“I don’t see how we can avoid it,” he said.
“Why do you sound skeptical?”
“Because we don’t have much yet. I want to run the photos Barrow gave us, and we may have a drive to Del Rio ahead of us. I wish I could pull in the Laredo office, but Barrow was right about one thing-there’s a problem with ICE here, and our office is providing assistance. Headquarters is well aware of the problem, and they’re handling it. The last thing we need is to tip their hand and jeopardize their internal investigation.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I’ve known since I got here.” He glanced at her as he pulled into a parking slot. “Part of being not only the boss, but tasked with cleaning house. But what it means for us, if Rick wants us on this investigation, I have to pull from my squad-and that means shifting and prioritizing other cases. I don’t have to tell you we’re severely understaffed.”
Not only were they down an agent, but the Violent Crimes Squad in every FBI office had been cut back drastically when the FBI reprioritized counter-terrorism as their number one focus.
As soon as they got out of the car, Siobhan exited the hotel and ran up to them. “I just got back from the hospital. Someone broke into my hotel room and stole my computer. And my camera. But we’re going to find those bastards. I have GPS tracking on both.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marisol was sleeping in an old barn when a sound woke her. She didn’t know what time it was; she didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. She feared she had an infection. She was hot and achy and had no energy. Everything she’d planned was falling apart. She didn’t know how long she’d walked, how many miles, but she’d found this barn after two nights and knew she needed to sleep.
Light flitted through the beams. Either the sun was rising or the sun was setting. She didn’t know which way she faced.
Two men were talking outside the barn. She froze. They’d found her.
They spoke English, clear as day.
“The damn tractor broke down again Friday. I just said what the hell, but I can’t afford a new one.”
“I can fix it, Dad. I wish you’d called me earlier.”
“You’re busy, son. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’m not so busy I can’t fix your tractor. What do you think is wrong with it?”
“I thought the alternator, but that’s not it. Checked the oil and fluids and all that. It turns on, but it doesn’t have any umph.”
“So technical.” The younger man laughed.
The doors of the barn opened and more light came in. Marisol didn’t move. She was partly buried under the hay; maybe they wouldn’t see her.
They were chatting, a father and son who cared for each other. Metal clanged against metal. The tractor started up. It sounded as sick as she felt. “I see the problem,” the son said. “I’ll just need to get a couple parts. I’ll pick them up tomorrow after work. Won’t take me more than an hour or two.”
“I appreciate it, Johnny. Really, I do.”
“Next time, call me before you start dicking around with the engine. I don’t mind. It feels good to get my hands dirty again.”
There was some rustling. “Dad, did you cut yourself?”
“No.”
“This is blood.”
Marisol began to shake. Oh God, they were going to find her. How could she save her sister if she was in jail? Or what if the bad police sent her back to those people? She couldn’t trust anyone. Who would believe her? Who would know the truth when the truth was so difficult believe?
“Dad.”
The voice was right there, right in front of her. She opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, but she saw him. The son. He was tall, so very tall. He dressed well, had his sleeves rolled up. There was a grease mark on his white shirt. His dad stood behind him. Also very tall. Dressed in old jeans and a faded plaid shirt.
“We’re not going to hurt you.” The son squatted. “My name is John Honeycutt. This is my dad, George.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She used English, because she didn’t want these people to think she was an immigrant. That she needed to be deported. She wanted to be deported, she wanted to leave this country as soon as possible, but not without Ana. She couldn’t leave without her sister.
And she couldn’t leave without her baby.
“It’s okay,” John Honeycutt said.
“I’ll tell your mom to get a plate ready,” George said.
“No, I’ll go. Please, I don’t want any trouble.” Marisol sat up. Too quickly, because she felt dizzy and stumbled.
John reached out for her, but she pulled back and fell into the hay.
“What’s your name?”
She didn’t want to answer.
“You’re flushed, you have a fever. When have you last eaten?”
“I have food,” she said and glanced over at the bag that she’d been using as a pillow.
“John,” George said. The two men looked at each other and spoke without saying anything. The same way she and Ana could communicate.
“Please, I’ll leave, I want no trouble. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“We can get you help.”
“No!” She didn’t want to shout at them, but they didn’t understand. There was no one to help. No one to trust. “I beg you, do not call the police. I-” What could she say? She couldn’t fight these men. She could barely speak. She was sick, she didn’t know what to do.
“All right,” John said, “I won’t call the police.”
She didn’t know if she could believe him.
“If you let me take you inside, give you some food and water, then you can leave in the morning.”
She glanced outside. It was dusk.
She nodded. “Can I-can I use a phone?”
“Of course you may.” He held out his hand to help her up.
She took it and winced. She was so sore, so shaky on her feet.
“What happened to you, girl?” George asked.
“Dad,” John said quietly.
“Marisol. My name is Marisol.” She looked down at her torn dress and the sweater she’d stolen from a car she’d passed near the church. She saw what they saw-the blood. So much blood.
“You need a doctor.”
“No. No. I’m okay.”
“Dad, go ahead and tell Mom we’re bringing Marisol in.”
George left. John helped her walk across the field to the house. She hadn’t realized when she arrived how close the house was. She’d come in the middle of the night… how long had she slept in the hay?
“I’m a teacher,” John said. “I teach math and science in town. I’m not going to hurt you, but you need help. If you want to talk, I’m a good listener. So are my parents. They’re good people. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?”
She nodded, surprised that she did believe him. No one had shown her such kindness in years. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning on him, surprised she wasn’t more terrified. “I have someone to call. Someone who can help. Just-please don’t call the police. Please. My sister’s life depends on it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“She can stay with us indefinitely.” Sean Rogan looked at the time-already eight at night. “Are you leaving now?”
He glanced over at Nate Dunning, one of the agents in Lucy’s office, who had stopped writing his to-do list for the wedding and was listening to their conversation.
“Noah is wrapping things up with the deputy,” Lucy said. “Processing a motel room is next to impossible-I don’t think they’re going to get much from here. Siobhan has GPS on her equipment, and we tracked them. Destroyed. We have to come back tomorrow, though. I’ll find her a safer hotel to stay in-this motel is clean, but the security is nearly nonexistent.”
“Not surprised. I have a few ideas-I’ll work on them before you get here.”
“You’re wonderful.”