Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (28 page)

I burrow my head further into Tim’s shirt, clutching my fists in the fabric, as Mark chuckles softly in the background.

“Having said that,” Tim continues. “Do you have anymore news about the investigation?” I lift my head to look in Mark’s direction, curious to hear the answer.

“Actually. They’re pretty much ready to bring the entire ring down. The only thing missing is proof of the connection with certain members of the Boston PD. If they shut down the human pipeline without it, chances are those guys will walk. That’s not an acceptable outcome.” Mark hesitates before he goes on. “That’s why Mike is nagging for Ruby’s testimony. He’s hoping it’ll be enough to obtain a warrant for their arrests. Something that’ll surely make life safer for you.” The last is addressed directly to me. “It might mean you need to be placed in protective custody until they effectively have everyone behind bars, but even if that’s the way it plays out, it shouldn’t be for long. Besides, it would provide you with your temporary residency.”

“Okay,” I say. I don’t have to think very hard. “Call him.”

“Wait a damn minute!” Tim bursts out, virtually shoving me back. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Honey...” I put my hand on his chest to calm him down. “I want it over with. Let me finish this. I’ve been selfish long enough.”

“But...”

“No. I’m serious. I’m not the only vulnerable one, Tim. There are girls...” I don’t finish the sentence. I can see by the way both men lower their eyes, that just like me, they are wondering how many like me are out there. Guilt is closing my throat as I think about all the young girls that crossed my path. Girls I could maybe have helped, if I’d had the damn courage to stand up for them, let alone myself. Well, I’m doing something now.

Tim doesn’t say anything, he just pulls me close again. “Okay, Boop. We’ll do it your way.”

T
im

She’s nervous. The moment we got in the truck, her hand reached for mine and for the past ten minutes she’s been squeezing it so hard, I’ll be surprised to have any blood flow left by the time we get to Boston.

Mark is riding in the backseat and two FBI agents are following us in a sedan. Just as a precaution, Mike Carmello suggested. I hadn’t complained. These past few days, since Ruby spoke for over an hour with the FBI agent over the phone, I hadn’t let her out of my sight.

Mark had called the real estate agent a second time to tell him something had come up, and we couldn’t make it. He assured us that if someone else showed interest in the old small warehouse along Harbor Place, just on the other side of Casco Bay Bridge, he would call us right away. The place had been empty for three months and was the perfect space for us to set up shop. I’d discovered my garage had some serious limitations when I was building Viv’s table, and my father’s creations were fast filling up his shop as well. We needed more space, and Mark had found the place last week. The walk through would have to wait until I was sure Ruby was safe. Plenty of other spaces, should we lose out on this one, but only one Ruby and I’d like to keep her just the way she is.

She hadn’t complained much when I insisted she stay at my house, with Mark staying as well. The timing was of the essence, according to Mike. He wanted to be ready to take immediate action as soon as Ruby gave her official statement at their Boston office. After which, they planned to set us up in a safe house until they had everyone behind bars. Something the agent suspected, if they had time to pre-plan, wouldn’t take more than forty-eight hours at most. He hadn’t been too excited when I insisted sticking close to her, but I’d made it clear he could take it or leave it. Mark had just laughed and grabbed the phone from my hand, after which he smoothed things over with his buddy.

Yesterday, Pam had come by again. The second time in so many days. Just making sure Ruby had thought everything through, she said. I’ve got to say, I was more than just a little irritated she seemed to think this was anything but Ruby’s own idea. I made that clear to her when she accosted me in the kitchen. “I tried to stop her, you know?” I told her, when she walked in for a refill on her coffee.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Veldman,” she smarted back. “Wasn’t implying anything. You think maybe you’re projecting a little?” She ignored my loud snort. “I’m putting Ruby through the third degree, because she has a tendency to want to please others. That’s something she knows she has to work on. She has to get out of that victim head space. I was merely making sure she wasn’t making decisions she thought others would want her to make. She’s carrying around a lot of guilt on her own, no need to add yours to it.”

That was a bit of a cold shower on the nice head of steam I’d built up. Sometimes I don’t like Pam, particularly when her arguments start to make sense. But most of the time I appreciate her brutal honesty—I just prefer it directed at someone else.

With a deep chuckle, Pam slapped me on the back and left me to stew on my own as she returned to the living room, fresh coffee in hand.

This morning the call had come in. Mike said everything was in place and they were ready for us. We were given directions to the FBI location in Boston, which ironically was located right around the corner from the U.S. Immigration Court. Ruby had fussed over what to wear, but Mom had come to the rescue with a few things she’d picked up for her. With bags packed for a few days, we’d hugged my mom goodbye, with promises to call.

“Baby, can I have my hand back for a second? I want to try and get some feeling back.” Mark snickers in the backseat as Ruby drops my hand like it’s on fire.

“I’m sorry! Was I squeezing too hard?”

“It’s okay. You can have it back in a minute,” I promise her, while flexing my fingers to restore blood flow. “We’re almost there. See that building on the other side of the bridge? That big square looking thing? That’s TD Garden. The Bruins are playing the Maple Leafs tonight, that’s why traffic’s so bad. It’s only a couple of blocks further.”

“I’ve seen the building before, the club is not too far from here, I’ve just never seen a hockey game,” Ruby says, momentarily distracted as I’d hoped.

“I’ll take you,” I promise. Not that it’s a hardship—it’s been at least fifteen years since I was at a game. Her mention of the club reminded me she wasn’t exactly new to Boston, something that hadn’t occurred to me when we started driving. Her increasingly panicked grip on my hand made a bit more sense now. It’s not just the upcoming interview, this is her first return to Boston since she ran.

-

“C
an I have your full legal name for the record?”

Mike had been waiting when we came up from the parking garage, no doubt alerted by his team. Nice guy, although, not quite as funny as I remember him. Must be the job.

He’d suggested Mark and I grab something to eat while he talked to Ruby, but she wouldn’t have anything of it. Even insisted I be with her during the interview, her back straight and her little chin lifted high. Mark caught my eye and winked, both of us well aware of Ruby’s justifiable mistrust of law enforcement; amused if not impressed by the fact she was clearly stating her terms. The agent had no choice but to comply with her wishes and the smile on her face illustrated her little show of defiance went a long way to settling her nerves. Good for her.

“
Abril Rubí Soto
.”

R
uby

My heart had been pounding in my throat the entire way into the city, putting me on edge. Oddly, it had been more about returning to a place I’d run from many months ago, than it had been about the impending interview. So when the nice enough FBI agent tried to send away Tim and Mark, I didn’t hesitate telling him there’d be no interview unless Tim was beside me. Not really because I was scared to do it without him, but because I knew his presence would have a calming effect when I have to drag up things I don’t necessarily want to revisit. Besides, he’s the first to deserve to know everything about me. I won’t shut him out.

I was a bit surprised at his easy capitulation and couldn’t keep the smug smile off my lips, as I grabbed Tim’s hand and followed Agent Carmello into the small interview room.

Anyone walking in can judge from the piles of wadded up tissues on the table and the white knuckled clench Tim’s free hand had on the edge of the table, that this was not an easy interview. Some of the questions were really, really difficult. Especially those that dealt with the earlier years. Ironically, Mike’s questioning had run backward. Starting with the appearance of the Boston cop at The Skipper and following it back to the murder I’d witnessed. These events weren’t too difficult to discuss, since I’d spoken of them a few times before. But when it came to how I’d fallen in the hands of Carlos Delgado, it became more difficult. Especially when details are asked about my first introduction to the
calcuilchil.

“Let me recap quickly to here. The man you knew as Ricardo came to your farm, trying to convince you to come with him. When your father tried to intervene, this Ricardo shot both your father and your mother in front of you. You were then taken forcefully to Tenancingo...”

“Not really,” I whisper, feeling Tim’s hand spasm in mine. “I didn’t resist. I just let him take me.” The shame was almost too much to bear. I’d just witnessed my parents killed in cold blood, and I never even lifted a hand. Never resisted when Ricardo grabbed me by the arm and pulled me from the house. I even remember buckling up my own seatbelt, as if what just happened wasn’t even a blip on my radar.

“Ruby,” the agent says sternly, drawing my attention as he leans over the table. “You were a child and you were in shock. When that happens, your mind is not in control, and the body reverts to instinct out of self-preservation. Had you resisted, had you fought him, he would have hurt you. Maybe killed you. At least as far as you would have been able to know. You did the right thing at the time. Believe me.”

My eyes lift up and I see he is earnest. Tim slips his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Nothing else you could’ve done, Boop. Not a thing.” His mumble in my ear is reassuring.

I think of all the guilt I’ve lugged around on my shoulders all these years, this was the heaviest. The hardest to let go of. The
what-if
question is a dangerous game to play with your emotions, and I’ve been playing it far too long.

“For the first few months, I felt it was my penance, each time I was
trained.
Ironically, it helped me distance myself from what went on with my body. Like some kind of warped rosary I had to pray to receive absolution.” The memories seemed less difficult to relive with Tim’s comforting presence keeping me firmly rooted in the now. “I think it was probably a few months after I’d been at the villa that a new girl was brought in. She was probably even younger than I was. Was barely developed, yet some of the regulars seemed to be especially drawn to her almost prepubescent body. By the second week, the fear had gone from her eyes and was replaced with an empty stare. It scared me. She stopped eating, stopped walking, and she’d void herself without moving from her spot. The guards tried everything, but it was like she just wasn’t there anymore. Her body was, but her spirit had disappeared. After only two weeks. she’d willed herself to stop living.”

“Jesus,” I hear Tim hissing beside me.

“And when I started fighting,” I explain to them. “The furthest I got was to the corner of the street one time. They found me hidden in the bushes four houses down. That cost me a broken leg, but that didn’t stop them from
training
me. Eventually, I gave up trying to escape. It was just easier to comply.”

“How long had you been there?” Mike wants to know.

“Not sure, maybe two years?”

Several times Tim urged me to take a break, but now that I’d started, I didn’t want to stop. It became easier to talk with each subsequent question. I wanted it all out. Be done with it. At least for now, since Mike made it clear that the likelihood I’d have to testify, at some point, was high. I wasn’t going to worry about that now though.

A little over six hours after we started, Mike turns the video recorder off. “You did really well, Ruby. I’m going to make sure the team escorting you to a safe location is ready to take you.”

I barely hear what he says. I’m exhausted. I lean into Tim’s body and close my eyes.

-

T
he house they take us to is pretty nondescript. Like many of its kind in Boston, the brownstone is the same as the others in its row. Tim and I are installed on the second floor, with our own bathroom and small kitchenette, while the first floor and the third floor are occupied by agents. Three in all, by my count, but there could be more. One woman and two men, but I can’t remember their names. I’m too tired to retain any information it seems.

It’s suggested by the female agent that we rest a bit before dinner, which apparently is being made for us, despite the fact it’s got to be close to nine at night. It all feels a little surreal, and a sideways glance at Tim makes it clear he’s decidedly uncomfortable with the situation. It’s a stark reminder to me of what he is willing to endure on my behalf.