The Edge of Night (32 page)
“Muchísimas gracias,”
Maria said, giving Kari an enthusiastic hug. “I have waited years to return to the U.S. I am so happy to be here, to find work and send money to my family. You are angel from heaven. God bless you.”
Kari accepted the embrace awkwardly, remembering the last time she’d hugged Sasha. Her sister had tensed, holding herself at a distance. For years, Sasha had been closed off from Kari emotionally, a stranger with a familiar face.
When they broke apart, Maria noticed Kari’s dishabille. “Your blouse needs repair. I will sew for you.”
“Oh, no,” Kari said, blushing as she buttoned up. “It’s fine. I was just trying to distract the vehicle inspector.”
Her elegant brows rose. “It worked, yes?”
“Maybe,” she allowed, thinking about Officer Cortez’s searing gaze. Hundreds of officers guarded the San Ysidro port of entry; she doubted she’d see him again. “What are your plans, now that you’re here?”
The young woman shrugged. “Find job.”
“Do you need to use the phone?”
“I have no one to call. I don’t know anyone here.”
Kari stared at her, incredulous. “Where will you stay?”
Maria smiled. “Good question.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Sasha’s age. Maria looked about eighteen, far too young to be wandering the streets, and much too pretty to go unnoticed. Kari didn’t want her sleeping on a sidewalk. “Why don’t you stay here? I have an extra bedroom.”
It was meant for her sister, of course. Kari had finally come to terms with the fact that Sasha wasn’t going to leave her drug lord boyfriend.
Maria’s jaw dropped. “A bedroom? For me only?”
Kari nodded. “It’s nothing fancy, a small bed and some basic furnishings. Would you like to come in and see?”
“How much I pay?”
She wondered what amount sounded reasonable. The house had been a bank foreclosure, and a steal, so her living costs were low, and Zócalo was turning a comfortable profit. “Half of the utilities,” she said. “But don’t worry about it until you get a job.”
Maria was already on her feet, eyes bright with excitement. “I do housework. Laundry your clothes. Whatever you need.”
Kari laughed, closing up her van and walking toward the front door. During the summer months, she worked about sixty hours a week at the store, so she wouldn’t mind a little help around the house. “Can you cook?”
“Oh,
sí
,” Maria said. “Anything you like.”
They were discussing plans for lunch as Kari unlocked the door. The instant she crossed the threshold, a dark figure leapt out at her. Before she could draw a breath to scream, the man slammed her against the wall and pressed the cold barrel of a gun to her cheek.
Adam Cortez had been propositioned at the border before.
Every CBP officer had seen more than his share of exposed flesh and sultry smiles. Sometimes it was silly teenagers, coming back from a wild night on Avenida Revolución, Tijuana’s underage party central.
A more disturbing trend was for the Mexican cartels to use pretty girls as decoys. While a couple of slack-jawed officers were gaping at young ladies in short skirts and low-cut tops, they smuggled a shipment through another lane. Officers were trained to be aware of these tactics and respond accordingly.
Adam hadn’t responded accordingly to Karina Strauss. Yes, she had a knockout body, and her unbuttoned blouse invited a man to take a closer look, but he shouldn’t have surrendered to temptation. Of course it had occurred to him that she was acting suspicious, attempting to divert his attention. Especially when the dogs alerted to narcotics down the line. He shouldn’t have let her go.
And he definitely shouldn’t have used government resources to do a background check on her
after
he clocked out for the day.
Karina Strauss had made quite an impression on him. It wasn’t her low neckline or her clumsy attempt at flirting that had captured his interest, although he’d certainly noticed both. What stopped him dead in his tracks was the familiar name—Strauss—and her arresting face.
Her sister, Sasha, was a platinum blonde, and thin to the point of emaciation these days, but the resemblance was striking. They both had the same exotic Eastern European looks, though Sasha was flashier. Karina had a quieter, girl-next-door appeal. With her honey-colored hair and sun-kissed skin, she was a natural beauty.
Sasha had a couple of marks on her record for drug possession and public intoxication, but Karina had never been arrested. That didn’t mean she was innocent, just that she hadn’t been caught.
Adam wondered if the siblings had similar lifestyles. Sasha was the longtime girlfriend of Carlos Moreno, a Mexican-born drug lord. He’d seen her with the crew leader on numerous occasions, making the rounds at nightclubs, partying like a rock star. As far as Adam knew, Sasha wasn’t involved in the smuggling operation.
Was Karina on Moreno’s payroll? She made frequent trips across the border, supposedly to buy items for her store. It was a good cover.
He stared at the information on the computer screen in front of him, which included her home address. The next logical step would be to take his suspicions to the investigations unit and let them do their job. Carlos Moreno had a very high profile. The DEA, ATF, and CBP all wanted a piece of him.
Adam wanted a piece of him, too.
A rap at the open door startled him out of his reverie. It was Officer Pettigrew, his superior. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” he said quickly, closing the screen he was viewing. “Just a routine background check.”
Pettigrew gave him a bland smile. “See you tomorrow.”
Adam logged off the computer and pushed away from the desk, his mind in turmoil. For several years, he’d done unofficial surveillance on Moreno, waiting for an opportunity to get close to him. He’d spent too many nights chasing shadows, seething in solitude. At long last, he’d abandoned the pursuit.
Seeing Karina Strauss had taken him back to a very dark place.
He knew he should file a report on her and walk away. Instead, he decided not to mention their chance meeting to anyone. Pulse pounding, he left the San Ysidro port of entry and headed north, filled with thoughts of a violent retribution.
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