Dark Deeds Page 8

  “If it’s not Sam...” Priscilla’s statement dropped off sharply.

  Damian sighed as she reached the conclusion that had haunted him for the past couple months. “Then she might still be alive.”

  “Where? Where would she have been all these years?”

  “That’s why I don’t think she’s alive. She would have come back to us if she could.” He wouldn’t tell her that the rest of the tip he’d received had involved the Circle and human trafficking. It had been sheer torture to imagine his sweet Sam living in that world.

  Priscilla dabbed at her eyes. “Well...” She fidgeted with her champagne glass, then took a big sip, clearly at a loss for words. “I had no idea this was the news you’d have for me today. One of these days, I hope you’ll have some good news.”

  “I will. I’ll never give up. I promise.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand in reassurance. One day he would have the news they needed to put this horror to rest forever. Or he’d die trying.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday, 10:45 a.m.

  Brooklyn

  About the time she was scaling the seven-foot chain-link fence in the freezing cold, Becca began to think this might not be one of her better ideas. Breaking and entering. Trespassing. She was now guilty of both. But she needed the opportunity to peek inside. She’d find no better time.

  The square red-brick building used to be a factory, but a few broken windows and an air of eerie quiet indicated it was abandoned. Probably should be condemned, too, by the looks of it.

  Her feet hit the ground inside the fence. It was a cold day, but some sun struggled through the clouds. It was the middle of the day, but this wasn’t a main street, and certainly not the type where kids played freely. In fact, most of the neighboring buildings were fenced off, too. So far, she hadn’t seen a soul, as if the entire block were a ghost town. But most of the Circle’s covert activities were likely done under the cover of night.

  Once beyond the fence, she rounded the side of the building that was less visible from the street. The thin layer of snow had become a muddy mess here. Still, she detected tire tracks and a boot print. Someone had been doing some early-morning delivering. Or extracting.

  Becca touched a gloved hand to her waist, feeling reassured that, beneath her coat, she had a weapon at her disposal. Thankfully, the snow underfoot was too wet to crunch as she made her way to the door. There, a four-inch-diameter bit of graffiti in the form of a circle with flames painted around it proclaimed who used the building. The Circle. She was certain it was meant to strike fear into the hearts of anybody who didn’t belong on the property. It worked. But the building really did appear to be empty, and Becca desperately wanted a peek at the wall of names Selina had mentioned. She wasn’t going back to Chicago empty-handed.

  The cold metal of the doorknob refused to turn under her gloved fingertips. Locked.

  She bit the tip of her glove to pull it off, then unzipped her coat and reached into her inside pocket. She withdrew a small leather pouch, then opened it to reveal her lock-pick set. A moment later, under her ministrations, the lock gave way.

  The gray hadn’t penetrated the thick brick walls, leaving the interior dark. Reluctant to alert outsiders to her presence by turning on the lights, she pulled a small penlight from another pocket. The air was thick with dust motes, tickling her nose and winking in her flashlight’s beam. She took shallow breaths. When she exhaled, they made puffs of clouds in the cold air.

  There were no furnishings in this large, empty room. The building had been gutted. But the tracks outside and the stirring of dust inside indicated someone had been here recently, so she drew her weapon, keeping the light in her other hand. Her beam fell across another Circle emblem. This one loomed as tall as she was on the wall in front of her. Three doors led into smaller rooms, which presumably had been offices once upon a time. But the last door was locked. Using her mouth to hold the penlight, she went to work on the lock, while mentally replaying her interview with Selina, who said she’d been held in a basement. She fully expected to find stairs on the other side.

  Becca opened the door and directed the light inside. Stairs led downward. Bingo. She was surprised at the warmth of the room, having expected the basement to be cool, especially with its concrete walls. Once the door shut behind her, she flicked on the lights. At the base of the stairs was a space heater. The metal wasn’t cold to the touch, but wasn’t hot, either. It hadn’t been turned off all that long ago.

  She swept the room with her weapon, trying to focus on the adrenaline coursing through her, to channel it toward what the discovery of Samantha Manchester’s name on the cell wall Selina mentioned would mean for Damian. But fear fought for a place of prominence in her mind. She was, after all, trespassing on a deadly crime ring’s turf.

  To her right was a series of thick steel doors, each with tiny rectangular windows cut at about eye level. The place definitely had a prison vibe.

  The cell doors were unlocked. Thank God, they were empty. No prisoners here, though she’d welcome the satisfaction of rescuing a victim. She pushed the last one open, imagining Selina trapped here. Her breath caught at the sheer volume of names listed there. There had to be dozens—some scratched with fingernails or whatever utensil might have been available to them, others penned in blood. Where were all of these women now? Who had hurt them? And how many names were in the other cells?

  She scanned as many as she could, not seeing any that might be Samantha, but a sixth sense warned her to hurry. She holstered her weapon to pull out her phone and take several pictures of the wall. She did the same with the other cells where she found more names, then hurried upstairs. The chilling discovery that so many women had been held here had the hair on her neck standing at attention. Her thoughts were in a whirl when she reached the top, pulled out her penlight again, turned off the overhead lights, and opened the door.

  “Seen enough?”

  Her heart leaped to her throat at the unexpected question. Diego stood in the center of the large, empty room, seeming to fill it with his presence. The Circle emblem on the wall behind him nearly glowed as her light hit it.

  She’d holstered her gun, so she’d have to use other weapons at her disposal to talk her way out of this. “Enough to know some very bad things happened to some very innocent people here.”

  Diego’s jaw twitched. “I know.”

  She froze. So he had been here...had seen the names on the walls, and done nothing about it? Gooseflesh raised her skin. Selina had been right. Diego was the mole.

  “Jumping to judgment again, I see.” Diego’s tone was flat, but something flashed in his eyes, warning her that his emotions were running deep and strong enough that he had to hide them from her. He was practically vibrating with the effort to control his anger.

  Which was fine, because she was angry, too. And disappointed. Diego was affiliated with the Circle. How else had he known where to find her? “You tell me then, what am I supposed to think? You knew to find me here, which leads me to believe you work with the Circle. How else would you know about this place?” Her arm gestured to the darkness and her heart sank to her stomach. “You warned them, didn’t you? They cleared out because you told them I might be coming.”

  His face contorted as she searched his face for the truth. “Shit, Becca, I thought you were smarter than this.”

  His words had her trying to refocus, but it all felt just out of her grasp. The pain of realizing she’d misjudged him. The sense of betrayal. And the fear she’d made a dreadful mistake.

  No. There had to be another explanation.

  Diego took a couple steps toward her. “Coming here by yourself? Entering private property uninvited?” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her stupidity, which was like a cattle prod, finally breaking through her shock. “It’s dangerous. Not to mention illegal.”

  She glared at him. “So is selling women and children on the black market, but that didn’t stop these assho
les. These are the kinds of people you want to protect and serve? It’s dangerous...not to mention illegal.”

  He schooled his expression into perfect blankness, turning him back into the emotionless drone he’d been a moment ago. “Contrary to what you believe, I’m not the bad guy here. But the law is the law. You’re under arrest.”

  * * *

  He’d hoped she was sticking close to the hotel today, like any sane person would. He’d assumed she’d be too occupied with the salon spa day stuff and bridesmaid duties—whatever those might be—to get into trouble. Plus, Damian had warned her about the danger of the Circle investigation.

  Once again, he’d underestimated how well he thought he knew her. Hell, she’d tracked down Selina, hadn’t she?

  He rubbed a hand across his face. Becca obviously wasn’t going to take a break. Not even for one damn day. She couldn’t rest. Like a dog protecting her owner, she’d clamped down on a lead for Damian and wasn’t opening her jaws for anything.

  As angry as he was at her, as much as he wanted to strangle her right now, she had no idea what danger she could be in. So while she hit him with scathing remarks, he took her weapon, cuffed her and read her the Miranda rights. Outside the building, he’d parked close to the doors so he could get her out of there fast and unseen—if she hadn’t been seen already. He ducked her head to put her in the back of his car.

  “You can’t do this,” she tried, calming a bit.

  “I just did.” And he’d do it again if it meant keeping her safe.

  Saturday, 3:37 p.m.

  NYPD’s 23rd Precinct, East Harlem

  Becca gritted her teeth as she waited for Diego to determine her fate. “The wedding’s coming up fast.”

  He looked over briefly from where he sat, leisurely drinking coffee with a uniformed officer, at a table too far away for her to reach because he’d handcuffed her to his desk. Smart.

  She hadn’t been processed yet. Still, as her eyes met those of a woman in a skimpy sequin-and-fringe dress and heels she couldn’t possibly walk in—especially if, as her behavior indicated, she was stoned out of her mind—Becca didn’t think she could be any more humiliated.

  Then again, she’d been through this before, and with much less understanding detectives. She simply had to appeal to Diego’s common sense. If he had any. Because if he was working with the Circle, he probably didn’t. But in the hours she’d had to sit there and think, she’d realized that, if he were truly a dirty cop, he wouldn’t have brought her here. He would have dumped her dead body in the Hudson River or called on his Circle cronies to do it for him. No, if he were working for the Circle, why would he bring her here, to his home precinct, where everyone could watch what he did with her?

  Either way, Diego would pay. But her main concern at the moment was getting to the wedding on time. Wait until she had to explain this delay to their friends. Or to Damian, whose voicemail earlier had ordered her to proceed with caution on this investigation. Maybe she’d get lucky and Diego would release her, wouldn’t say anything, the wedding would go off without a hitch—except the hitching of the bride and groom—and nobody would be the wiser.

  Or maybe she’d made her own luck. When Diego had left her with her thoughts, presumably to let her stew in her guilt, she’d put a sequence of events in motion that could be his undoing.

  Oblivious to his impending doom, Diego popped a mint into his mouth and took his sweet time crossing the room. He leaned down into her face. Damn, he smelled good, and it wasn’t just the mint. The scientists had it right when they discovered pheromones and their powerful link to attraction, because—God—being anywhere near this stubborn man sent her hormones into overdrive—even when he had her handcuffed to his desk. She held her breath and refused to breathe in any more of him. Except that he wouldn’t get out of her face.

  “Have you figured out how many ways you almost died today?” he asked.

  “I believe I’m entitled to a phone call.” She ignored his question. Not that she needed the phone call—she hoped. Diego had taken her weapon and shoved her into the back of his car like a real suspect but hadn’t taken away her phone, and she hadn’t brought that fact to his notice. She’d already texted the one person she thought could get her out of this mess and give Diego a taste of his own medicine. She just hoped that person showed up soon.

  Diego sighed and leaned against his desk, his hip brushing her arm through his jeans. “You’re not really under arrest, Becca.”

  “Good to know you haven’t lost all of your faculties.”

  He dropped his voice. “I had to get you out of there. Had to show you what could very well be in your future if you pursue the Circle. Except it’ll be much worse. It won’t be a jail cell you’ll be locked in...it’ll be a coffin.”

  Words escaped her, floating somewhere in the ether beyond the red haze that had fogged her vision. She fought through it to bite out her response. “I’m sure it’s the same end result when you work for the Circle. Did you warn them?” Hurt and mistrust strangled her words.

  His face turned to stone, but she was saved from whatever reply he’d been about to issue by the arrival of the cavalry.

  “Dios mío!” Estella Sandoval’s eyes widened as she took in what had to be a surprising sight...her son leaning over Becca, who was handcuffed to his desk, as his eyes shot brimstone at her.

  Diego jumped to his feet. “Mama? What are you...?” His question trailed off and he narrowed his gaze at Becca, who tried to hide a satisfied grin. “I thought, if I left you your cell phone, you’d contact Damian to get you out of this mess. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Guess so,” Becca said, smiling sweetly. “I went straight to the top on this one.”

  Estella embraced her in a hug, her warm, plump body practically engulfing Becca. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since Becca had helped solve the tragic case of her murdered granddaughter, but that was the great thing about Estella. She had a way of making everyone feel like family, and like you’d never been apart.

  “So good to see you again, hija.” Estella brushed Becca’s cheek with a kiss. The woman must have been baking one of her famous specialties today. She smelled of cinnamon. “I didn’t get to talk to you at the rehearsal party last night.”

  “I had to leave early. Thank you for coming. I wish it was under better circumstances.” Becca had been counting on the woman who had borne Diego, who had put up with the stubborn male all his life, to have some sympathy for her.

  “Should I get a bail bondsman?” Estella managed to send an angry gaze at her son before softening her face for Becca again. “What did you do?”

  Becca opened her mouth to speak but Diego butted in. “She broke the law. I’m actually going easy on her.”

  “How much money do you need?” Estella opened her purse as if she would write a check right there. Becca was touched, and a little ashamed she’d brought Estella into this mess. But only a little. Diego deserved some of the recrimination his mother was sending his way.

  “No need, Mama.” With a heavy sigh, Diego bent to unlock Becca’s cuffs. “She’s not under arrest. Unless they made being stupid a crime in the past few hours.”

  The fact that he really wasn’t going to arrest her, or turn her over to the Circle, spoke volumes. Maybe he was a good guy after all...even if his methods were misguided.

  “Not to my knowledge.” Estella gazed bewilderedly between the two of them. “What’s going on? Noah’s getting married in an hour. You’re supposed to be there. This is his day.”

  Becca rubbed at her wrist as if it hurt, milking the sympathy. “I was worried your son wouldn’t come to his senses in time for the wedding.”

  Estella’s jaw dropped. “You’re not even dressed yet.”

  “That’s why I need to get out of here.” Becca shot a look at Diego. “We need to get out of here.”

  “I’ll take you. St. Paul’s is just a couple blocks from here. We can walk it, and maybe someone is still at the hotel and can b
ring your things.”

  Diego huffed out another sigh. “No, Mama. I’ll drive her back to the hotel.”

  Estella nodded sagely. “Now you’re making sense. With the lights on, we’ll get there sooner. Add the sirens and we’ll have plenty of time.”

  Diego glanced at the ceiling as if he could find patience there. “No lights. No sirens.”

  “No fun,” Estella muttered, preceding them to the doors of the precinct.

  As his mother stepped out of hearing range, Diego helped Becca into her coat, then bent to speak into her ear. “Next time you pull a stunt like today’s, your sweet ass will end up in jail. Because I’m not going to let you get yourself killed, even if you tell my mother on me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday, 8:46 p.m.

  Manhattan

  “At least tell me if you were with her,” Noah said. “Then it wouldn’t be so bad that we were nearly late to the altar because our wedding party was missing.”

  “We made it in time.” Diego didn’t take his eyes from Becca, draped in a rich red bridesmaid dress that rippled and slid across her curves as the Viking dipped her on the dance floor. The man was elegance and charm. Diego ignored the twinge of jealousy. Where the hell had that guy been while Becca had been risking her neck that afternoon? If Becca were Diego’s, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight after realizing how much danger she was putting herself in to pursue these various investigations. But maybe Becca didn’t share that part with him. The thought made him feel a little better.

  “We?” Noah asked with unconcealed interest. “So you were with Becca?”

  “Yeah, I was with her. At the station. The woman is in serious need of a babysitter. She’s too damn dedicated for her own good.”