No One Heard Her Scream (20 page)

"No, baby. You know I don't like it this way," she protested, turning back to catch a look at him. But he didn't want to see her eyes, not now. Not with what he had in mind.

"Yeah, I do. Believe me, I do." He forced her face into the mattress, a hand to the back of her head. "But that never stopped me before, remember?"

With a sneer, he forced himself between her legs. Prepared to take what he wanted, he slipped on a condom and double-bagged himself to be safe. Until Sonja's demented obsession turned him off, she had been his equal in bed. He never knew a woman to match his sexual appetite. In fact, she had grown more deviant and harder to satisfy. So he learned to take what he wanted when they were together. His needs . . . his perversions. The only way Brogan retained control. Eventually, he called it off, tiring of her never-ending compulsions. Better to quit Sonja than find out he wasn't good enough anymore.

"Please, baby. You don't know what I got to say," she pleaded, her voice muffled. Sonja tried to squirm free, but Brogan wrestled her into submission with an elbow. She argued, "You're gonna thank me later, I swear."

Her panic set in. She bucked under his weight, but Brogan showed no mercy.

"I don't want to wait. I'd rather thank you now. My way," he whispered in her ear. With his teeth, he tugged at her earlobe, tasting blood. "You deserve this . . . and so much more."

From his experience, this crackpot bitch couldn't be trusted, so why start now? Brogan shoved into her and took her down payment on the past, watching as she clutched at the bedspread under the force of his "gratitude."

"Aarrgghhh," she screamed into the pillow. Her body rocked under him. "Stop. It hurts . . . stop!"

For old time's sake, Brogan started real slow. But as his anger mounted, so did he. Sonja tried crawling away, making things worse. He ramped up his abuse until she cried real tears, her face blotchy and red. Her knuckles blanched white, glazed in sweat as he humiliated her.

Sonja would think twice before contacting him again, regardless what she had to tell him.

If Cavanaugh kept his stash of girls here, Diego's heart wrenched with the thought of them held against their will in such a vile pit. The warehouse loomed on the horizon, looking more like an apparition. The bluish haze of moonlight washed over the scene, casting an eerie glow. Kids with too much time on their hands had broken many of the windows, but streetlights reflected off what remained. The mirrored light gave the impression the old building had eyes, luminous and vigilant.

Diego drove to the designated spot alongside the others. After parking his Mercedes, he got out and stripped off his light-colored sweater—no sense making himself a target. Underneath, he wore a black T-shirt. He joined the man in charge of the operation.

"You're late," the FBI agent groused. Mike Draper tossed a Kevlar vest in his direction. "And put this on. You're not getting shot up on my watch."

Diego strapped into the vest and pulled out the latex gloves stuffed into a side pocket.

"What, you not getting enough fiber in your diet?" he theorized with a shrug, ignoring the "stink eye" glare from the fed. "Something came up. We ready to go in?" Snapping on his gloves, Diego fixed his eyes on the warehouse.

Draper would never hear an apology from him for being late. In his opinion, the man's face stayed in a constant state of discontent. His concern for the fed's fiber intake had sound reasoning behind it. Draper stood by Murphy's unmarked police car, dressed in his FBI windbreaker, pacing and barking orders on his com set. SAPD had the place surrounded and waited for his final order to move in. Diego knew the drill.

"Just waiting for you," the man sniped. He hit the switch to his com set. "Green light, Murphy. I repeat, green light. You've got a go."

On the move, Diego reached for his .45-caliber pistol, a model 1911 Colt. He pulled the weapon from its holster at the small of his back. Alongside Draper, he walked toward the front of the old warehouse. Since he was a civilian, others would clear a path.

In the night air, he heard the first wave of Murphy's men calling out, "San Antonio Police. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up!" When they were met with silence, the cops busted in, a precision maneuver. Beams of light strafed the structure as they rushed in, weapons drawn.

The place looked deserted, like all the rest had been, but something new laced the air. A strong odor of ammonia hung heavy, a by-product from neighborhood crystal meth users. Old mason jars, strips of surgical tubing, and empty bottles of hydrogen peroxide were piled in a corner, next to discarded boxes of time-release Contac and old bottles of rubbing alcohol. Nothing in working order, but the setup was unmistakable. Since the stench of crystal meth lingered and would permeate the walls for a long time, no telling if Cavanaugh would have used the place before or after the cooks had come and gone.

Diego didn't like the looks of it. He couldn't picture Cavanaugh's operation working out of here. He followed Murphy's men into the dilapidated building. They fanned out to secure the site for an investigative team to do their work. But he felt the oppressive stillness close in.

"Place looks dead," Draper muttered, voicing the concerns Diego had twisting in his gut.

Even though it took a while for the three-story structure to be searched, the "all clear" sign came too soon. If the cops had found any sign of the missing girls, the com set would be full of chatter. No such luck. Diego eased the tension in his muscles and holstered his weapon. Nothing would be happening tonight.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath.

"Murphy? Get your forensics guys in here. I want every inch of this place scoured for evidence," Draper ordered. He directed his next comment to Diego, "We may still find something."

"If Cavanaugh's got girls stockpiled somewhere, why haven't we found them?" Diego ran fingers through his hair, frustrated as hell. "These girls have suffered enough. They need to be with their families. I hate this."

"All the more reason not to give up now. He's got to make a mistake and we'll be there when he does." Draper holstered his gun. "We knew what we had going in. This shit hole had no direct tie to Cavanaugh."

Diego nodded and heaved a sigh. "It was a long shot, I know." He found it hard to keep the disappointment from his voice.

"You've done your part in this investigation, Galvan. I've got no complaints. We'll process what we get and hope for a break. I'll put a rush on it." Draper walked off with flashlight in hand, leaving Diego standing in the shadows. He'd wait to see what the forensics guys came up with, but his expectations were low.

Diego had hit a dead end. Another failure.

"You act like you don't care what I got to say?" Sonja Garza filched one of Brogan's cigarettes and glared at him as he got dressed. She lay naked on the bed, propped up by pillows.

"Maybe I don't." He smirked, all full of himself. "I got what I came for, all I've ever wanted from you. You ain't much to look at, but you always were a great piece of ass. I'll give you that. Nobody makes me hard like you. But I ain't steppin' back onto your lunatic merry-go-round. No way."

"You used to like it." She blew smoke out her lungs and through her nose. "But I tell ya, I never thought lovin' you could hurt so bad, baby."

He never looked up to see the tears welling in her eyes.

"Get over it. It's not like we never done it that way before. Or are you forgettin' how we met?" Brogan grimaced at the buttons missing from his shirt, then chuckled under his breath. Real smug. "And I'm damned sure not the only one to blaze that trail. You ain't no virgin, honey."

She clenched her jaw and watched him dress.
Nice threads,
she thought.
Real uptown.
Life hadn't dumped on the bastard like it did her after their split. But inside where it counted, Brogan hadn't changed one bit. Every time he opened his pie hole, she remembered his nasty streak. And to prove her point, Brogan kept up his abuse.

"Hey, Sonja, anyone ever say you ride like a bad-tempered mustang with a burr under its saddle? You got a mean buck, girl." He laughed and zipped his pants, barely looking at her. "I could've used some leather rigging to stay on top."

"I see you're spending quality time with the livestock . . . and it shows. Too bad you couldn't last the eight-second count, cowboy. I might have enjoyed it." She dished back his rodeo talk, not giving an inch.

"You are one mean bitch, Sonja." Brogan buckled his belt and glared at her, venom in his eyes. She remembered the look.

"That's why we get along, you and me. Bein' mean is foreplay, remember?"

Sonja talked tough, not letting him know how much she hurt. Her skin rubbed raw, she ached all over. But inside, her blood churned for more. Brogan always did drive her crazy. He never understood why, and maybe she didn't either. In the old days, she used to fantasize about him, day and night. She would have done anything for him . . . and she had. Matt reminded her so much of—

Images of Matt Brogan jumbled with the shadows of her stepdad, coming to her room in the middle of the night. An eight-year-old kid forced to keep secrets. And she never told.
Not ever.
Since then, older men drew her. She sought them out, especially the mean ones. The cycle repeated for a girl who didn't deserve better. She brought it on herself, like her stepdad used to say.

Lewd flashes of her old man's body were never far from the surface—his smell, his nasty fingers, the things he made her do, and the way he grunted when he finished. It all came back in a rush, along with her pathetic need for his approval. The images of every man she had screwed ran together and dominated her brain, her best dreams and her worst nightmares. Sonja could never separate the two.

Until she experienced a glimmer of hope years ago. She always thought if she fixed Brogan, made him love her, the cycle would break. But
that
dream died. Matt booted her out when she needed him most. Afterward, she let depression and self-hatred run roughshod over the rest of her life.

Now Sonja stood and walked toward the man who could have saved her. As she got closer, a chill of fear and desire ran along her skin, her nipples hardened.

"I don't want to make you mad, honey." She trailed her fingers down his chest. He watched her move with interest and stood his ground. Slowly, she made her way around him. "Sure you hurt me . . . didn't listen when I wanted you to stop, but I still would rather be with you than anyone else, Matt."

His ego needed stroking. A chronic condition. But she knew how to work him. Sonja massaged his back through his shirt and moved her hands down to his slim waist. Her arms embraced him from behind. She brushed a hand across his crotch. He was aroused again. Brogan was predictable . . . and so easy to manipulate. If she wanted to engage the only brain he had, all she had to do was unzip it and
Free Willy.

"We got a history. And I can't stop thinking about you, even now." Sonja stepped around and hugged him, hearing his heart beat in his muscled chest. She used to love the sound. His hard body always turned her on. But Brogan pulled away, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her at a distance. All for show. The hunger in his eyes betrayed him. The big jerk wanted her for another round. And it wouldn't take much to put Brogan over the edge.

"Yeah, we got us a history, all right. I remember holding a knife to your throat and tellin' you to lose my number, but did you listen? No. Your version of our history is whacked, like you."

Brogan never remembered their history like she did. He had his own slant. She did, too.

"Well, maybe I can help you remember the good parts." She shoved him onto the mattress, clothes and all, and straddled his taut belly. He raised himself onto his elbows and made a lame show of protest before she stopped him. "Don't worry, baby. I won't hurt you. You just gotta listen to me. What I got to say is important."

"But I don't trust you, Sonja. Can't get around that."

"Oh, yeah? Well, not too long ago, you trusted my mouth with your prize possession. I think you should reconsider."

He laughed, this time with humor in his eyes. "Guess you got a point. So what is it that's so important?"

"You still runnin' girls, Matt?" Before he answered, she touched a finger to his lips and added, "You don't have to tell me. I know you. Just hear what I got to say." When she had his attention, she kissed his neck and gyrated in his lap, a slow, steady move. "I heard something you ought to know if you're still connected. A cop came to see me the other day, asking about some chick I knew in high school. Isabel Marquez."

"Oh, yeah?" He narrowed his eyes. "Did you get the name of that cop?"

"Detective Rebecca Montgomery." She nibbled on his ear and tugged at his open shirt, whispering, "The cop told me she had a witness linking me and Isabel to a man in a Mercedes. Sound familiar? You still working for that rich guy?"

"What did you say, Sonja?" His voice stern.

"I denied everything. You know I wouldn't rat you out, baby." Sonja sat back and smiled. "I covered for you, Matt. My coming here tonight proves how much I still love you." After unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly, she stopped. "I would do anything for you."

"Jury is out on that one. She ask about anything else?"

"Yeah, this detective had a sister Danielle who got herself kidnapped and killed by some nasty sons of bitches. I heard about it myself, on the news a while back. Does the name Danielle Montgomery ring a bell?"

With his brow furrowed, he stared through her for a long minute, his eyes glazed over. When he finally fixed on her again, he grinned.

"You know? I think I've missed you after all." Nudging her up, Brogan shoved his pants down his thighs, a part of his anatomy standing at full attention. After looking down at himself, he grinned up at her and handed over a condom. "Take all you want of this. I'm feeling real generous. And if you do me good, I got plenty more."

He lay back on the mattress and let her take charge—the way it had been . . . the way it would be again. Sonja had to free herself from the past. And unknowingly, Matt would play his part. He owed her
that
much. She crooked her lips into a faint smile and gazed down at him.