No One Heard Her Scream (27 page)

The odd vision filled her with an overwhelming peace. But out of context, Diego stood over them, smiling down as if he knew everything would be okay. Seeing him there, a profound serenity washed through Becca. He looked so beautiful in the afternoon light. So still . . . and rock-solid.

She wanted to reach for his hand—and whisper his name—but nothing would come.

Downtown San Antonio

"What? Say again." Draper squinted as he turned on the lamp, the cell phone to his ear. He yanked the covers off him and sat up in bed. His downtown hotel room came into focus, but his mind hadn't fully grasped the situation.

"That surveillance we had on Rebecca Montgomery? Our men are on the move. I just got the call," the man said. "It happened too fast. Our guys weren't in a position to stop it."

He recognized the voice of Paul Murphy, the SAPD member of his team.

"What happened? Start from the beginning." Draper stumbled to the bathroom to take a leak.

"We staked out her place, down on the river. She wasn't home, so we waited." Murphy sighed into the phone, catching his breath. "Becca got home around..."

He heard Murphy flip through papers, looking for details that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. "A quarter to ten. We had a two-man team, one in front, the other in back. For whatever reason, Becca crawled out her fire escape window. I still don't understand why."

"In the absence of a three-alarm fire in the building, do you think she saw our guys? Maybe she tried to ditch 'em by going out the fire escape," Draper theorized as he shook himself and flushed. After performing a one-handed wash maneuver, he looked at himself in the mirror and ran his free hand through his graying hair, what was left of it. An ugly skinny bastard stared back, same as always.

"No, I don't think so. Our guys said her leaving had something to do with flowers, sir. But it doesn't make any sense to me."

"I hear ya, son. Women don't exactly come with logical instructions and a free set of kitchen knives. Making sense is not in their playbook. What else?"

"Like I said, she was picking . . . flowers. But some guy grabbed her from behind. He pulled her into an alley near her condo." Murphy's anxiety for his fellow officer gave an edge to his voice. The man was still short of breath. "I had a cop in plain clothes near a footbridge across the river, looking into the back of her place. By the time this all went down, he radioed for help from his partner on the street level in front, but they lost her."

Murphy cursed under his breath. "Damn it. This was supposed to be a babe-sitting job. I don't know what happened."

"Stay focused. Where is she now?"

"That's just it. We're not one hundred percent sure. The cop out front had seen some movers who'd been there for an hour or so before all this happened. No company name on the outside of their truck. But he got pulled off to search for Becca. Him and his partner made it inside her place through the open window off the fire escape, but she wasn't there. Her gun, cell phone, and keys were on a kitchen counter."

Murphy had fucked up a simple surveillance operation. But things could have been far worse. If the timing had been off even a fraction, the sons of bitches who kidnapped Rebecca might have panicked and made it a hostage situation in downtown San Antonio. A shoot-out, for cryin' out loud.

Yet another potential outcome plagued him on a personal level. If these alleged kidnappers were linked to Cavanaugh, as he suspected, his operation would have been blown. And most probably, Galvan's life would have been forfeited. Draper felt like an asshole for thinking only of his case, but he had invested too much time to have it wiped out by some local wannabe fed. Hell, Galvan was already in the hot seat, hanging with Cavanaugh. Draper didn't need another complication.

He blocked the thought from his head and listened to Murphy give his report.

"By the time my team got done searching, they remembered the movers and the small truck and hauled ass to the street level again. They were almost too late. The truck had already pulled from the curb. They only had enough time to scramble to their car and follow."

"Movers in the middle of the night? Does that make sense to you, Murphy? 'Cause if it does, you can tear up your federal employment application."

"No, sir. It didn't. That's why my guys are tailing the truck, as we speak. What now?"

"Like my daddy always used to say, get on her and stay on her, son. This might be our only chance to nail that rat bastard Cavanaugh. Let's get more cars tailing the truck so we don't unzip our fly and let 'em know we're there. And gather up the rest of our team. I got a feeling this is it. We won't get another chance."

"But if they have Becca, we can pull the truck over right now. We've got probable cause to do the search, sir."

"There's a big picture, Murphy. You're thinking too small. Just do as I say." Squirming out of his pajama bottoms with cell phone in hand, Draper bellowed, "And get over here to pick me up. I'll be in front of the hotel in five."

It took a while for the cop to respond, but once he did, Draper heard the dissent in his voice. The man didn't agree with his order.

"Already on my way, sir. Make it three."

Draper ended the call, his mind firing on all cylinders. In a rush, he ransacked his room for clothes, throwing on whatever he found.

He made a big leap in logic to assume Cavanaugh had ordered the kidnapping of a local cop, but it made sense given Diego's earlier warning. Gutsy and stubborn Rebecca Montgomery had wanted in on his case. Now she was . . .
the hard way.
He hoped she would live to appreciate the irony.

And for Diego's part in all this. His simple
favor
on a
hunch
had turned out to be anything but simple. His prized informant had to know more than he let on at the bank. Diego's sudden concern for a cop he only just met was too much coincidence.

But no matter how it happened, Draper didn't care. It all might end tonight with something more than the foothill of circumstantial evidence Diego had gathered so far. He was so close, he tasted it. Cavanaugh had taken a huge risk. No doubt, the man had something special in mind for Rebecca. And with an ego the size of Texas, the son of a bitch would be front and center when it all went down. Draper knew it.

Dressed and armed, he raced from his room with his blood hot from the thrill of the hunt. Cavanaugh was going down, no matter what he had to do to make it happen.

Nearly Midnight

A smothering stench assaulted Becca's nose. Numb with cold, she lay on a hard surface, her shoulder blades and a hipbone ached from the clumsy position of her body. And she couldn't move, not even to open her eyes. Despite the foul air, she focused on her breathing. And she forced her brain to work at recognizing the staggering smell. It gave her something to concentrate on besides the pain. Dank mold mixed with the heavy musk of body odor, but the rank fumes of a broken sewer overpowered the melange.

Little by little, she pierced the veil of fog in her mind. Minutes seemed like hours, but eventually, Becca became aware of her body convulsing. Tremors ripped through her muscles unchecked. Drugs still affected her system, and the chill off the floor didn't help.

With great effort, she pried her eyes open. At least, she thought they were. Everything looked dark. No shapes. No light. Only inky black. Becca had no way of knowing where she was or if she was truly awake. She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like cotton. Her tongue was thick and swollen.

As the haze lifted, the room took shape. An eddy in gray surged with shadows. And a stabbing light centered above her head. She tried to raise a hand to shield her eyes, but her arm flopped to her side, limp. Her wrist banged against something solid, a sharp crack to her bone.

"Arrgh . . . mmm." She heard the sound, unsure it came from her.

Becca's eyes burned, stinging with tears. She forced them open. A blinding white light filled the space. It hurt her eyes, like staring into a scorching desert sun. Unrelenting and without mercy. That's when she heard the echo of footsteps. The sound skittered off walls and came at her from all sides. A slow terror welled inside, roiling from the pit of her stomach. Still, she couldn't focus. Even as her heart thrashed against her ribs, she fought to wake up. To move. To run. But nothing.

"You awake, darlin'." A man's voice, low and gritty.

His body eclipsed the intensity of the burning white light. His shadow brought the chill back to her skin. Becca felt a finger across her cheek, and she flinched. His hand grabbed her chin and shook it. She blinked and forced her eyelids open to keep the image of the man in her brain.

"Come on. We only gave you a light dose. I don't have all night. And neither do you."

His laughter jolted her awake. The man's face spiraled from the haze, coming to a screeching halt in front of her eyes. Matt Brogan. Becca pulled from his hand and shoved away, clumsy like a drunk on a weekend bender.

"You and me got some catching up to do." He grinned. "I know we don't hardly know each other, but I got a real nice surprise if you're good."

"Wh . . . Where . . . this place." She fought for each word.

"You don't need to know that. All you gotta do is ... be nice and do what I say. Then we can talk about my surprise. You like the roses I sent you? The Mex isn't the only one who can buy his way into your pants."

His revelation jolted her brain. Brogan knew about her and Diego? That meant Cavanaugh did, too. Becca sucked air into her lungs to regain her senses. Diego was in trouble.

Before she could move, Brogan reached for her. In her dazed mind, his fingers undulated like a nest of slithering snakes. Becca jerked her head back, but he only laughed again and forced himself on her. Brogan's hand gripped her neck. When he had her attention, he let go and trailed down her body. He fondled her breasts with his fleshy hand. But when she raised her chin in defiance, without more of a reaction, Brogan pressed his luck and squeezed her nipple . . . hard. She gritted her teeth but didn't cry out. Becca had no intention of giving the man what he wanted.

"Oh, I can see you and me are gonna get along just fine." He grinned, a sickening dead look in his eyes. "I like a challenge. And
rough
is my favorite indoor sport."

Becca let him grope her body through her clothes, staring him down as best she could. Nauseated, she wanted to throw up, but resisted the urge. Eventually, Brogan backed off, taking his short victory lap. He walked into the shadows with a swagger, chuckling under his breath. She knew she hadn't seen the last of him.

Becca's mind raced with how she would play this guy. Scenarios competed in her head. And as her brain cleared, she searched the room for any advantage. In the shadows, she saw movement. Dim lights glowed in the distance, but with her eyesight still blurred, she couldn't make anything out. She heard voices, men and women. And the rattle of chains clanged against metal and dragged heavy on the floor. Who were all these people? And why were they in the dark? And the smell . . . how could they live like this? She pictured a rabble of homeless street people living in a sewer.

But the sound that chilled her to the bone was the quietest of them all. Sobbing cries. Real agony festered bone deep like cancer. A vague whimper gained urgency. And Becca heard Brogan's gruff voice, cursing. Chains dragged along the ground, and a large shadowy shape lumbered toward her. A group or just one man, she had no idea. When Brogan came into the pale circle of light, he yanked at the arm of a thin girl. Her blond hair was matted and covered in filth, head down.

From what Becca remembered of Diego's investigation into Cavanaugh and human trafficking, she began to understand what she was witnessing, playing out before her eyes. This was what Diego and Draper had been searching for. Cavanaugh's elusive stronghold. The bastard held abused young girls against their will, degrading and sexually assaulting them for money, all in the name of business enterprise. Becca couldn't stand it anymore. She heaved the contents of her stomach, bracing her arms under her where she sat. Nausea came, wave after wave, until she ached with the exertion. She tasted raw bile in her throat and smelled it in her nostrils—along with a mounting fear for her own safety, wallowing deep in her belly.

When she looked up, Brogan stood over her, the sickly girl still at his side. Becca squinted into the light, the blonde's face coming into focus.

"I believe you two know each other." Brogan grinned and shoved the girl to the floor in front of her.

Becca came face-to-face with the blond groveling on the floor. She appeared too damaged and beaten to look her in the eye. But when she did, Becca swallowed her heart. Eyes wide and jaw open in shock, Becca stared into the face of her sister, Danielle.

"Oh my God." Every fiber of her being shook. "Dani?"

Brogan laughed. "What? You look like you seen a ghost." His sickening cackle filled the chamber.

But Becca blocked him out to concentrate. Was this another hallucination? A cruel hoax? God wouldn't be so heartless. She wanted to believe that, but the delusion of the girl lingered amidst the carnage of this place, a persistent manifestation. With shaky fingers, she reached out to touch her gaunt face. In an instant, Becca knew. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Dani's wide blue eyes stared back. Damaged and lost, but they belonged to her sister. Dirt smudges and tears streaked her sweet face. Her lips quivered, and she mouthed words Becca couldn't hear. She cradled Dani's cheeks in her trembling hands.

Everything around Becca faded to nothing. Her sister collapsed into her arms, still disoriented and confused by the whole encounter, unsure who Becca was but thankful for the tenderness. Her body rail-thin and fragile, Dani would break if Becca pressed too hard.

"Oh, God, Dani. . ." Becca cried, and clutched her little sister to her chest. "Is it really you? Please, God. Oh, honey, is it you? It's Becca. Don't you recognize me?"

"Becca?" she whimpered, her voice raspy and spent. "I thought I'd never . . ." She broke down, choked with emotion.