Bloods echo, p.17
Blood's Echo, page 17
Veranda guessed what was coming. “Was Hector jealous?”
“Oh, yes. I was confused at first. I knew nothing of his feelings for me. They were not allowed to date me while I was a witness under their protection, so neither of them could say anything until the case was over. When he learned of our engagement, Hector felt that Ernesto had stolen both his promotion and his woman.”
Veranda sat riveted. “What happened between my father and Hector?”
“Hector ended his friendship with Ernesto, who had become his supervisor due to the promotion. They worked together, but never spoke unless they had to. Over the next few months, Ernesto began to suspect that Hector was taking payoffs from cartels. I don’t know all of the details, but Ernesto confided to me that he set a trap to catch a mole in their ranks.”
Veranda swallowed hard. Her father had faced the same threat she did now. She leaned forward. “How did he catch the mole?”
“Ernesto gave out information to each person on his team separately. He swore them to secrecy, explaining that it could compromise a future mission if the cartel found out. All of the operations he described were different. That way, when the cartel took action, it would be obvious which team member’s information was leaked.”
Lorena looked pained. “Hector turned out to be the mole. Ernesto was devastated. He told his superiors about the investigation and got permission to charge Hector with conspiracy. The night before the arrest, Ernesto stayed late at the office, getting his paperwork in order. I was at home in bed. My younger brothers and sisters—your aunts and uncles lived with us—were asleep in their beds. I woke up with a knife at my throat.” Lorena’s hand crept up to the heavy silver necklace she always wore. Her fingers traced the outline of the cross etched into the metal. “It was Hector. He told me … he said … ”
Veranda’s heart ached to the point of bursting. She had taken statements from countless victims over the years. She read the telltale signs of repressed trauma in her mother’s body. Downcast eyes, ragged breaths, hands in constant motion, and an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt that engulfed her. She knew what her mother was about to say and wanted to stop her, but she forced herself to remain silent. Once a wound this old and deep opened, it needed to bleed freely. A scab could reform over it later. Veranda stilled her body completely, allowing her mother to gather the strength to reveal her secret.
Lorena’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Hector said he had just killed Ernesto and that, as Ernesto lay dying, Hector told him he would have me.”
“Dios mio,” Veranda whispered.
Lorena crossed her arms and clutched them to her belly, folding in on herself. “Hector raped me. He held the knife against my throat so I would not cry out and wake my little brothers and sisters. I tried to push him off, and he sliced into my neck.” Her hands traveled back up to her necklace again, this time circling around to release the catch.
Her mother pulled the heavy necklace away, revealing a two-inch, dark red, raised line on the side of her graceful neck. The earth shifted under Veranda’s feet. She had never seen the scar before, although her mother mentioned it. “You always said you had a mark on your throat from a car accident before I was born.”
Lorena shook her head. “I wear this jewelry to cover it. No one should have to see the ugliness.”
“Oh, Mamá,” Veranda clutched her mother’s free hand. “Please don’t say that. There is only beauty in you.” When she saw her mother shake her head in denial, she posed another question to guide Lorena away from self-recrimination. “How did you get away?”
“Something must have awakened your tío Rico, because he snuck up behind Hector and hit him over the head with a pot from the kitchen.” Lorena drew a shuddering breath, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Hector fell on top of me with his pants down around his knees. I pushed him off and grabbed his knife. I was about to plunge it into Hector when I saw your tía Maria standing in my bedroom door. She was only five years old.” Lorena crossed herself. “It was a message from the Blessed Virgin that I should not become a murderer like Hector.”
Tears stung Veranda’s eyes.
“I woke the others and got them dressed. Hector’s car was parked out front. I found the keys inside and we drove off with whatever we could carry. I did not find out until after I was in the United States two months later that I was pregnant.”
Lorena finally raised her head to meet her daughter’s eyes. The pain in her expression wrenched Veranda’s heart. Still clutching the necklace, Lorena whispered, “Mi’ja, I must have become pregnant right before we ran. I don’t know … that is … I … can’t say … ”
Blinding realization hit Veranda with the force of a punch to the gut. “You don’t know who my father is, do you?”
21
Bartolo strode across the cramped living room of the dilapidated ranch-style house. His younger brother, Carlos, had rented the tiny home for one month. Situated on a large, secluded lot in an older neighborhood in the western part of Phoenix, it offered enough privacy to serve as a temporary way station for the cartel’s human trafficking operation.
Carlos maintained several teams of coyotes, smugglers who brought people across the border illegally. Once in the United States, the coyotes took exhausted travelers to a central location where they awaited disbursement. Sometimes they were held for ransom until their families paid even more money to the cartel for their release.
Bartolo surveyed the twenty people huddled before him. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of sweat and fear that filled the room and turned to Carlos. “If I find one I like, you’ll have to clean her up.”
Carlos frowned. “There’s a shower in the master bedroom.”
Bartolo scanned the group again. His eyes rested on a woman clutching two girls tight against her body. He switched to Spanish. “How old are your daughters?”
The woman trembled. “Th-they are both fourteen years old.”
“Ah, twins.” Bartolo smiled. “Are they virgins?”
A gasp went around the room. A man in his fifties stepped beside the mother and her daughters. “Leave them alone!”
Bartolo, never taking his eyes from the girls, jerked his chin in the direction of the interloper. Carlos’s second-in-command pushed away from the wall, strolled directly behind the man, and sank a dagger between his shoulder blades.
The man howled in pain as the coyote twisted the knife and wrenched it free. The man sank to his knees and collapsed on the floor. Eyes glassy. Face contorted in agony. A pool of blood oozed into the filthy carpet beneath him as he ceased writhing.
No one moved. The coyote sauntered back to his post against the wall.
Eyes still fixed on his prey, Bartolo continued as if there had been no interruption. “You were about to tell me whether your daughters are virgins?”
The girls sobbed into their mother’s arms as she looked at him plaintively. “They are too young.” She pried her daughters away from her, pushed them toward a woman standing next to her, then took a wobbly step toward Bartolo. “Take me.”
Bartolo’s lip curled. “I don’t want a dried-up old woman.” He glanced at the girls, who now clung to the other woman. “I want something young. Fresh. Unspoiled.” He slid his index finger along his jaw. “In fact, I like the idea of twins. I will have them both.”
“No!” Their mother threw herself at Bartolo’s feet. “Please!”
Bartolo relished the drama. He viewed it as an exotic spice to arouse his appetite. “I will offer you a choice. I will agree not to take both of your daughters.” He looked down at her. “But you have to decide which one I enjoy.”
She gazed up in horror. “What?”
“If you don’t choose which daughter you will give to me, then not only will I take them both, but every single man here will do the same.”
Still on her knees, the woman cast a glance at her daughters.
They began to shriek. “No, Mamá, please!”
Bartolo laughed. This was more fun than he had anticipated. “You have one minute to decide.”
While he waited, Carlos slid behind him and whispered in his ear in English. “You’re cutting into my profits by taking a virgin from my stable.”
The corners of Bartolo’s eyes tightened. “It is my prerogative.”
“The last time you took one of my girls, you beat her senseless. I had to wait a month for her to heal before she could start working off her transport fee.”
“And since then she has made up for the loss of a month’s wages.” A smile spread across his stubbled face. “I remember her. She didn’t want to do what she was told. I had to teach her obedience.”
“You almost killed her, Bartolo.”
“And … ?”
Carlos sounded exasperated. “Just don’t damage my merchandise this time.”
“There is a price to pay for coming to the United States. As the saying goes, ‘freedom isn’t free.’”
“This is my part of the business you’re messing with.”
Bartolo spoke through clenched teeth. “If I say I want a virgin, you give her to me. If I beat her until she dies, you bury her body in the desert. If I cost you money, suck it up. Do I make myself clear?” He reverted to Spanish and looked at the mother, who now stroked her daughters’ hair. “Time’s up.”
The mother’s voice sounded strangled, as if she spoke around an enormous lump in her throat. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“I’m getting angry.”
“Please, I will do anything you want.”
“You did not do as you were told. As punishment, you must not only choose which daughter, but you will bring her to me.” He held out his hand. “Now.” He beckoned. “Or I take them both.”
The woman crossed herself. “Mother Mary, forgive me for what I must do.” She crept toward Bartolo. Both girls sobbed and clung to her. Tears streamed down her face as she used her right arm to force one of her daughters into his grasp.
Across town, Adolfo pulled out his cell phone when he felt it buzz. “What is it, Carlos?”
“Bartolo, again.” The strain in his youngest brother’s voice was audible.
“Tell me.”
“He took one of my girls at the drop house in West Phoenix. He looked totally coked out, as usual.”
“He said he would stop using.”
“He’s losing control. You should have seen what he did to this girl. She’s just a kid. I had to get one of my guys to take her to our private emergency clinic downtown. I don’t know if she’ll pull through.”
Adolfo sensed the growing rift and took advantage. “Bartolo has become a liability.”
“You mean because of his drug use?”
“Not just the drugs. He’s been hotheaded since we were kids. Cocaine just makes it worse.” Adolfo let that sink in before continuing. “I heard from our mole today that someone burned down the restaurant owned by that Phoenix detective’s family.”
“You mean Veranda Cruz? Was that Bartolo?”
“No doubt.”
“Did he get approval to do that?”
Adolfo wanted Carlos to understand the stakes. To choose sides. “Bartolo is operating on his own.” He paused for effect. “I’m going to call Papá. He must be told that we do not support Bartolo’s actions. His drug use and reckless behavior put us all at risk.”
“From what our mole tells us, Detective Cruz isn’t the type to back down. Now that Bartolo has attacked her family, she’ll never stop coming after him.”
“And Bartolo is the same way. I wonder if either of them realizes this will only end when one of them is dead.”
22
As the morning sun warmed the scarred surface of the dinette table in the safe house kitchen, Veranda pushed her half-eaten bowl of breakfast cereal away. She gulped her second cup of instant coffee as she assembled a makeshift gallery in front of her. To the right was a mugshot of Hector Villalobos, downloaded from Interpol when she was on the task force in DEB. To her left, a photograph of Ernesto Hidalgo, a childhood gift from her mother. Her makeup mirror stood in the center. Her eyes swiveled between her own face and that of the two men. She strained to see any likeness and blew out a sigh.
She looked exactly like her mother.
Could she have the blood of El Lobo coursing through her veins? She thought about her quick temper, her physical strength, her competitive streak. Villalobos traits. Then she recalled her devotion to her mother’s family, her love of the restaurant and her fierce protectiveness. Qualities her mother had described in Ernesto Hidalgo. The man she thought of as her father.
Every belief she ever held about her past was in question. Was she the daughter of a brave defender of the people, or the offspring of a vicious killer? She thought of her poor mother, who had raised her without ever knowing the answer to that question. Lorena had kept her in the loving shelter of the family, despite the possibility that she was the child of her mortal enemy. Her very existence must have been a constant source of pain for her mother.
Then she remembered what Lorena had said about her name. Veranda. Watch the path she chooses. Even her name was a reminder that she could go in either direction.
Veranda balled her hands into fists as a new thought took shape in her mind. Did Hector know she might be his daughter? Had El Lobo told his children they might have a half sister? Was that what Bartolo was talking about at his house when he said he knew things about her?
Her cell phone buzzed with a text. Sam’s message advised that he was in front of the safe house to pick her up.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood and picked up her briefcase. She had a job to do. Questions about her parentage would have to wait. She had made a conscious decision to dress professionally today. In lieu of cargo pants and tactical boots, a pinstriped gray suit would instill confidence that she had made the transition from busting drug dealers to questioning homicide suspects. In the back of her mind, she acknowledged that the change in appearance was as much for herself as for her peers.
She pushed oversized sunglasses onto her nose as the sun blasted her eyes when she strode out the door. Sam waited at the curb, still driving the dreaded fleet Malibu.
He did not comment on her attire when she slid into the passenger seat. He cut his eyes to her. “What’s wrong?”
So much for silent reflection. “Nothing.” He frowned at her terse response. She sighed. “Except that my family is being pursued by a homicidal maniac.”
He appeared pensive as he made his way north on 15th Avenue past the turnoff for headquarters. Veranda realized they weren’t going to VCB, but she kept silent as he drove into the deserted parking lot of Encanto Park. He shut off the engine and got out of the vehicle.
Baffled, Veranda followed suit and circled around to him.
Mouth set in a grim line, he said, “Dammit, Veranda, I’m sick of this.”
“Sick of what?”
“Let’s walk. I’m too pissed off to sit still.”
Brows furrowed, she fell into step beside him as he strode to the park’s entrance. He continued toward one of the bridges spanning the canal that meandered through the property. Clearly, Sam was not here to admire the scenery. She lengthened her stride to keep up with him as he tramped up the bridge. He came to an abrupt halt when he reached the top. She almost collided with him as he pivoted to face her.
“You’re holding out on me.” His gray eyes turned to steel. “Have been since I met you that day in the mobile command vehicle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I expect suspects to tell me half-truths and shade the facts, not my partner. There’s something you’re not telling me. I knew it when I interviewed you after the shooting, but I didn’t call you on it because I didn’t want Diaz up your ass.”
She crossed her arms and stared back at him.
“And there’s more,” he said. “Bartolo Villalobos is coming after you like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And I’ve seen plenty. You’re as obsessed with him as he is with you. What’s really going on between you two?”
Veranda knew Sam was a seasoned detective. Decades of experience taught him to read people. Even her. She hesitated, wanting to come clean. Realizing a confession could put his career in jeopardy as well as hers, she opted to deflect his questions instead. “I told you. He found out from Flaco I led the task force interdictions. Cost him millions in product and embarrassed him.”
Sam waved a dismissive hand. “What else? What was he talking about when we went to his house?”
This was the moment. She couldn’t bullshit Sam. He had seen through her from the start. She had to tell him what had set this whole chain of events in motion. Or she could refuse and lose his trust forever. She turned away from Sam to lean against the railing.
She heaved a sigh. “I’ve hidden the truth for so long, I’m not sure where to begin.” Secrets and lies. Her mother’s words replayed in her mind to remind her of her own subterfuge.
Sam’s voice gentled. “Start at the beginning.”
“If Diaz finds out—”
“I won’t tell anyone.” He gave her an appraising look. “As long as you didn’t commit any crimes.”
She stared at him. “I’m not guilty of any crime, it’s just that … ” The silence stretched. He’s waiting me out. She averted her gaze to a lone black swan floating toward them, bright red bill contrasting with ebony feathers. Ripples fanned out as it disappeared under the bridge beneath her feet. “I’ve never come clean about how I recruited Flaco.”
