Five of Vargas' special requests stood there, all of them with blown pupils, leaning weakly on each other. Drugs, prolly. He woulda drugged 'em for the trip to keep them quiet.
"Take their clothes off," Diego ordered. "I want to see my merchandise."
The girls were dressed skimpy and it wasn't long before they were all naked, looking around the fancy sitting room with bruised eyes. Just babies, she thought. Flat-chested babies.
Jesus on a crutch, but what the hell could she do? She was just a old worn-out hooker, way past her prime. No one was gonna pay to screw her any more.
She turned away as Diego reached for the smallest girl.
Rafe stared at Isabella across the restaurant table and wondered how she could say nothing had happened between then, even though a few hours ago he'd tried to convince himself of the same thing. He'd kissed her, hell, fondled her in a pretty damned intimate way. How could he think nothing had happened? How could she think it?
Under other circumstances, it might've been everything. What they'd done last night seemed sexier than if he'd been inside her, pounding his urgent lusts into her more than willing body.
He coughed and got his head together. Water under the bridge. No point to that kind of thinking. Right now, he needed to find out whose blood was in that alley. Determine if his confidential informant was safe or…
"You're right," he said, reaching for the check and standing. "Let's put this behind us. And get the hell out of here."
Torres didn't hide the flash of surprise that crossed her face. "Sure," she said slowly. "Right now the important thing is to focus on the human trafficking case against Vargas."
Rafe sat back down, raised his eyebrows, and thought surely she was joking. "Human trafficking? How about a very big drug trafficking ring? One that puts the Colombian cartels to shame."
"Drugs?" Her voice pitched higher and he heard the strain under her words. "What are you talking about?"
"Diego Vargas and his use of the Norteños to create brand new drug routes into the country through California." He shrugged. "What else?"
"Illegal drugs have been around for decades. What we need to get Vargas on is the human trafficking." Her face was a study in astonishment. "Surely, you can't think the drug deals are more serious than the slavery of human beings?"
"I know we have completely different agendas, Torres," he said, slamming out of the booth, "but I thought you could be flexible."
She grabbed her purse and tried to stand face to face with him; her nose barely reached his chest. "If you think I'm going to let you grab Vargas on some half-assed drug deal, you're loco."
"Half-ass – listen, little miss know-it-all, I'm going to see that Vargas and his sidekick Santos go down for one of the biggest drug schemes since the beginning of the twentieth century."
Bella clutched her purse to her body and sputtered, "What did you call me?"
If she could've killed him with a look, he'd be dead. "Oh, right, how about Isabella, then?" He drew her name out as his voice dripped with sarcasm and he shoved past her, heading toward the cashier.
"¿Es todo aceptable, Sr. Hashemi?" the woman asked.
"Si, Angelina… "
"El alimento era muy delicioso," Bella interrupted. "¿Es usted el dueño de este restaurante?"
Before the surprised Angelina could respond, Rafe glared and grabbed Bella's arm, ushering her out of the restaurant. "Yes, the food is delicious, and Angelina's family owns the place. Are you trying to show off?"
"No," Bella, muttered, although she had been trying to regain some sort of control. Why should he assume she couldn't speak Spanish when she was obviously Latina. "Never mind that."
Rafe opened the car door and held it while she swung her legs inside. "I won't." He leaned close to her face. "Don't screw around with me on this case, Torres. It's too important." He slammed the car door before she could answer.
Bella decided to delay the argument until they got back to the DEA field office. After a serious discussion of the human trafficking issue, she would convince him it was the more serious charge to bring against Vargas. She hoped.
But when they arrived at the Roybal Building, Rafe simply reached across her lap and opened the car door – ever the gentleman, the jerk – and pointed to the curb. "This is it, then," he said. "I'll see you in Sacramento."
She turned toward the concrete steps leading up to the entrance, but realizing his intent, she looked back at him. "Wait a minute. What's going on here? I thought we were going to exchange information."
"We are," he grinned, "but obviously your information is tucked away somewhere up north. So I'll meet you there."
"But when? How are you getting there?"
His look clearly said those were stupid questions, and they were, she thought, but she'd been surprised at what seemed to be his hundred and eighty degree turnaround.
"Uh, I'd thought about swimming up the Pacific coast, but decided to drive instead," he mocked.
She ignored his tone. "Why not fly? It's quicker."
"I like the idea of having my own car in case I need to scout around somewhere."
She didn't like the sound of that. Was he planning on going off on his own and snooping into her case? Her doubt must've registered on her face because he said, "Don't worry, Torres. I'm not going to screw up what you've been working on. Besides, I have to make a stop in Stockton first."
"Stockton? Why?"
"We'll talk about it later."
"When are you coming?"
"In a few days," he answered while a car's horn blatted behind him.
"Will you bring your files?" she shouted as he drove off.
"Absolutamente." He grinned in what she took as a peace offering.
She had to admire his chutzpah. She walked through the building's entry doors, remembering that she'd left her briefcase in his office. Damn.
Less than an hour southwest of Sacramento, Rafe pulled off Highway 5 and took West Fremont Avenue to the dirt road at the edge of the river. He stood beside his car and gazed across the body of water to the docks of the Port of Stockton. He counted three freighter ships docked across the San Joaquin River and eleven docking bays.
Damn, this was way too busy a port. Vargas wouldn't be using Stockton Port for his drug running. If the cargo the drug traffickers brought in was unloaded in the northern part of the state, as his intel had suggested, Rafe figured there were four major possibilities – Stockton, Richmond, Oakland, and San Francisco.
The last three ports were large, the tonnage of their ports huge. They were subjected to thorough cargo inspections. Examinations too close to suit the drug businessman. Rafe needed to look at ports that weren't even ranked by tonnage, like Stockton and Redwood City.
If he intended to check out every port on his list, he'd be longer in getting to Bigler County than he'd anticipated. Short on manpower, he couldn't afford surveillance on more than two or three ports at a time and had to narrow the list down. Maybe he was wasting his time.
Lupe would have gotten the rest of the information by now. If his C.I. were alive. Max hadn't called since yesterday, meaning the blood work wasn't back from the lab. Rafe knew his informant wasn't safe at home with his pregnant girlfriend because he'd called her last night. Francisca was frantic with worry because she hadn't seen Lupe since he left her apartment on the night he met Rafe at Stuckey's Bar. She'd called frantically around to his friends and family.
No one had seen or heard from him.
Rafe cursed silently and dug his toes into the grainy dirt at the edge of the water. Then he jumped back in his car and merged onto Santa Monica Boulevard, taking Highway 5 north to Richmond. He'd scout one more port before he swung east from the coast toward Sacramento.