Sixteen

Yuma, Arizona

The police station hadn’t changed much. Two-story brown stucco with long, narrow windows. The sections of glass were wide enough to offer a slight view of the barren landscape that surrounded the building without being wide enough to allow the oppressive heat outside to seep its way in. She’d come here once with Valerie and her mother to pick up her younger sister, Ellie. Ellie had been fourteen at the time, caught with a bunch of other kids who’d been out in the fields busting watermelons. Senseless, petty vandalism, but to Val’s mother, who’d spent nearly forty years in those fields alongside her husband, it’d been much more than that.

Sabrina could still see her standing over a surprisingly sullen Ellie, hands planted on her hips, mouth a hard, bloodless slash cut across her dark brown face. “What were you thinking, Elena? How could you be so cruel?”

“They’re just watermelons,” Ellie said, shrugging to cover the wavering in her tone. “You act like we were caught strangling puppies or something.”

Before her mother could react, Val stepped in, pulling Ellie out of the chair she’d been sitting in. “You ungrateful little snot,” she said, giving her little sister a brief shake. “How many of those watermelons do you think Mamá had to pick to feed you? Buy those ridiculous designer jeans you begged her for, huh?” Val was tiny. In that moment, glaring at her sister, she’d looked like a giant.

Ellie scoffed, jerking her arm out of Val’s grip. “I don’t know—how many do you think it took Papi to pick before it killed him? A thousand? Ten thousand?”

It was the first and last time any of them mentioned Val’s father or what had happened to him. Until then, Sabrina had suspected he’d left them, gone back to Mexico to start a new life. One that didn’t involve the responsibility of a wife and children. It probably would’ve been easier if he had.

It’d turned out to be an isolated incident. Ellie hadn’t been in trouble, before or since. She’d left Yuma directly after high school, earning a partial academic scholarship to ASU to study forensic science.

“You ready for this?”

Sabrina looked at Church, still seated behind the wheel. She hadn’t killed the engine yet, unwilling to give up the cold blast of air from the AC unless it was absolutely necessary. Was she ready for this? No. She wasn’t. A week ago, the only thing she had to worry about hunting was a solitary wolf stalking a few head of cattle. What she was hunting now was far more cunning and infinitely more dangerous. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it.

She wanted to go home.

“Let’s just get it over with,” she said, kicking her door open and stepping out into the blazing heat.

–––––

Their reception wasn’t a warm one. The uniform behind the information desk took one look at their credentials and barely managed to stifle the sneer that teased at his mouth. “Major Crimes is on the second floor. I’ll phone it up and let Santos know you’re here.”

“Santos? Will Santos?” she said, struggling to keep her tone light and curious. Santos had been the lead detective on her case nearly twenty years ago. In his early thirties then, he’d be in his fifties now.

“Yeah,” the uniform said, cradling the desk phone against his shoulder, his gaze focused on her face. “You from around here?”

She shook her head, silently thanking Michael for insisting she memorize her cover story so thoroughly. “I was plugged into the Phoenix field office straight out of Quantico,” she said, the lie so effortless for a moment, it felt like the truth. “A couple of cases led me down here. Must be why I recognize the name.”

“Yeah, Detective Santos is a minor legend around here. He’s the one who—” he said before he was cut off. “Hey, detective—the suits you ordered are here.” He laughed at his own joke before giving them both a look. “Yes, sir,” he said before dropping the handset back into its cradle. “He’s on his way down.”

“Is there something I should know?” Church said under her breath, shooting the uniform a brief look.

“Probably,” she said in a matching tone. She remembered sharp eyes and a ruthless calculation barely hidden behind a smile that was a little too harsh to be genuine.

The last time Will Santos had seen her, her face had been obliterated. It’d taken nearly a dozen surgeries to put her back together after Wade had finished with her. Still, thanks to the countless articles written about her the last few years, there was a chance he’d recognize her.

Before she could say anything else, the elevator across the lobby dinged, its door sliding open to release its passenger. He hadn’t changed much. Same dark, assessing gaze. Same crooked nose. Same cauliflower ear. Short stature but powerfully built, with wide shoulders and muscular arms. The only thing that gave away Santos’s advance in years was the silver threaded through his hair and a slight softening around his belly.

He headed straight for her and for a moment, Sabrina was sure she’d been made. “I’m Detective Santos,” he said, extending his hand while giving her one of those smiles that said he was carefully weighing her. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

His words made it sound like he’d been the one to request the FBI’s involvement, and she wondered how true that was. While not all locals hated federal intervention, most of them resented the perceived loss of power when the FBI showed up. “Not at all,” she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “I’m Agent Vance and this is my partner, Agent Aimes.”

Santos shook Church’s hand before turning his attention toward her. “Your timing is impeccable, agents. We’ve got another victim—care to join me?”