour.

With a hand gliding down the banister, he took a step at a time, his descent cautious. Nothing good ever came in the middle of the night. He made his facial expression a blank slate.

"This had better be important."

Brogan stopped and turned, his face a mix of dread and a peculiar smugness.

"I followed the detective like you said," he blurted out.

Before the man continued, Cavanaugh waved a hand to stop him.

"Let's talk in the study. I'm sure privacy is in order."

Brogan followed him, close on his heels. When Cavanaugh crossed the threshold of the study, he flipped on an overhead light and dimmed it. He turned his head, and ordered, "Close the door behind you."

Cavanaugh poured himself a cognac and took a sip before he settled behind his desk. He did not offer any to Brogan, not until he heard what the man had to say. Brogan sat on the edge of a black leather chair, leaning forward to place an elbow on the corner of Cavanaugh's desk. A gesture he found presumptuous and rude.

Without waiting, Brogan continued his report.

"That detective, I followed her like you said. She lives down on the river in a condo. But when I set up my surveillance across from her windows, I found out she had a visitor."

Brogan raised an eyebrow and nodded, a grin on his face. The man waited without another word. After a long moment, Cavanaugh spoke up.

"Tell me, Mr. Brogan, how long have you and I worked together?" His question threw Brogan.

The man narrowed his eyes and answered. "Almost ten years, sir."

"Yes, and in all that time, have you ever known me to play guessing games with you?" Cavanaugh asked.

"No, sir, guess not. I mean, no sir." Brogan swallowed. His smirk faded for only a second, but it came back with a flourish. "But you never woulda guessed in a million years. Turns out that sexy cop had a visitor waiting on her rooftop. And he didn't look to be a stranger, no sir."

"Out with it, man," Cavanaugh demanded, letting his anger seep to the surface.

"Diego Galvan. Rivera's boy and the hot cop, they got a thing going on."

His words lingered in the air like exhaust fumes. Cavanaugh had a hard time catching his breath.

"What?" His heart leapt in his chest. Blood rushed to his face.

"Yep, they were goin' at it, hot and heavy. He even shelled out some bucks to buy her flowers. Looks like the Mex has been doin' her for a long time. And I know how you feel about coincidences, sir. I never trusted the bastard."

Cavanaugh shut his eyes tight. Conversations he had with Galvan replayed in his head over and over. Had he seen it coming? Rivera assured him, Galvan was a player, someone he trusted with his life.
No, this can't be happening.
Brogan rattled on, but Cavanaugh blocked out his ramblings. His chest heaved. The pulse of his heart thudded in his ears, his weakness mocking him.

"Are you quite sure it was Galvan?" He opened his eyes and glared at Brogan, letting the ice blue of his eyes reinforce his message. "Because if this is some vendetta between you two—and you bring down Rivera on my head and ruin everything—you will wish your mother had never spread her legs to conceive you."

Brogan's eyes grew wide, his Adam's apple bobbed.

"I swear, boss. I ain't lyin'. I was as surprised as you. Sure, I hate the guy. But I was only thinkin' of you when I saw that high-and-mighty Mex betrayin' you. Honest to God." The man waved a hand over his chest in the sign of the cross. Brogan had conveniently found religion.

The gesture, coupled with Brogan's justifications, almost made Cavanaugh laugh aloud. Almost. Cava-naugh tossed back the rest of his cognac and let the liquor burn. He had to think.

"Please, boss. Let me kill him for you. I swear I'll do it right, slow and hard."

"That would give us both satisfaction, indeed, but I can't let you do that. Not yet."

Brogan couldn't hide the look of shock on his face. Cavanaugh raised a hand so the man wouldn't interrupt his thoughts.

"This is a game for shrewdness, Mr. Brogan. I'm afraid you are ill equipped."

He knew the man hadn't understood his insult. Cavanaugh never would have conducted such a battle of wits with Galvan. His disappointment in this sudden turn of events swelled inside him. He'd had high hopes for Diego. He had intended to test his loyalty for Rivera and determine how far he'd have to go to sway the younger man to work for him instead.

Now those hopes were crushed, beyond salvage. And Diego Galvan's life would soon follow the same course. Diego's death wish would become his self-fulfilling prophecy.

"I hadn't intended to play such a game, but the choice is no longer mine. Now I must stay one step ahead." Cavanaugh sat back in his leather chair and swiveled as he thought, his fingers steepled in front of him. "I would like to assume Rivera is not a party to this betrayal. He has as much to lose if Galvan is working with the police. But you see, Mr. Brogan, I can't be sure of that."

Cavanaugh stood and walked to the console table to his right, deep in thought. He refilled his crystal snifter with cognac and filled another glass. When he returned, he placed a cognac in front of Brogan. The man had the audacity to finish the glass in one gulp, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Cavanaugh ignored his lack of refinement.

"Galvan has no knowledge of my sideline business." Cavanaugh cringed at how close he had come to cutting Diego in on his little endeavor. After tightening his jaw, he continued, "And this body found at the theater is only a recent occurrence, hardly significant enough for the local police to point a finger my way. None of this makes sense, but I must play it safe and move while I still can."

He sipped his cognac, staring straight through Brogan. He reached across his desk and retrieved a pricey Cuban cigar from his humidor. After cutting the cap with his double-bladed guillotine cutter, he lit the cigar and rotated it between his fingers. The puffs of rich smoke filled the air.

"I'll find a way to compromise Galvan, place him at the center of it all." He smiled at the thought. "Rivera must not suspect my involvement. And if the police are using Diego as an informant, they might be embarrassed to find that their mole is part of a very nasty business."

A plan took shape in his mind as cigar smoke made lazy spirals above his head.

"Either way, I'll have to cut my losses now. Time to liquidate the inventory. Unfortunately, my little hobby has come to an abrupt end. Did you and your men consolidate the merchandise as I asked?"

"Yes, sir. Just like you said."

Brogan licked his lips and glanced over to the cognac decanter. Cavanaugh knew what he wanted and waved him permission to refill his glass. The man filled it to the rim and brought over the decanter, making himself at home.

"I'm afraid that as disappointed as I am to find out about Diego, my business associate Mr. Rivera shall be mortified to learn of Galvan's betrayal. After all, the man recommended him so highly. Rivera might have to make it up to me . . . somehow."

Cavanaugh's low chuckle reverberated through the chamber, disrupting the stillness of the study.

"All I ask, when the time comes, you let me do it." Brogan smirked. "I gotta take the Mex out, my way."

Cavanaugh crooked his lips into a smile. "Agreed."

"And after this is all over, I want the cop, too."

In the dim light of the study, Cavanaugh studied Brogan. The man's dark eyes glinted with an underlying madness. And he took great pleasure in killing, his undeniable skill.

"You take pride in your work, don't you, Mr. Brogan?" Cavanaugh grinned.

"Yes, sir, I do."

"And who am I to deny you such fun? Detective Montgomery is yours when this is behind us. And for that, I would like a ringside seat."

Cavanaugh sat back in his chair, listening to Brogan cackle. He sucked on the end of his cigar and blew smoke into the rafters of his study.
Premonition be damned.
Perhaps this turn of events would prove to be favorable after all.

Mi Tierra's Café Y Panaderia At Market Square
Morning

Becca had specific instructions to meet Lieutenant Santiago in the back of Mi Tierra's, in the room with the huge 3-D mural on the wall. The sweet smell of baked goods lingered in the air as she walked by lighted display cases brimming with an array of pastries and Mexican candy. The hostess had called her number. A young girl dressed in a white lacy blouse and colorful print skirt ushered Becca through the narrow aisles. Waitstaff and busboys darted across her path, a mad game of restaurant dodgeball.

A sea of Christmas lights and tinsel draped from the ceiling, a festival year-round. All the glitz and glitter came from an absurd collection of Christmas paraphernalia and rainbow-colored lightbulbs, the cafe's trademark decor. And the vibrant sound of a Mariachi band resounded through the sprawling restaurant, a refrain of
"Cielito Lindo."
A high-pitched violin blended with a heart-thumping trumpet. And strong vocals were heard over the heavy strum of guitars as the musicians strolled from table to table.

Santiago had picked the place on purpose, knowing audio surveillance would be impossible. It didn't hurt to be cautious.

Dressed in jeans and a University of Texas sweatshirt with her dark hair in a pony tail, Becca had walked from her condo, arriving early. She ordered coffee and waited for Santiago. But another man had plagued her mind since last night. She stared into her coffee cup, thinking of Diego. In replaying their time together, she found something he said had lingered.

If Cavanaugh thinks I'm working with the SAPD, that loop you talk about will be around my neck.

At first, she didn't know why this stood out in her mind. Yet she kept coming back to it. Finally, it struck her. Sure Diego would be worried about Cavanaugh, but why had he not expressed the same concern about Rivera? Galvan should have been worried about both men, equally. She had missed something big but couldn't put her finger on it.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

"Is the coffee that bad?" The lieutenant's voice pulled her back. The man grabbed the chair across from her and sat. "So, how's vacation?" Arturo Santiago grinned, a welcome sight.

"Yeah, burning vacation days. Remind me to thank you when I'm feeling more generous." She returned his smile. "Actually, I owe you one. Big-time."

"Good to know," he replied.

Santiago called the waitress over, and they ordered. Two machacado plates. Eggs mixed with shredded beef jerky, tomatoes, onions, jalapenos, and served with refried beans and fresh homemade tortillas. Becca's empty stomach grumbled, drowned out by a chorus of
"La Bamba"
a favorite request with the tourists.

"So tell me. Why did I get kicked off the Marquez case? It wouldn't have anything to do with Cavanaugh, would it?" She leaned her elbows on the table and narrowed her eyes.

"Everything to do with him. As you know, Draper suspects the man might be the one behind the missing girls, a human-trafficking slant." Santiago munched on chips and salsa. "But they don't have much so far. Cavanaugh is a clever bastard, and it's not an easy crime to prosecute."

Becca didn't hide her look of shock. "Draper thinks the guy is using his travel business for the sex trade? That's a push, isn't it?"

"It's a theory. But human trafficking goes beyond the sex angle. It's modern-day slavery, with forced labor in factories, restaurants, or agricultural work. It can even hit closer to home with someone's nanny or housekeeper, a forced marriage, or even trafficking in human organs for transplantation. A heart going to the highest bidder under the radar of authorities. It's the third largest and fastest growing criminal industry in the world, and Cavanaugh may have brought it to our doorstep. No telling what the guy's into." Santiago shook his head in disgust.

"You'd think it would be a business with a lot of risk to it."

"What risk? These bastards prey on vulnerable populations like runaways, abused kids, and the poor. Who are
they
gonna complain to? Traffickers turn a quick profit with virtually no overhead. And their coin is earned over a longer period of time, using the same victim, unlike drugs that can be depleted." He slouched back in his chair, a distant look on his face. "And with the international borders, it makes it more difficult to detect and prosecute."