Dead Heat (3 page)

“I did.”

“What do you think you did?”

“I made everybody mad. But they don’t know it was me. Not even CeCe knows,” she added in a whisper.

“I’m not mad at you.” Lucy squatted. “Bella, I need your help. Michael needs your help. Can you please come down to the basement with me for just a minute?”

She bit her lip. “You’re not going to lock me inside, are you?” she whispered.

Lucy’s chest tightened. She shook her head. “You can leave as soon as you want to. I need you for one minute. It would be a big help.”

Lucy took the child’s hand, and together they went down the stairs. Bella didn’t flinch at the smell, though she moved closer to Lucy when she saw Donnelly and Quiroz. The two broad-shouldered men filled most of the available standing space.

Lucy pointed to the books on the end of the cot. “Did you get Michael those books?”

Bella hesitated, then nodded. “CeCe was responsible for feeding him and cleaning his toilet, but she hated doing it. Sometimes, she would let him go all day without food, and once—well, she said he touched her so she hit him with a paddle. He was bleeding and I brought him ice. I snuck him my leftovers. I got the books at the library.”

“They’re in English.”

“He spoke English. His Spanish isn’t good.”

That was odd.

“Was Michael Hispanic?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Why do you think you made your uncle mad?”

She looked around, eyes wide. “I let Michael go. I let him go because Uncle Jaime was going to send him back to the bad place and Michael told me he would die if he ever went back.”

“Back where?”

She shook her head. “He called it the bad place. Michael ran errands for Uncle Jaime. But he went to the bad place and got locked up here. He said he broke rules.”

“There are four cots,” Lucy said, gesturing.

“Sometimes there are other boys, but I never talked to them. They never stayed long. Michael was different.”

“How long was Michael here?”

She frowned, her brows furrowed. “Three or four weeks. I guess.”

Over the com, one of Donnelly’s people said, “The dogs are here.”

“I’ll be right up.” Donnelly seemed preoccupied, but he turned to Lucy. “We need to talk to the mother.” He ordered Ryan to work with the dog handlers, then motioned for Lucy to follow him.

Lucy handed Bella off to Officer Wyatt. Donnelly said to the officer, “Contact Child Protective Services and tell them we need someone who can take the girls.”

Lucy’s stomach twisted. She didn’t say anything until Wyatt left with Bella, then turned to Donnelly. “Is that necessary?”

“We’re taking the mother into custody; someone has to watch the kids. The mother refuses to give us the name of a relative, and unless she cooperates we don’t have a choice.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“To what end?”

“I don’t want to see that little girl become part of the system.”

“Neither do I, but there comes a time when you realize you can’t save them all. You’re still green.” He said it with marginal disgust, and Lucy almost corrected him. It was clear that Donnelly was thinking about something different than this situation.

Instead, she said, “Bella said there had been boys here before Michael.”

“There were four cots. That’s a good guess.”

“It’s not a guess.”

“The girl is seven years old.”

“She told us the truth.”

Donnelly glanced around, made sure that they were alone, and said, “I’m a drug cop. That’s what I know. If you think this is something else, spill it.”

“I don’t know what to think at this point. But in all the briefings we’ve had over the last two months, I remember an agent talking about how gangs often force young boys to move drugs for them. Threatening their families, threatening them. Or luring them with promises of money.”

“Why lock him up?”

“I don’t know.” Since her time in San Antonio, Lucy had been immersed in the drug business. Being so close to the border, San Antonio and the outlying areas had become a major hub for drug transportation and distribution, in addition to weapons and human trafficking. The Texas Mexican Mafia and other, smaller gangs worked with the cartels south of the border to move their products. It was a highly profitable, extremely dangerous business. The drugs themselves were one thing; Lucy was focused more on the people the drug trade affected. People like Bella. And Michael.

Donnelly sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I wouldn’t put it past Jaime Sanchez to use kids in his operation. I’ve seen it a hundred times. It fits his personality. He’s violent and volatile. But why lock up the kid? Most of the time drug runners like Jaime bribe or manipulate the kids, using their friends and family as leverage.”

“Michael is young.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s how she talked about him. A boy, not a teenager. A boy capable of being abused by her older sister, who’s eleven.”

“We need to pin this down.” Donnelly continued, “I need you to help me get Mirabelle Borez to talk.”

“She’s not going to turn on her brothers.” Of that, Lucy was pretty certain.

“We have leverage. We have her girls.”

Lucy hesitated. “I don’t think we can use them as a threat.”

“Are you going soft on me?”

“I mean, she’s not going to budge if we tell her we’ll remove the girls from her care, or put her in prison and she’ll never see them again.”

“And how do you know that?”

“The way she looked at them. Confirmed by the fact that she won’t give you the name of a relative who will care for them.”

Donnelly closed his eyes briefly. “I forgot for a minute that you were a shrink.”

“I’m not—” she began.

He interrupted. “Then how do we make her talk?”

“I don’t know. Not until I get her in a room. I’ve read all the files on the Sanchez family, what you gave us in the briefing last night as well as the original files when we narrowed down the target list. One thing stuck out—George is the weak link. He’s the oldest in the family, but has the lowest IQ. Every time they’ve been arrested, it’s George who slips up. He’s also the least violent of the family, and I include Mirabelle Borez in that.”

“You read her files, too?”

Lucy nodded. “She may be clean on the surface, but I suspect she’s been helping her brothers for a long time. Her deceased husband was Jaime’s best friend.”

“You have a plan?”

“I think we can use the girls as leverage against their uncle.”

Donnelly was skeptical. “What makes you think that he cares about them more than their own mother?”

“In the original police report, when they were arrested after New Year’s, he asked several times if he would be out in time to go to his niece’s birthday party. He seemed unusually upset that he might miss it.”

Donnelly obviously didn’t remember the conversation. “And,” she continued, “I watched the videotapes of the interrogations. He’s remorseful.”

Donnelly snorted.

“Meaning,” Lucy continued, “Jaime is the thinking brother. George loves his brother and goes along with anything he wants. But to George, it’s about his whole family, not just Jaime. I think I can get him to talk.”

“He won’t turn against his brother.” Donnelly said it as if it were fact.

“No,” she concurred. “Not intentionally. Maybe we can play Mirabelle and George off each other, as long as they don’t realize they’re being manipulated.”

Donnelly’s face lit up. “I have an idea. You have a thick skin.” He said it as a statement, but his eyes showed doubt.

“Yes.”

“I’m counting on it. I like your idea, playing George and Mirabelle off each other. If you’re right about George, then this might work.”

“What might work?”

“I need you to trust me. I’m going to wing it, but this is what I’m thinking—we talk to Mirabelle where George can hear us. If you’re right and she won’t help, then we play good cop, bad cop. You’re the squishy compassionate do-gooder who doesn’t want the girls in foster care, and I’m the big bad brute who doesn’t give a shit what happens to them.” He assessed her. “I may have to dress you down in order for George to buy it.”

“I understand.” She hoped. She wished they had more time to plan it, but maybe spontaneity had a place.

“Follow my lead. I’m going to brief Nicole, and you talk to Quiroz. Tell him to keep the com up and be ready. We’re doing this now.”

CHAPTER 2

Lucy didn’t know exactly what Donnelly had planned, but she certainly understood the psychological concept behind playing George and Mirabelle off each other. She told Ryan Quiroz to play along with whatever happened. Ryan was skeptical—despite his hotheadedness, of all the people on her FBI Violent Crimes Squad he was the one she trusted most. She started to explain the idea in more detail, but Donnelly signaled her to approach. He was already talking to Mirabelle, who was standing on the broken concrete driveway. Lucy noted that all the living room windows were open. They hadn’t been open when they first arrived.

Lucy didn’t hear what Donnelly said, but Mirabelle snapped back, “I’m not talking without a lawyer.”

Donnelly said, “That’s your right.”

“Damn straight.” Mirabelle would have been very pretty, with dark hair, large dark eyes, and perfectly smooth light-brown skin—if she didn’t have a perpetual scowl.

“We need the name and address of a close relative who can care for your girls,” Lucy told her.

“Fuck you,
puta.
”

“Kincaid,” Donnelly said, “that’s not our concern. CPS is on their way.”

He gave her a slight nod, and Lucy wished they’d had more time to prepare because she wasn’t 100 percent positive what he wanted from her, but it seemed like she was on the right track.

“It would be better for the girls if they were at a relative’s house. Someone they know and trust.”

“We don’t know that they’ll be safe with anyone in this family,” Donnelly countered. “We need to keep an eye on them. Juvenile detention is the safest place.”

“At least let me work on getting them into a foster home.”

Mirabelle interrupted. “You can’t keep them. They can stay with my mother-in-law.”

Donnelly turned to her. His face was hard and unyielding. Lucy would hate to be on his bad side, because she didn’t think this was all an act. “Your mother-in-law, Eliza Borez? She has had two felony convictions and is still on probation. No court will turn the girls over to her.”

“She did her time, she loves my girls.”

“We don’t know that she’s not involved in what your brothers are doing. I have a team over there now with a warrant searching for Jaime.”

“You can’t take them. You can’t take me! You have nothing on me.”

“Harboring two fugitives. Resisting arrest. The dogs are sniffing the house and grounds—think they won’t find any drugs?”

“Illegal search!” she cried out.

Donnelly rolled his eyes and stepped away from Mirabelle. “Kincaid!” he snapped, more harsh than necessary. “With me.”

She followed Donnelly up three concrete steps that once might have been painted terra-cotta. They matched the cracked porch. Mirabelle was still shouting profanities at them from the driveway. Lucy took a quick look through the windows. George sat inside on the couch, an officer guarding him.

Donnelly said to Lucy, louder than necessary, his Texas accent getting thicker as his voice turned angrier, “I don’t know what they teach you in the FBI, Kincaid, but I’m in charge, and if I say the kids are going to juvie, that’s where they’re going.”

“Sir—they’re very young. They’re innocent—”

“I arrested an eight-year-old drug courier who’d been recruited by his older brother. The innocent-looking kid was carrying a .38 special and could have blown my head off. I don’t care how young they are, they were living in this house, they know what’s going on.”

“Let me talk to them, I can convince them to cooperate, then we can find them a decent foster home. They shouldn’t be in juvenile jail. You know what happens there, Agent Donnelly.”

“The younger one might get placed with a family, but the older one—she’s trouble. You said it yourself.”

“No,” she said emphatically, looking Donnelly in the eye, “
I
said she was distrustful of authority. I can bring her around. You’re not thinking about what’s in the best interest of the children. Is there something I don’t know about?”

They’d drawn the attention of the San Antonio cops, who tried to hide their surprise at the loud, public argument. Donnelly glared at them, then grabbed Kincaid by the arm and pulled her into the house. The action startled Lucy, who hadn’t been expecting the move.

Ryan Quiroz stood with the cop guarding George Sanchez. He was just as surprised as Lucy at Donnelly’s actions, but the surprise immediately turned to anger. His eyes narrowed and he said, “Donnelly, what the hell—”

Donnelly cut him off with a look. “Where does the FBI find new agents these days? The DEA rejection pile? Are you her training officer? You have your work cut out for you.”

Ryan reddened and stepped forward. Lucy put up her hand. This was getting out of control. If only she’d had more time to explain to Ryan that this was just an act. She couldn’t clue him in now, though; she’d seen the worried expression on Sanchez’s face. She had to play this out because it was working.

Lucy said, “Sir, I take full responsibility for my opinions, and I will not be shut down just because I’m new. You’re wrong about this.” Her heart was pounding in her chest and her stomach was queasy; she hated confrontations, even orchestrated ones. She kept her chin up. “Those girls need to be in a
home
. Not in a virtual jail. It’s not fair, just because their mother isn’t cooperating, to punish them.”

“Life isn’t fucking fair, Kincaid. You heard the woman. She doesn’t care what happens to them. They’re not my problem. My problem is stopping the drug supply from increasing in this city. And, frankly, my other big problem is
you
. I’m calling your SSA right now because I want you off this team.”

He stormed out of the house and Lucy let out a large, tension-filled sigh that
wasn’t
an act. She took a moment to compose herself and looked around the small living area. It was cluttered but very clean. A faint aroma of lemon cleanser underneath the warm smell of fresh bread. She turned to George.