Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) (8 page)

When he opened the door to the hospital room just before one a.m., guilt gripped Ben’s chest like a vise. The guard looked up from the magazine in his lap, but Pedro didn’t blink, didn’t even glance toward the door. He simply stared at the opposite wall as if in a trance.

“Take a break,” Ben said to the guard after flashing his ID.

Once the man left, Ben approached the bed. The kid’s wrists were wrapped in heavy bandages. A hospital gown hung from his slumping shoulders while he slouched against the pillows. Bruises discolored his left cheek and upper arms, likely collateral injuries from the guards rescuing him from himself.

“Hola
, Pedro.
Lo siento mucho.”

The apology prompted no reaction.

Ben exhaled. He yanked a chair to the side of the bed and dropped onto it. For several minutes, he just stared at the young man. Hopelessness screamed from the kid’s body language.

“We aren’t giving up, Pedro, and you shouldn’t either.”

No response.

“I know you’re disappointed we stopped the raids, but they weren’t helping us find Maria. The good news is they seem to confirm she isn’t part of this prostitution operation.”

Pedro’s head whipped around. His lips curled in a sneer. “You think I am stupid, huh, gringo?” he shouted. “I know they take our women to be whores all over your damn country. You fucking gringos cannot get enough of our women or our drugs.”

Ben stared him down. “Sad, but true.”

Pedro’s head jerked back in surprise. Obviously, not the answer he’d expected.

“You do not care what happens to my Maria.”

“Not true.”

“Liar. You quit looking for her,” he snarled.

“We stopped the raids. We haven’t stopped looking.”

“No difference!” he yelled.

“The raids weren’t working. Why waste our time with more? The coyote, Loco, can tell us where they took Maria. I want to focus on finding him.”

The Mexican glared at Ben in stony silence, but his expression morphed from rage to wariness.

“Help me find Loco.”

A muscle twitched in Pedro’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “I told you. I not know where the bastard is.”

“If we could find the house where they kept you, we could set a trap for him.”

Pedro shrugged his thin shoulders and shook his head. “I cannot remember. None of us do.”

“Let’s try again. What color was it?”

The kid pushed back into the pillows, scowling in defiance. “
No sé
.”

“What kind of roof did it have?”

“No comprendo.”

“Shit!” He slammed his fist on the bed.

“
¡Mierda!
” Pedro pounded his fist next to Ben’s.

Ben snorted, then chuckled. “
Sí, mierda
.”

Pedro managed a faint grin. “Try again?”

“Wait a minute. I have an idea.” He dug out his cell and dialed.

“Benja, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” his ex-girlfriend answered with her nickname for him.

He smiled. Long ago, she’d concluded Benjamin was too formal, and Ben, too harsh. No one else ever had the nerve to call him Benja.

“I’m fine, but a lot’s wrong, Gypsy. I need your help.” A flash of memories came with the use of his endearment for her.

“Just a minute.” Sheets rustled, and then he heard her mutter to her live-in boyfriend, “Yes, Ian, I know what time it is.”

He grimaced. “Sorry, Marissa. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Getting up at four will not kill me. How can I help?”

He rattled off an abridged version of the situation. Because she was also an FBI agent, he didn’t have to withhold information on the operation itself; but the help he sought was more for Pedro personally than for the investigation. Since Marissa spoke five languages—including Spanish—he knew speaking to Pedro would be easy for her.

“I hope that talking with you in his native language will trigger something in his memory since the words will come more naturally.”

She was silent for several moments. “It’s a good idea, but is that all you are hoping for?”

Her tone told him she had guessed his ulterior motive. He stood up and moved to the far corner of the room. “You know me too well. Yeah, it crossed my mind that you might ‘see’ something if you knew about the situation,” he said in a quiet voice so Pedro couldn’t hear.

“You know my premonitions don’t work that way. I don’t conjure them up at will.”

“Yeah, I know. But most of the warnings involve something that’s on your mind: a case, a person, an event. It’s worth a shot.”

She hesitated. “You won’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work?”

“Sure I will, but I won’t blame you.”

“You can’t blame Pedro either… for not remembering.”

“I’m not blaming him, Marissa. I’m trying to help him.”

“Okay, I will talk to him.”

“Thanks.”

When Ben turned back, Pedro was watching him.

“Who you talking to?” he asked, suspicion taking over.

“A friend and fellow agent.” He returned to the chair, put the cell on speakerphone, and made the introductions. “Marissa is going to try to jog your memory. With her Spanish, it might be easier.”

Pedro gave him a skeptical look and shrugged.

“He’s ready. Go ahead, Marissa.”

At the sound of perfectly spoken, rapid-fire Spanish coming from the phone, Pedro’s eyes widened. When she stopped and he didn’t answer, Ben jumped in.

“Hey, buddy, did she ask you a question?”

“
Sí.
” The kid blinked, and then his mouth opened and words spilled out, more than Ben had ever heard him say at one time.

The exchange continued for thirty minutes without another pause of more than a few seconds. Sometimes, Pedro would lean his head back and close his eyes while responding as if trying to picture something in his mind. The pair talked so fast that Ben could only catch a word here and there, but he was confident Marissa was doing a masterful job of digging into Pedro’s memory. She was not only a talented agent but also a caring person.

His mind wandered to their time together while he blocked out the conversation he couldn’t understand anyway. Memories without pain, what a relief.

He looked up when Pedro laughed.

“You deaf? The woman is calling you.”

“Benja, are you there?”

“Sorry, Marissa, I spaced out. Are you done?”

“Yes. Pedro remembered a lot for you.”

“Great. Let me bring up the Notes app so I can get this down on my phone. Shoot.”

“The house is single-story, light brown stucco, no shutters, one-car garage, flat roof. He thought there were small rocks on top.”

“Probably built in the fifties or sixties.”

“No house number.”

“Street name?” Ben asked, tapping frantically on the phone screen.

“Dirt road. He doesn’t remember any street signs. He noticed only three other houses in the area.”

“Isolated. That’s why there haven’t been any complaints from neighbors about unusual activity. Any identifying details?”

“Thankfully, yes. But at a nearby house, not at the one where they were held. One yard was filled with at least three dozen plastic decorations: windmills, flamingos, gnomes, ducks, frogs, cottages, those sorts of things. Really ugly, he said.”

“Sounds like it. What else?”

“Another property had at least six broken-down cars in the front yard. Like a junkyard maybe.”

“Did he have any reference as to location?”

“It didn’t take long to get from the house to the freeway, maybe five minutes. The van turned right onto the entrance ramp, so that would have to be west to be heading toward San Diego.”

“And the freeway would be I-8.”

“Yes, he saw those signs. He also remembered billboards advertising a casino. Viejas, he thought it was called.”

“Okay, that puts him east of Alpine. Did he recall how long it took the van to get to the house after leaving the semi?”

“He was unconscious part of the time, but the other men told him the trip took about an hour.”

“Which means the women and men were separated approximately sixty to seventy miles farther east than the house. There’s a lot of nothing along that stretch of I-8 from El Centro to Alpine. It would be easy to do the switch without attracting attention, especially before dawn. The key will be finding the damn house.”

“That’s all the info Pedro could remember. Is it enough?” she asked.

“I think it’ll be worth a look. Thanks, Gypsy.” He cleared his throat. “Apologize to Ian for me.”

“Of course, Benja. Good night.”

He disconnected the call and turned to Pedro. “Get some sleep. We’re taking a helicopter ride tomorrow.”

* * *

Amber woke up with sunshine in her face. When was the last time she’d slept so late? She sighed. Her body felt limp and relaxed. Amazing what half a night of mind-blowing sex could do for a person. Imagine what a whole night with Ben would be like.

She squinted through the glare at the window blinds. Odd, she must’ve forgotten to close them after Ben left.

She gasped and shot out of bed. Racing to the living room, she remembered listening to him close the front door and allowing herself a minute before getting up to go lock it.

But she’d never gotten up. She’d never locked the door.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
She rounded the corner and froze.

A piece of paper lay on the floor.

How had it gotten there?
Who
had put it there?

Her gaze darted to the door. The doorknob lock was engaged—
thank you, Ben
—but the dead bolt and her extra lock were not. She gulped. She knew from personal experience that cheap knob locks could be opened with a simple credit card.

Her eyes snapped back to the white paper on the beige carpet. The side facing up was blank. It taunted her.
What’s on the other side? One of Jeremy’s favorite sayings: I’ve found you, I’m watching you, or I’ll get you.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She willed her legs to move, but they refused. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She started to hyperventilate. Slapping her hand over her mouth, she held her breath until forced to draw in a long, deep inhale.
In. Out. Slow. In. Out. Slow.

Finally, the panic attack passed. Her heart and lungs functioned at a more normal pace while Amber surveyed the rest of the living room and dining area. Nothing else looked out of place.

She took one halting step and then another until she reached the paper. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered her courage before bending to pick it up. She flipped it over and stared at the handwriting—not the words.

Air whooshed out of her lungs. It was
not
Jeremy’s overly slanted printing.

Her hand dropped to her side. Her face turned heavenward. She stood still for a moment before stumbling to the couch and collapsing.

Eventually, she pulled the paper into view and frowned at the chicken-scratch cursive, specifically the name at the bottom: Gary. With a sigh of relief, she deciphered the rest of the note.
Hi, Amber. I don’t have your number, and I doubt you’ll open the door to me, so I plan to slip this under the door. I apologize for my behavior the other night. I hope we can still be friends. Gary

“Not a chance, dude,” she murmured, but without much malice, before scrunching up the paper and hurling it across the room.

Amber leaned back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. The vicious cycle was beginning again.
How close is Jeremy now?
She glanced at the packed moving boxes.
Should I leave today?

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled by the doorbell, but she shook off the instant anxiety. After grabbing the pepper spray, she put her eye to the peephole. An exhausted-looking Ben Alfren smiled back.

Holding the can behind her back, she opened the door. “Hey.”

His disheveled hair appeared finger-combed, and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them.

“I’m just home long enough to shower and change, but I wanted to stop by and apologize for last night.”

“No apology necessary.”

“Well, I was disappointed even if you weren’t.”

She shrugged. “Want to come in?”

“Just for a minute.” As soon as she shut the door behind him, Ben pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. Then he rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “I needed that.”

“There’s more. Would you like to come over later?”

The chopper followed Interstate 8 eastward until it passed the Viejas Casino in Alpine. Then it dropped to a lower altitude and angled slightly north of the freeway.

Ben turned to Pedro in the seat beside him. The young man gripped the seat cushion with white-knuckled fingers. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving. Ben caught a whispered, “
Dios.
” Damn, the kid was praying. For what, he wasn’t sure. To survive the flight. To locate the coyote’s halfway house. To find Maria. All would be good, but Ben was only confident of the first one.

He tapped Pedro’s shoulder.

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “
¿Qué?
”

Ben pointed to the landscape below. “
Los coches viejos.
” He didn’t have a clue how to say
junkyard in the front yard
so he went with what he thought meant
the old cars
. Hopefully, in his terror-stricken state, Pedro still remembered what he’d told Marissa about the house with all the plastic outdoor decorations, because Ben sure as hell didn’t know the Spanish words for windmills, flamingos, and gnomes.

Tensing even more, Pedro leaned toward the window and looked down. After a moment, his cheeks inflated, and he slapped his hand over his mouth.

Airsick too. Shit.
Ben pushed the kid’s head between his knees. “Never mind. I’ll look.”

With high-powered binoculars, he surveyed the ground. The pilot circled back and made another pass. Still nothing matched what Pedro had described to Marissa. Ben touched the copilot’s shoulder and motioned to head farther east.

They repeated the process three times before Ben spotted a sparsely populated area with only a handful of houses just a little to the north. He spoke to the pilot through the headset and identified the spot. The chopper banked sharply, and Pedro let out a misery-laden groan.

When the helicopter came back around, Ben confirmed one of the houses had several junked cars on the property. A zing of excitement shot through him. The exercise to trigger Pedro’s memories had been more about giving the immigrant some hope rather than about a serious expectation of finding the place.

But damn. This just might work.

He poked Pedro again, and the kid sat up, his face ashen.

“
Los coches viejos
,” Ben repeated and pointed down.

Pedro gulped and looked out the window. He nodded like a bobblehead doll. “
Sí, sí
.” Then he scanned the area and gestured excitedly. “
Flamencos, flamencos.
”

Even Ben could translate that. He followed the direction with the binoculars, and there stood a whole “flock” of plastic flamingos surrounded by other plastic paraphernalia. “Hot damn, we’re gonna find it.”

Since Pedro had told Marissa he’d seen only four houses, Ben swept the vicinity, looking for at least two more. The chopper had to swing around for another pass before he saw them. One didn’t match Pedro’s description at all, but the last one was spot-on.

“Is that it?” Ben asked, handing him the binoculars.

Pedro studied the house below them. After a minute, he grinned and nodded.

“You did it,” Ben said, patting him on the back.

“We… land. Get Maria,” he said hopefully.

Well, shit.
Pedro wanted instant results. “Not yet. Surveillance first.”

“Maria there?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. From what you told us, this is only Loco’s regular stop along the way, not a final destination. I’ll set up a stakeout.”

“Loco come Thursday morning. For sure.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to take a chance on missing him. We’ll watch the place around the clock, but plan our raid for Thursday. Now, let’s see if we can find where the vans picked you up.”

* * *

Amber could still feel Ben’s lips on hers hours after he’d left. God, she was in trouble. Ignoring her rules against getting emotionally involved would come back to bite her in the butt. True, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The guy did something to her, for her, and she couldn’t resist. Even before the awesome sex, she’d recognized something different. The first time their gazes had connected at the Friday night party, she’d felt it. She should’ve known better. When she moved this time, it was going to hurt. Bad.

After cleaning the apartment, she decided to hit the grocery store to buy the ingredients for stroganoff, her specialty. She wanted to be prepared to fix Ben a nice dinner if he showed up at her door. Not that she was counting on seeing him. More like hoping or wishing.

Praying Gary wasn’t at the pool with several of the other residents, she hurried across the courtyard. As she passed the bank of mailboxes, she froze. A single red rose lay on the sidewalk next to the wall.

She spun around, eyes searching in all directions. Her hand automatically reached into her purse and gripped the gun. Her heart rate skyrocketed.

She darted back to the corner and peeked around at the pool area. Focusing on one person at a time, she confirmed none of them was Jeremy. Her gaze traveled along the first floor of each building and then across the upper floor. A few people were coming and going, but no one lingered, watching from the shadows.

The panic began to ease. She jogged past the mailboxes and into the garage. Taking slow deep breaths, she headed straight for her car.

A whimper escaped when she spotted the rose on the hood. But then she noticed a rose on the next car and the next. She scanned down the row until she spotted a man with the flowers.

He wasn’t Jeremy.
Thank God.

But what was the guy doing? Suspicion sprouted.

She raced after him. “Excuse me.”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“The r-roses. What… what’s the occasion?” She hoped he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice.

He laughed. “Funny story. A man came in and ordered two dozen red roses from the florist where I do deliveries. He called later and canceled because his girlfriend broke up with him. The flowers were already out with me for delivery so we couldn’t give him a refund. Sucks, right? Anyway, he said to just hand them out randomly at the delivery address, which is this apartment complex.” He shrugged. “Crazy, huh? Want one?”

“No, thanks. You already put one on my car.” She paused. The hair on her nape rose. “Uh, what’s the girlfriend’s name?”

“Jane Reynolds.” He frowned. “Weird thing. When I went to the rental office to tell them what I was doing so they wouldn’t get upset, the agent told me there was no Jane Reynolds living here. And the apartment number the dude gave was bogus also.”

Amber shuddered. “Poor guy. What’s his name?”

“Casanova.” He rolled his eyes. “And since he paid cash, there’s no real name from a credit card. Weird, huh?”

* * *

“Yeah, Boss, we found the place. Can you believe it?” Ben said on the phone Sunday afternoon.

“How the hell…? I thought none of the Mexicans remembered a thing about the house.”

He hesitated. “I had a… an FBI friend of mine talk to Pedro. She speaks fluent Spanish, and I thought it might put Pedro at ease so his memory would kick in.”

“Sounds like it worked. Tell your
friend
thanks for me.”

“Will do.”

“Now, what’s your plan to catch Loco?”

Ben leaned back in the chair and focused. “Pedro believes Loco does a run every other week, which means this week is on the schedule. He brings the customers across the border around midnight on a Wednesday. They get picked up on the US side and transported by trucks until they meet up with two vans on the side of the road by early Thursday morning. The men are driven to the halfway house, and the women are taken somewhere else. Five were immediately escorted outside; three were put in a bedroom and told to sleep. They never heard the others come back inside. When they woke up, the five were gone. The ones who were brought back Thursday night said they stayed in an apartment. No idea of the location.”

“Who made the selection and handled the transport?”

“Loco rode in the van with the women. Since he’s Hermosillo’s handpicked coyote and he runs the gang, I’d bet on him.”

“Agreed. How do we trap him?”

Ben stood up and paced. “The goal is to have him lead us to the kidnapped women first. The tricky part will be spotting the transfer from the semi to the vans since it happens on the shoulder of the freeway, not at an identifiable building or location. Pedro and I didn’t have any luck finding where it was that Thursday morning. Nothing really looked familiar to him. Understandable, since he was focused on Loco taking Maria away, not on the scenery. Of course, the transfer may not always be at the same place anyway. I need at least two choppers combing the area this Thursday if we want a chance of finding them. After the women are separated, we follow their van to the apartment. Then we wait until Loco takes the selected women to their next destination, which is completely unknown at this point. Once he reaches that location with the latest batch of victims, we spring the trap. Simultaneously, teams will move on the halfway house and the apartment to collar the rest of the gang and illegals.”

Rex remained silent. Ben envisioned him stroking his chin, deep in thought.

“What if Loco doesn’t kidnap any of these women? We don’t know if it happens every time.”

Then we’re screwed.
But Ben didn’t say that. Instead, he braced himself for Rex’s next reaction. “If he doesn’t, all teams stand down.”

This time there was no pause, just an instant response like a clap of thunder. “What?”

“We back off, wait until the next border crossing.”

“And what if Loco retires from his coyote career? Or he doesn’t kidnap any more women? What then, Special Agent Alfren?”

Okay, no reason to sugarcoat it. “Then I screwed up.”

“Big-time! Not only will we not have recovered the missing women, we won’t have Loco in custody either.”

“Understood. But…”

“But what?”

“I think Hermosillo’s new venture is still in the formation stage. And whatever it is, he’ll need more women.”

“You mean his
phantom
business. It’s a theory, your theory. We have no concrete intel that H is into something new. You’re willing to base this whole op on speculation?”

Yes, he was, but damn if he’d admit it. His gut told him he was on the right track. As his mentor, Rex had taught him to trust his gut. Ben guessed his boss was testing his resolve to stick with his instincts.

“Where are the kidnapped women going then? They’re not showing up here in the sex trade,” Ben said.

“I’ll give you some possibilities. They could be in North Dakota serving all the new oil field workers. They could’ve been sold individually as sex slaves instead of being put into the whorehouses. Since they were young and presumably healthy, they could’ve been cut up and their organs sold. Shall I continue?”

Disgust roiled in Ben’s stomach, and his pacing quickened. “Hell no.”

“See my point?”

“Of course, I do. I analyzed those possibilities days ago. I know about all the dark avenues where these assholes travel. The first alternative is the one with the highest probability. The other two aren’t on H’s radar.”

“Unless one of them is the ‘new venture.’”

“Our informants would’ve caught wind of something that different. And I can’t see any connection between private sex slaves or human organ sales and the stud service comments Manuel told us about.”

“You put any faith in that cretin?” Rex asked.

“He’s a greedy cretin. If he knew anything valuable, he would cough it up for the
dinero
.”

“And where does this ‘stud service’ fit in the puzzle? What does that have to do with the kidnapped women?”

Ben paused. “That’s the missing piece.”

* * *

Amber’s hands shook as she finished packing the second box. The linen closet was almost empty, as were several of the kitchen cabinets. She’d also stuffed a suitcase with clothes and shoes but left it in the closet instead of moving it to the living room. Ben would certainly notice luggage sitting next to the end table. And she wasn’t ready yet to tell him she was leaving. Soon.

But did she have to leave today, tomorrow, this week?

Was she willing to take the risk and wait until she had confirmation Jeremy was in town? She’d learned the hard way that hesitation on her part usually proved disastrous.

But she’d never had as strong a reason to stay as she did now. Last night with Ben made her feel good again, and not just in a sexually satisfied sort of way. Her feelings had crossed into forbidden territory.

She taped the box, carried it to the living room to add to the stack, and headed into the kitchen to start dinner.

As if false Jeremy sightings weren’t enough to tie her up in knots, she still faced the frustrating situation with the new clinic hurting SDSA. What was going on at that place? Something was wrong, but she couldn’t even define it, much less prove it. Nope, her work wasn’t done. She needed a plan B.