Light of Day (9 page)

“I'm not a cop.”

I sighed. “Look. I know you can't confirm it. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it, but I'm frustrated that it's taking so long to find Bree.”

“I'm not a cop, Gabby.”

I searched his eyes, not knowing what to believe. “So what are you, then? A street artist named X? You admitted that was a cover.”

“It is, basically.”

Then I realized what he was doing. My little outburst had made him think I was volatile—volatile enough to break my promise and talk about all of this on my radio show.

“I would never do anything to jeopardize your operation. I'll never talk about it on the air, or to anyone.” Even as I said it, I remembered that I'd already mentioned it to Sarita. But it would go no further than that.

“You're not hearing me, Gabby. I'm not a cop. I never said I was.”

“What was I supposed to think? That you follow around pimps and track missing girls as a hobby?”

“It's not a hobby to me. It's . . .” A light came into his eyes. “It's a calling.”

Something inside me stilled. He was telling the truth. And it made absolutely no sense. “Are you an informant, then? You help the police?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like it. I prefer to avoid the cops altogether. They're no help at all.”

I was mystified. “So if you're not a cop, then what are you?”

“I'm part of a group. We help girls caught in sex trafficking.”

“Like, a citizens' group?”

His mouth lifted at the corner. “You could say that. We're called the Destinos.”

My jaw dropped.
The Destinos?

Everyone knew about the Destinos. They were a badass street gang. Last year they'd gained a reputation for taking down Los Reyes, a brutal gang that had dominated the Miami drug and sex trades.

“You've obviously heard of us.”

“I know of a
gang
called the Destinos. Is that the one?”

“Yeah.” His mouth crooked. “You've probably heard that we stir shit up. We do. But we hyped that reputation to scare Salazar and the Reyes gang. Once they were dealt with, we
went underground. That's how we work best. We like to sneak up on the bad guys.”

I didn't know how to react. So the Destinos were about
helping
people? Anyone who knew about them would think they were just another street gang. Sure, they were responsible for taking down Los Reyes, but that was because they were involved in a turf war. Or so I'd thought.

“I never tried to deceive you, Gabby,” he said regretfully. “I hope you know that.”

Did I? Why couldn't he have told me he was a Destino?

To think I'd walked the streets with a gang member believing he was a cop. I'd felt so safe with him, so sure that he could protect me. But as a member of one of Miami's most notorious street gangs, he was more likely to be a target of a rival gang than my protector.

And yet . . . X didn't seem like a manipulator. He might not have revealed much to me, but what he had revealed was the truth. I was the one who'd assumed he was a cop, I reminded myself. That wasn't his doing.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. X turned on the ignition and pulled back onto the road. We didn't speak as he drove to Twenty-Seventh Street. When we got there, I pointed out Sarita's house. He parked in the driveway.

Unbuckling my seat belt, I hesitated. Part of me wanted to stay with him, wanted to not leave the car until he'd answered
every single one of my questions. Another part of me warned that I needed to be alone to process all of this.

I decided to be smart, for once, and get out of the car.

“Gabby,” he said, leaning over my seat.

“Yeah?”

“If we get a lead on Bree, I'll let you know.”

I nodded. “Do that.”

WHEN I WOKE THE NEXT
morning, it took several seconds to orient myself. Saturday, 11:02 a.m. Sarita's little white guest room. Wispy curtains. Pastel blue furniture. This room had been my home away from home since she'd moved here when I was in junior high. Some of my old tween books were still on the bookshelf.

Directly across from me was a painting of a toddler on a beach, holding a pail and shovel, gazing down at a smushed sand castle. I was sure Sarita could have sold it for thousands, but she'd refused. Not because she'd gotten attached to it, but because she'd said it was flawed.
The water's too blue to be real.
But it was a flaw only Sarita could see.

Last night's revelations washed over me. I'd actually mistaken a member of a street gang for one of Miami's finest.
That was a mistake for the record books.
Way to go, Gabby.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I shouldn't be too hard on myself for thinking he was a cop. He'd used words like “cover” and “tailing,” hadn't he? And when I'd met him, he'd been surveiling Raul. What other conclusion could I have come to?

My initial instincts about X had been right. He looked dangerous because he
was
dangerous. I couldn't slot him into the safe cop category anymore.

It didn't matter, I told myself. Cop or gang member, I didn't care who was helping Bree as long as they were helping her. The Destinos could do things the police wouldn't do. Cross lines the police wouldn't cross.

Saving Bree was all that mattered.

It was a little strange to shuffle into the kitchen and run into Sarita's shirtless, sleep-rumpled boyfriend.

“Gabby, this is Ben. Ben, Gabby,” Sarita said without a hint of embarrassment. She looked adorable in a polka-dotted dress and strappy sandals.

“Hey.” I gave a little wave.

“Hey,” he said uncomfortably, focusing on his coffee.

So this was the Ben she'd been talking about. Auburn hair, morning stubble, undeniably cute, and barely thirty years old. I couldn't remember what she'd said he did for a living. Who
cares? Maybe it was his age, but I doubted he was a keeper. I bet he was a lot of fun, though.

I slid Sarita a
way to go
look. With a serene smile, she held open a small box. “Pain au chocolat?”

“Sure,” I said, selecting a still-warm croissant. “I'd better get going. I'm heading over to WKTU later.”

Driving home, I realized how lucky I was that Ben had been there. Otherwise Sarita would've asked me about last night's search, and I'd have had no choice but to tell her that X wasn't a cop. Sarita might not react too well. She'd always had a flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to my safety. She might even tell my parents what I'd been up to.

When I got in, Mom was in the living room, knitting, with an e-book reader propped up on her legs. Mom always had to be doing two things at once. Over the years she must've knit a hundred scarves, but since she didn't know anyone who needed them, she always donated them to the church.

“How was your sleepover?” she asked.

“It was good.” She probably imagined we'd stayed up late chatting in our jammies, like we might've done when I was twelve.

“Are you volunteering at the station today?”

I tried not to twitch at the word
volunteering
. “Yeah, I'll go over for a couple of hours. Then I'll hit the streets with
some CVs.” The last thing I wanted to think about right now was finding another job, but I couldn't risk not having enough money for next year's tuition.

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” She put the knitting and e-reader aside. “Sit for a minute.”

I sat down, wondering what this was about and how long it was going to take. Before she could speak, I put up a hand, thinking I'd save her the time. “I've thought about it, and you're right. I shouldn't have taken for granted that you guys would pay my tuition next year. That was bratty of me.”

“I never said it was
bratty
.” She frowned. “We want you to find a viable career, that's all.”

“I'm going to get another job as soon as possible. I was thinking I could work ten or fifteen hours a week, so I can still go to WKTU, then full-time in the summer. By the fall, I should have enough money. I'll be fine.” I got off the couch.

She put up a hand. “Sit down, please, Gabby.”

I sighed, sitting down again.

“Your father and I were talking about it, and we don't want you to rush out and find a job. The main thing is that you focus on your schoolwork for now. I don't think it would be easy to find a job until closer to the holidays, anyway.”

This was a one-eighty from our last conversation. Then it dawned on me. This was about Bree. For all Mom knew,
there was a serial killer out there snatching girls off the street. Apparently the thought of me job searching had freaked her out.

“I heard that you talked about Bree O'Connor on your show last week,” Mom said, confirming my suspicion. “It was a good way to use your platform. Your father and I are proud of you for that.”

They were proud of me? I wanted to believe it. To
feel
it. But I was so used to tuning out my mom's criticism that my instinct was to tune out her praise, too. “Thanks, Mom.”

“JC's very upset about Bree, you know. Camila says he's not handling it well. He's known her since they were little.”

“Yeah, I know.”

So Mom and Mrs. Suarez were still talking to each other. After what happened at the anniversary party, I wasn't sure. For once, the mention of JC didn't get my back up. I'd seen the signs of his distress myself.

“How are you coping with it?” Mom asked.

The question took me by surprise. She wasn't the type of Mom who regularly checked in on my emotional state; I figured she didn't want to know. But I answered her truthfully. “I'm sad for her.”

“I'm sad too.” Mom pursed her lips. She did that when she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

I wished I could tell her what I knew. But maybe I could,
at least, offer some comfort. “I'm pretty sure they'll find her, Mom. She'll be coming home.”

God, I'd missed the beach.

At quarter to five that afternoon, I took off my sandals, digging my toes into the warm sand. It was a perfect blue-skied day with just enough breeze to toss my hair around my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the salty wind.

When I opened them, X was beside me. My brown eyes met his blue ones. I was amazed, as always, by the connection I felt whenever I saw him. The revelation that he was in a gang had changed nothing.

“You're early,” I said.

“So are you.” In a white tank and cutoffs, he was so handsome it hurt. He had tanned, muscled arms that I ached to have wrapped around me. Sweat glistened above his collarbone, which somehow made him even more tempting.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“I'm down for the beach anytime.”

“Sorry if I was a bit freaked out last night. The gang thing threw me off.”

“You made no secret of that.” His mouth twitched with amusement. “I still can't believe you thought I was a cop. I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult.”

“It's neither. Last night . . . you probably thought I judged
you. I wasn't trying to. I was in shock.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don't see why judging somebody gets a bad rap. Smart girl like you would be better off judging me.”

His amused smile was gone. He was dead serious.

“Why's that?”

“Just what you said. I'm in a gang.”

My stomach felt uneasy. “But a good gang, right? I mean, you're not going after innocent people or hurting anybody for no reason.”

“Right, but I'm sure any gang member would be able to assure you of that. Every gang's got a cause. Mine happens to be about helping girls get out of bad situations. Most gangs are all about helping themselves.”

“Well, I want you to know that as long as the Destinos are looking for Bree, that's what matters to me. I don't care what you guys have to do or how you do it.”

He smiled, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. “I knew there was a badass in you. Am I right?”

I nodded, and his smile widened.

He glanced over at a middle-aged couple who were setting down their towels a few feet away. “Let's walk.”

Shoes in hand, we headed down the beach, close enough to the water that the tide stretched out to nip our toes.

“How did you end up with the Destinos?” I asked.

“It's simple. I got to know some guys. We became a pack. We were looking for a fight, and we found one.”

“That's the vaguest explanation I've ever heard.”

He slanted me a look. “Everything I say is off the record, Gabby. You don't talk about it on the air, to your best friend, your parents, your dog—nobody. Does anyone know where you are right now?”

“No, no one.”

“Good.”

“So are you going to tell me how your gang got into rescuing girls?”

“If you really want to know, our leader's sister was kidnapped by sex traffickers a couple years before we started up.” A shadow passed over his face. “She didn't make it. But there were others like her, girls we could help.”

A wave of sadness came over me for this girl I didn't know.

“Why are you against working with the cops? Couldn't you help each other?”

“Hey, if the cops could help us, I'd be fine with it. But they've only ever screwed things up for us.” With a swift movement, he caught a beach ball hurtling at his head, and tossed it back to a kid. “There was a girl from California, fourteen, whose pimp brought her here. We spotted her a few times but could never get to her. She was in a bad situation, this girl. I was so damned determined to get to her fast, I got
the cops involved. Told them where she'd been spotted, who the pimp was—I gave them everything. And I came up with a plan for us to get to her. But they didn't go along with it. They moved in on the pimp right away and took him into custody before we could figure out her location. The pimp's guys put their plan B into effect—they sent her out of town, probably traded her with another pimp across the country. Nobody's seen her since.”

I felt heartsick. “God, that's awful.”

“Yeah. That's why we don't give anything to the cops. When you work with the cops, they run the show. Besides, their system's ass-backward. It's set up to treat the girls like criminals. They round up prostitutes and what do they do? They put them in jail first, ask questions later. Pimps and sex traffickers, the cops hardly go after them. A lot of the time, they don't even know how. And don't get me started on the johns. Even if they get charged with solicitation, they usually get off with counseling.”

“Seriously?” I couldn't believe the system was so messed up. “So you don't think we should let the cops know that we think Bree's alive?” It felt weird,
wrong
, to have this information and not share it with the police. Her poor family was going nuts. They were on the news almost daily, sobbing, begging people to help them find their daughter.

“If I thought it would help Bree's situation, I wouldn't
hesitate to call the cops,” he said. “But our best bet is to reach her ourselves. Trust me, Gabby. If Bree wants out, we'll find a way to get her out.”

If
Bree wants out? Did he even need to say that? “Okay, I understand. I know the Destinos can handle it.”

“Right. We do what has to be done. Like with Mr. Roofies.”

My eyes widened. “You tracked Raul down?”

A smug smile.

“You kick him in the balls for me?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

“You don't need to know the details. We handled him. I doubt you'll be seeing him at the Space anytime soon.”

“Screw that! I want to know.”

X laughed. “Fine. We fucked him up. Dropped him off at his mama's place in Jacksonville with the word
pimp
tattooed on his forehead.”

I shuddered. “For real?”

“For real.” His face sobered. “So yeah, we hurt people. We have to. And if we ever find out Raul's back in business, we'll take it up a notch. But I'm pretty sure he got the message.”

“What about the girls?”

“They're at a shelter for girls getting out of the sex trade. The staff knows what we do, and they don't ask questions.”

I'd never heard of a place like that, but that must be the point. They wouldn't want pimps banging down their doors.

“You mentioned your leader,” I said. “Did he ever get justice for his sister?”

“Yeah, he did. Then he up and left the gang.” X scowled. “He wasn't in it for the long haul.”

“And you are?”

He nodded. “When he left, I took charge.”

“You?” I repeated, swallowing that information. So he wasn't just in a gang. He was the
leader
of a gang. My stomach quivered. Knowing he was the leader of the Destinos made this all, somehow, scarier. Trying to cover my nerves, I asked, “So, um, what's the former leader doing now?”

X stopped walking. “Who cares? He's not a Destino anymore.” He looked down at his phone. “We'd better head back. I gotta be somewhere.”

“Oh. All right.” It was the topic of their former leader—it had rattled him. Too bad I hadn't left it alone.

The walk back was mostly silent. We put on our shoes and went to the lot where we'd both parked.

As we approached my car, I slowed my pace. “Where are you going now? Anything I can help with?”

“Nah. I'm taking my little brother out for dinner.”

“That's cool. How old is he?”

“Sixteen. He lives in a group home.” He dug into his pocket for his keys. “It's a shitty place to live. So I take him out as much as I can.”