“I…um…hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” Lina said as she approached a small table nestled in a quiet corner of the otherwise-bustling Pablo’s.
Marcus was already waiting for her, and rose from his seat. “Not at all,” he replied, drawing her chair back politely for her. “It’s great to see you again, Detective.”
“Thanks.” Lina sat down. “And please, call me Lina.”
“Lina,” he repeated with a smile. “I like that.” He reached for her hand, giving a little shake as if by way of introduction and making her laugh. “Nice to meet you. I’m Marcus.”
A waiter came breezing by, and Marcus didn’t seem the least bit offended when Lina declined his suggestion of a glass of wine, or a martini. Instead, she ordered a Shirley Temple, feeling ridiculous and childlike, but unable to think of anything other than this—or a Diet Coke—that she wanted.
“I’m driving, remember?” she remarked, trying to play off the choice, both with Marcus and herself—because she didn’t want to admit that the real reason she wasn’t drinking alcohol was the same as why she’d stopped by a pharmacy on her way home from the police station that afternoon, and why a little pink-and-blue box was waiting for her on the back of her mother’s toilet at home.
I’m not thinking about that tonight, she told herself firmly, smoothing down the front of the fuchsia blouse over her stomach. She wanted—no, needed—to feel normal, because that little box in the bathroom had scared her more than finding Augustus Noble on her doorstep, more than if she’d found a hundred and fifty bloodthirsty Brethren on her front porch.
“I’d be glad to take you home,” Marcus offered, and she suspected it was deliberate, that little play on words, because he hadn’t quite insinuated that he’d take her to his home—or in this case, his hotel room—but he hadn’t exactly said hers, either.
“I think I’m good. But thanks.” She glanced around the table. “So where are the files?” When he looked puzzled, she added, “The case files. Remember? We were supposed to go over them.”
“Oh.” He hung his head. “I have to admit, I made that up. I mean, I do want to go over the case files with you. Just not tonight.”
She wondered how many times he’d tried that same bait-and-switch tactic, those puppy-dog eyes on female officers before her. And if it had ever worked.
’Cause it sure as hell isn’t tonight, she thought, rising from her seat. “Good night, Agent Simms,” she said drily.
“Wait,” he said, leaping to his feet. “Lina, please. Let me explain.”
“It’s Detective Jones,” she said, her brows narrowing. “And you don’t need to explain shit to me. I’ve been played before—by a hell of a lot better than you. We’re done here.”
She started to storm off, but froze in her tracks as from behind her, he said softly, “You know, it’s a dangerous business owing Augustus Noble a favor.”
Lina stiffened, turning slowly back to face him. “Excuse me?”
“I said owing Augustus Noble is dangerous,” he said again, and in the prolonged, tense silence between them, he motioned with his hand to indicate her newly vacated chair: an invitation to park her ass back down in it.
With a scowl, she sat. “I don’t owe Augustus Noble anything,” she said. “I didn’t ask for his help. I didn’t need it. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
So he knew about her past, what had happened with her ex-boyfriend, Jude Lannam, and with Brandon’s older brother, Caine. He knew she’d been on the lam; that Augustus had bailed her out of her legal woes. Big fucking deal. He was FBI, for Christ’s sake—nothing was a secret, never mind sacred, to them.
The imploring look on Marcus’s face, in his eyes, seemed genuine. “I’m not trying to piss you off,” he said. “I’m on your side, remember? I invited you here tonight to talk to you off the record. You’re a good cop and you’re right—you didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with someone like Noble.”
Lina frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He had a lot of ties to various international criminal organizations while he was head of Bloodhorse Industries. There are a lot of off-shore bank accounts I’m sure he’d like to keep the IRS unaware of…a lot of…shall we say investments on his part, in illegal activities that have gone on to significantly supplement his net worth.”
“Like what?”
“Weapons acquisitions,” Marcus said. “Mostly for third-world countries in South America, but at the time he turned over control of Bloodhorse, rumor has it that a couple of Middle Eastern…opportunities, you might say, had become available to him. Human trafficking—mostly Asia and South America again. Funneling illegal aliens into and out of the U.S., mostly for sex trade purposes.”
Lina stifled an inward shudder. The allegations came as no surprise to her; she’d been warning Brandon for months now that Augustus was bad news—of the worst kind. She’d never doubted, not even for a moment, that his sadistic treatment of his own grandson had been the tip of the iceberg in terms of his sick capabilities. That he’d branched out into illegal arms dealing startled her somewhat, but the human trafficking had been expected news. Brandon had described to her the ceremony of the bloodletting among the Brethren clans; a ritualistic slaughter of hundreds of migrant workers—all of whom had come to work for the Brethren Thoroughbred horse farms, and none of whom had a green card. And unlike the Morins in California, the Kentucky Brethren sustained themselves on the blood of humans—undoubtedly thousands each year.
Now I know where they came from, she thought, as a knot of nausea suddenly twisted in her gut. Sex trade, hell—Augustus was knee-deep in the blood trade.
“And drugs, of course,” Marcus continued. “He’s funded some of the biggest kingpins to come out of Mexico in the past half-century. Hell, rumor has it, he has his own personal cartel armed and at the ready, just south of the Texas border.”
Brandon never told me any of this, Lina thought—but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Brandon hadn’t known about any of this. While growing up, he’d been too terrified to learn much about his grandfather, except that the son of a bitch had a temper.
“I know you’ve spent time with Augustus’s grandson…” Marcus began.
Lina blinked in surprise. “Brandon doesn’t have anything to do with the kinds of stuff you’re describing,” she said. When Marcus’s expression shifted, growing doubtful, she frowned. “He doesn’t. That’s what started all of this in the first place—Brandon was trying to get away from his family, and Augustus in particular.”
But now that Augustus had taken him under the proverbial wing, he’d groomed Brandon to eat bullshit straight from his hand. He can tell Brandon anything, and he’ll buy it, hook, line and sinker.
“Brandon’s not involved,” she insisted…although, all at once, a quiet voice in the back of her mind began to nag at her.
Is that true? Are you sure about that, Lina?
Once upon a time, she would’ve sworn she’d known Brandon well enough to say with certainty. But then again, she’d also once been convinced that he’d never hurt her, never betray her trust. And if she hadn’t known his character well enough to see that coming from a mile off, who was to say what else she’d missed along the way?
“Augustus is involved with Tejano Cervantes, isn’t he?” she asked softly.
All at once, she felt stupid for having never considered it before. Why else would the Miami office of the FBI—and the Special Agent assigned to investigate Tejano’s alleged activities in Bayshore—be so interested and well-versed in his affairs?
Then another, even more disturbing idea occurred to her. She and Brandon had traveled to Florida, only to have Tejano show up there.
Too goddamn convenient. Maybe that’s why he was so insistent on coming to Florida in the first place. It was always his idea more than yours, wasn’t it? ‘You should visit your mother, Lina…you should let her know you’re alright.’ And all the while, he and Augustus were sharing bourbon shots together, making nice with one another, ‘making up for lost time,’ he’d call it.
“You think Brandon is somehow involved, too,” she said softly.
“Off the record?” Marcus asked. “I don’t know enough right now to say.”
* * *
Lina drove back to Latisha’s bungalow in a daze, tears burning her eyes the entire time.
Brandon couldn’t be involved in that stuff, she thought as Marcus’s words floated around inside her head—off-shore bank accounts, weapons trafficking, human trafficking, illegal drugs. He just couldn’t.
But again it occurred to her just how perfect it all seemed, how coming to Florida had been Brandon’s idea all along, how he and Augustus had been getting so chummy lately, and how their arrivals had coincided with Tejano’s.
She let herself inside the house and ducked into the bathroom. Here, she spent a long time sitting on the toilet, staring at the pink-and-blue box. She’d opened it and removed the contents: one individually wrapped pregnancy test stick, and one folded set of directions. She’d read them through at least three times already, although they seemed fairly cut and dry: piss on the stick, then wait.
And worry.
With a heavy sigh, she looked up at her reflection. I’m on the pill. But had she missed one somewhere along the way? Doubled up on the doses the next day? She couldn’t remember. Everything had been so crazy in her life for so long, and it had felt like she and Brandon were always on the road, always shacking up in one fleabag motel or another. It was possible.
Hell, anything’s possible.
She sat down on the commode, the pregnancy kit in hand. The instructions had said that using the first urine of the morning was the best, but that the test could be performed at any time of the day.
Or night, Lina thought, closing her eyes. Scooting back on the toilet seat, she reached between her legs, her skirt shoved up to her waist, her panties pushed down to her ankles. For a long moment, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to pee, and she fought the urges to both weep and giggle all at the same time. Then her bladder relaxed, and she heard a tell-tale splash in the commode.
When she’d finished, she set the test aside on the sink counter without looking at it. She’d cleaned up after herself, flushed the toilet and washed her hands, all while forcing herself to keep her gaze trained anywhere but at the little white plastic stick.
Two minutes. It says it takes two minutes for results to be finalized. One pink line means not pregnant. Two pink lines mean pregnant.
From the living room, the land line rang, and Lina jumped in startled surprise. Leaving the pregnancy test where she’d placed it, she hurried to answer the phone.
“You sound funny,” Latisha said from the other end of the line. “Have you been crying?”
“What? No, Mama. I…I was just in the bathroom. How’s Aunt Baby Sis?”
“She’s still holding her own. She had her bypass surgery today. She was in recovery most of the day, but they’ve got her down in ICU now. She’s on a ventilator, with chest tubes, but they tell me that’s normal, and it should all come out in about a week.”
“That’s good, Mama,” Lina said, cutting a nervous glance toward the bathroom doorway. “I’m glad she made it through alright.”
“I tried calling earlier, but got the machine.”
“Oh,” Lina said. “I…uh…had a meeting.”
“A meeting?” Latisha sounded dubious. “This late?”
“A dinner meeting,” Lina amended. “With this guy named Marcus. He works for the FBI. He’s in town working on one of the cases Elías and I…”
“FBI?” Latisha said, pleasantly surprised. She’d been pushing Lina to hook up with someone—most specifically, Elías—ever since her break-up with Brandon. She’d considered Brandon to be little more than a kid, without much prospect for a good job by which he could then support Lina. To judge by the tone of her voice, which again, sounded pleased, Latisha approved of Marcus’s occupational choice. “Wow! I imagine he has some interesting stories to tell.”
“He does, yes, Mama. He’s very nice.”
“You’re going to see him again?” Latisha said—phrased more as a statement, Lina noticed, than a question.
“It wasn’t a date, Mama,” she said with a frown. “It was for work and—”
Latisha charged ahead, cutting her feeble protest short. “You said his name is Martin?”
“Marcus,” Lina corrected. “And really, Mama, to be honest, I was just about to get in bed. It’s been a long day.”
She thought about asking Latisha about the hospital bills she’d found. More specifically, she wanted to ask her mother why she’d kept them hidden from her and Jackie. Why didn’t you tell us, Mama?
When Lina had been growing up, Latisha had worked two jobs, going to school at night to earn first her practical nursing diploma and then her college degree—all so that she wouldn’t have to rely on government subsidies to put food on the table for her family, or a roof over their heads. She’d been proud—too proud to take what she considered to be charity, but at the same time, her children had learned to do their part to help lighten her workload at home. By the time he was eight, Jackson had known how to cook prepare meals and run the vacuum cleaner; Lina knew how to sort clothes and do laundry when she turned six.
We worked together as a family, Lina thought, blinking back tears. It was always the three of us against the world, Mama—you, me, and Jackie. Why didn’t you trust us to help you this time?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Latisha asked, her voice edged with worry.
“Yeah, Mama.” With a sniffle, Lina managed a feeble smile. “I’m fine. I’m just really tired, that’s all.”
“I’ll let you go then,” Latisha said. “I’ll try to give you a call again soon.”
“Okay, Mama. Give Aunt Baby Sis hugs and kisses for me.”
“I sure will, honey,” Latisha said.
“Mama?” Lina said quickly, in that split-second pause before her mother hung up. “I…I love you.”
“Why, I love you, too, Lina.” Again, Latisha sounded pleased and surprised. “Sleep tight, angel. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.” Lina set the phone back in the cradle, then looked over her shoulder again toward the bathroom doorway. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she rose from her seat on the couch.
Well, she thought. Here goes everything.