Visible Threat (9 page)

22

T
HE INTERVIEW WAS GRUELING.
Ivana spoke for herself, with Helena standing by in case she was needed. Jack felt the girl’s pain spoken in her own words. She kept her gaze downcast as he asked the questions. When she did look up, it was to one of the women present
 
—Helena, Brinna, or Elisa.

“Why did you agree to leave Bulgaria and come here?”

“Demitri promised us jobs and a new life.”

“Did he tell you where you would work?”

“He made many promises.”

“When did you realize he was lying?”

“When the boat docked. He took our papers and then gave us both beatings.”

“And after that?”

“He took us to that house where the men . . .”

She broke down as she recounted rape sessions
 
—usually with one man at a time, but once or twice she and her sister were forced to endure gang rape. Any resistance or show of attitude to the men resulted in beatings. What she’d been
through in the time she’d been in the United States was heart-wrenching. Even more so when she told them all the promises this Demitri character had made her: money, a good job, a wonderful apartment, expensive clothes, clubs every night, freedom.

She’d walked willingly into hell, thinking it would be heaven.

The girl’s strength as she shared impressed Jack but angered him at the same time. That someone like Demitri could so use these women and treat them so harshly made him wish he had the man in front of him.

And the frustration set in as he realized that while they had a list of crimes to charge Demitri with, and a strong witness in Ivana, she could offer them no solid way to find him. She couldn’t even tell them the location of the house that she ran from.

He saw how the girl’s story touched Brinna as well and wanted to hug both of them to assure them the monster would be stopped. Was that chauvinistic? he wondered.

“That was rough,” he said to Brinna after they finished. All in all, they’d been with Ivana for an hour and a half. Jack felt as though he’d run a marathon.

“Yeah, it was.” She leaned against the wall next to the elevator and looked sapped of strength. “But the tone of your voice seemed to help a lot, Jack. You didn’t scare her like Chuck did.”

“She was afraid of her own shadow, poor thing. I know Chuck wasn’t trying to be scary.”

Brinna nodded in agreement.

“Hey, I think I owe you lunch.” Jack wanted to make her smile. Did her face brighten? He hoped so. “Right now I want to get all my reports to the DA. I’ll call you later and we’ll make arrangements for sometime soon, okay?”

“Sounds good.” He got the smile from her he wanted when they parted ways in the lobby. Jack mentally scrolled through his schedule, hoping to make time for the lunch date.

*   *   *

“Everything the girl said fits trafficking,” Jack told Ben as they drove back to the station. “She was promised legitimate work here, but once she arrived, she was forced into prostitution.”

“Too bad she couldn’t be more clear about where she was being held.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, bad luck that. But then she was terrified, running for her life, so it’s not surprising she can’t describe the house.” He rubbed his chin, chest still tight as he thought about the vicious deception.

Surprisingly she wasn’t as young as she looked; she was eighteen, an adult
 
—a cruelly exploited young adult. Her missing sister was four years older. When she’d described her sister, his heart had sunk with the realization that their Alice was most likely Villie. He’d decided to wait until Ivana was stronger before bringing a picture to her for a positive ID.

“How long will they keep her in the hospital?” Ben asked.

“Another day, then Immigration and Customs Enforcement will take over. Since she’s a victim of trafficking, Elisa
is searching for a women’s shelter and will keep her whereabouts confidential.”

“Is that the best idea? She’s a possible witness for us on Alice. Will we have access if we need it?”

“They just want to keep her safe and make her feel secure, and a women’s shelter is a perfect nongovernmental agency. But I can see how it might be hard to reach her in a hurry if we need to.” Jack drummed on the dash with his fingers and thought for a minute. “We need another viable alternative.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

“What?”

“Brinna. She’s off work; she’s got room. What say we talk her into taking the girl in, watching her for a bit? ICE shouldn’t have a problem with the victim being released into the private home of a cop. And Brinna’s address should be safe from discovery.” Jack wouldn’t admit that this line of reasoning was also selfish. The more Brinna was involved with the case, the more he had an opportunity to be around her.

“Yeah, but Brinna might not like it. She’s all for protecting kids, but
 
—”

“This affected her; I could tell. I bet she was thinking about all the teens she’s been involved with who ran away from home because someone promised them something, only to be exploited or murdered. She’ll be up for it.”

“Hope you’re right, because it does sound like a good plan.”

23

B
RINNA AND
M
AGGIE LEFT
the hospital around two thirty. Maggie was so quiet during the ride to her condo, Brinna worried she was sick and asked if she felt okay.

“Not sick. Just restless and not able to sit still.”

“What are you going to do? Go back to the hospital?” Brinna asked when they pulled into Maggie’s complex.

“I’ll be worthless until I know what’s going on with Rick. At least if I stay at the hospital, I can help Molly if she needs anything.”

“Do you want me
 
—?”

“No. You’re dead on your feet, Brin. Go get some sleep.”

“Call me if you need me for anything at all.”

Maggie only nodded and climbed out of the car.

Brinna sat in her car and watched her friend disappear into the condo. Nothing they’d heard about Rick’s condition had been conclusive, and she knew that weighed on Maggie. Rick had come through the surgery all right, but his paralysis
was still a question mark. It was the elephant in the room neither of them could bring up.

Yawning, Brinna headed home. When she arrived and before she got out of the car, she called her mother. Asking for prayer was not easy; it was still something Brinna was trying to learn. Somehow it was easier to just leave a message on her mother’s voice mail.

“Mom, hey, I’m back home from the hospital. Rick, Maggie’s partner, had some serious surgery on his back. Could you pray? I mean . . . well, I don’t want him to be paralyzed, so . . .”

She kept the line open until there was a beep and then closed her phone, hoping Mom would understand. She trudged into the house feeling as though her shoes were made of lead. She wished with all her heart that Rick would recover completely. Surely the best doctor in the country could accomplish that, couldn’t he?

Once inside, Hero wanted a walk, but she didn’t have the energy to give him one. He had to settle for a trip out to the backyard. Trying to clear her mind, she lay down in bed. She closed her eyes, and sleep fell like a hammer.

*   *   *

The phone woke her around four thirty. Still sore after the power nap, Brinna moved slowly to pick up the receiver. It was her mother.

“Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

“Just wondering how you’re doing. When I spoke to Maggie this morning, she said you and Rick had been
through an awful lot. I got your message, and of course I’ll pray.”

Brinna felt herself flush
 
—not sure why
 
—but she was glad her mother was on the phone. A feeling rolled over her that she didn’t want to admit having. A feeling that in the past she would have beat out of herself by engaging in a heart-pumping kayak paddle or a knee-crushing run. One look at her cast reminded her that she wouldn’t be out in the kayak anytime soon, and her aching bruises would preclude a run. Biting her lip, mindful that her mother waited for a response, she caved in to the fact that she couldn’t deny the feeling.

She wanted her mom.

“I’m not doing so good, Mom. I ache all over, and I’m worried about Rick.” And there was also the situation with Hero, which she hadn’t yet told her mother about. Sighing, she leaned back against her pillow, receiver held tight to her ear. A solitary tear fell, and she wondered if her mom heard her voice break ever so slightly.

Rose’s words were soothing, coming from the woman who had kissed boo-boos and washed hurts. “I know this is hard for you. I know how close the three of you are. Want some company?”

Brinna squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Have you eaten? I just made chicken and dumplings. I could pick up some corn bread on the way over, and we can have dinner. How does that sound?”

Despite the feelings of hurt and frustration, the dinner offer made Brinna crack a smile. “Sounds great, Mom.”

“Be over in about twenty minutes.”

Brinna hung the phone up, allowing relief to course through her veins. Mom was coming, and she would bring comfort food.
One of my favorites,
she thought.
Creamy chicken soup with thick chunks of meat and plump dumplings topped off with warm corn bread spread with honey butter.
Where food was concerned, her mother never missed the mark.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her face in her hands, Brinna hated admitting she needed her mom as much as she hated feeling helpless about Rick and Hero. A few months ago it would have been Milo she called, her mentor. Milo would have known what to say to give Brinna confidence that Rick would be okay. Milo would have known how to help her shake this helpless feeling.

But Milo was dead. He’d taken his own life, and while Brinna was forced to accept it, she would never understand it. She stood and walked across the hall to her office. Ten missing posters lined her Innocent Wall. She studied each face, an exercise that usually helped pump her full of anger and indignation, emotions that made her feel strong, made her feel like charging to the rescue.

But it didn’t help. No matter what, she couldn’t charge to Rick’s rescue. Or Maggie’s. Or her own.

“I hate this!” Brinna cried as she threw herself into her chair. The tears came, and she couldn’t stop them.

When Hero padded softly into the room, Brinna fell to her knees and hugged him, letting the tears fall into his soft fur. Since there was no stopping the storm, all Brinna could hope was that it would blow over by the time her mother arrived.

24

A
REPORT WAS SITTING
on Jack’s desk when he and Ben returned to the office. It was the lab analysis of the blanket Brinna had recovered from the first crime scene. Ben picked up the phone to call Chuck and run the Ivana-staying-with-Brinna scenario by him.

“Hey, look at this,” Jack said, stopping Ben mid-dial. “This blanket is European, and the lab was even able to compile a list of possible vendors.” He turned the report to show Ben. “There’s only one place anywhere close to us, a place in Shoreline Village: Black Sea Folk Art and Collectibles. They import stuff from Bulgaria, of all places. Did you know that?”

Ben shook his head. “I’m not a collectible kind of guy. This may be a great lead. Usually immigrant people band together, stay close to things that are familiar. But if these girls were prisoners, they never would have been let near that shop.”

“I’m not thinking they went anywhere near the shop; I’m thinking more that whoever smuggled them might go near the shop. Or
 
—” Jack took a deep breath
 
—“it’s possible the
shop is the key, the front for trafficking. Maybe they don’t stop at importing folk art.”

“That’s a stretch, partner. We’d need a lot more information to make that stick.”

“Let’s get it, then. Power up the computer and look up this place. You’re better at the utilities search. I’ll call Chuck.”

“Okay, boss.” Ben grinned. “It sure is good to have my partner back operating at 100 percent. Even giving orders.” He slapped Jack on the shoulder and then sat and logged on to the computer.

Jack smiled, thinking it felt good to be back. It was hard to imagine that a few months ago he’d begged to be taken out of homicide. He dialed Chuck’s number and quietly prayed a prayer of thanks for the person who’d helped bring him out of his pit of despair and send him back to work with a new mission and purpose.

Brinna Caruso.

*   *   *

The chicken soup was wonderful and therapeutic. Brinna had two helpings, with thick slices of corn bread drenched in honey butter. Afterward she was content to curl up on the couch, feeling stuffed to bursting, while her mother brewed some coffee. Hero trotted into the room, and Brinna did something she rarely allowed
 
—she invited him up on the couch. As he made a spot for himself at her feet, she sighed, relaxing for the first time all day.

“Now I know you’re having a rough time,” Rose Caruso said as she slid into Brinna’s recliner.

“What do you mean by that?” Brinna asked.

“Well, it’s one thing to let me bring you dinner; it’s another thing entirely for you to let me make the coffee. You’re incredibly territorial about how your coffee is brewed. You must be distracted if you trust me to do it right.”

Brinna smiled and realized her mom was right. But she was just too tired to argue over coffee and knew that whatever her mom gave her would be fine.

“Yeah, yesterday ranks up there among the worst days of my life. I almost got myself killed; I put myself out of commission by breaking my wrist, and by the time it’s healed, Hero will likely be gone; and
 
—” she sighed as she sat up and faced her mother
 
—“my best friend’s partner may be paralyzed for the rest of his life, and it’s my fault.” As the words spilled out, the helpless feeling roared back with a vengeance.

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Rick. Both of you took a chance. Both of you believed you were doing the right thing for the person in trouble at the time.”

Brinna groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I hate to admit it, and I’d never say this in front of Maggie, but I’d probably do the same thing again. The result was, the girl is alive.” Grabbing a pillow, Brinna hugged it to herself and rocked forward as pain gripped her chest in a vise. “Still, I can’t help but think about Rick’s family. He’s got kids, a wife. This can’t happen to him.”

Rose stood and moved to the couch, sitting between Hero and Brinna and resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t wish that kind of injury on anyone. And I cringe inside when I think about some of the decisions you make.
But the bottom line is, in this case, by making a dangerous decision, the two of you succeeded in saving a life. Second-guessing the consequences of that decision will get you nowhere.”

The coffee beeped its completion, and Brinna sucked in a breath, fighting for all she was worth to hold her composure.
I’ve cried enough today. If I start again, I might not stop, and it will solve nothing.
She flung the pillow aside and headed for the kitchen. “I need some caffeine,” she called to Rose over her shoulder.

Hands shaking as she poured, Brinna considered her mother’s words and her own thought process. She thought back to her smug response to Maggie after the Henry Corliss pursuit. She’d been proud of the fact that she’d beaten the odds, saved Nikki, and arrested Corliss without anything bad happening. Nikki was safe; that was all that mattered to her then. Now, today, Ivana was safe, but Rick had been crippled.

I don’t feel so smug today.

How do I reconcile these two feelings? We kept her from ending up in the ocean. Could we have let her sweep by to her death?

Brinna knew the answer would be no for Rick, just like it was for her. Taking several deep breaths, she calmed some of the emotion raging within. Carrying her black coffee and a cup for her mother with cream and sugar, she went back to the living room.

Handing her mom the coffee, then taking a sip of her own, Brinna sat down again and picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “You’re right, Mom, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Why did this have to happen to Rick
when he saved a life? It was a worthwhile risk, but why does the good guy have to get hurt doing the right thing?”

“I can’t answer the why,” Rose said softly. “I wish I could. But you know things happen for a reason. Even bad things. Maybe we can’t see it now, but God is in control.”

“Sometimes I think I get that, but other times . . .” Brinna threw her injured hand up and then flinched because the movement caused a stab of pain through her wrist. “I really want to ask God why he lets horrible things happen to good people.”

“Ask. He answers.” Rose smiled. “Bad things happen to everyone. No one by their behavior can store up any immunity from disaster or tragedy. All any of us can control is how we respond when tough times come. This does not diminish God or his sovereignty in my mind.”

Brinna bit her lip and tried to wrap her mind around something she’d heard from her mother and her brother, Brian. She had to admit their faith seemed rock solid; they never freaked out, no matter what.

It came back to the defining incident of her life. Something she refused to let rule her life but something that was nonetheless always in the background. When she trusted herself to speak, she looked at her mother and worked to keep her voice level. “Why did he let me be abducted and molested? I was only six. How is a six-year-old supposed to respond to something like that?”

A stricken look crossed over Rose’s face, and her shoulders stiffened. Letting out a breath of air, she swallowed and held Brinna’s gaze. “I can only say this about what happened to
you all those years ago. Look at how it has shaped you
 
—made you compassionate and caring, made you the crusader for children that you are, and made you willing to lay your life on the line for others.” Rose wiped the tears that began to spill down her cheeks.

“When I became a parent, I wanted to shield my children from every pain. I’m sure when you have kids, you’ll feel the same. That one incident proved to me how truly powerless I was in that regard. But as horrible as it was, and as much as I wish it had never happened, I can’t deny that some good has come from it. And for the good, I thank God.” Rose sniffled and grabbed some Kleenex.

A lump grew in Brinna’s throat, and she looked away. The doorbell saved her from further confrontation. She rose to answer it, wishing under her breath for good news on this dark day.