Bella paused outside Hashemi's office, not at all ashamed that she wasn't above eavesdropping. When she heard the click of his phone, she hurried back to her office. Hashemi was playing footsies with Homeland Security and something had happened. The reference to the drivers meant a snafu in the system.
At her desk she reached for her phone. "Slater, anything new on the girls?"
She knew something was wrong by the prolonged silence on the other end of the line.
"I'll be right up," he said. "Wait for me."
"Slater, what the -?" The line went dead.
What was going on? And how did the Department of Homeland Security learn something before the D.A.'s office did? Damn, she should be the first contact person on any new development, but she knew DHS had their sneaky little spies everywhere. Slater had better have a good reason for keeping information from her.
By the look on his face a few minutes later, Bella knew he did. He shut the office door behind him, but remained standing, his arms dangling at his side. He looked tired, spent, and worried. A worried Slater was not something Bella was accustomed to seeing.
"What?" she said, rising from her chair, leaning her fingertips on the desk blotter. "What's going on?" She heard the rising panic in her voice, felt a strange buzzing in her ears as her fingers and toes went deathly cold.
"Sit down, Bella."
"Damn you, Slater! I'm not some fragile doll that breaks under the pressure of bad news."
Slater sank into the arm chair opposite her. "Nevada County assisted in arresting the van drivers and taking the girls into protective custody." That he avoided her eyes was a bad sign. "During the transport from the hospital to the jail this morning, a van forced the transporting vehicles off the road. There were six of them armed with semi-automatics. Very quick, very professional."
Bella dropped into her chair and buried her face in her hands. My god, how could this have happened? After a moment, she raised her head. "How did they know? How could they possibly get to them so fast?"
Slater shook his head and rounded the desk to put his large hands on her shoulders. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "It's not your fault, Bella. Hell, no one's to blame."
At that moment Hashemi strode into the room, his face a grim reflection of Slater's. "You heard?" He sat carefully in the chair Slater had just vacated and scrubbed his hands down his face. "Christ, it was a bloodbath."
Bella winced and felt her shoulders start to shake.
"A little tact, Hashemi, all right?" Behind her Slater's voice sounded harsh.
Rafe's eyes met hers across the desk. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
He shifted restlessly in the chair, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "At least there's some good news. God knows how, but one of the girls escaped the attack. I didn't get that from DHS. They think everyone's dead. My agents have her under guard at a local hospital. No one knows about her." He paused meaningfully. "And no one knows about the heroin."
"You don't trust anyone," Slater confirmed. "The department, DEA, DHS, anyone could be dirty."
Rafe nodded.
"How is she?" Bella asked.
"Stable, and she'll survive," Rafe answered. "When she's well enough, we'll transport her to a safe house in Placer Hills, probably tomorrow. I've got two of my best men watching her."
"She'll need round the clock protection," Slater said. "I'll put Harris on it. He can be trusted."
Hashemi nodded. "If Vargas can get to the van like that and take out potential witnesses so fast… hell, he can get to anyone."
"Not to Harris." Slater turned to look out Bella's window, his shoulders set and his face pensive. "You've got a major leak, Hashemi. You need to plug it up before more people get killed."
"Don't you think I know that?" Rafe's face turned dark and an angry blush crept up from his white collar. "God, I want Vargas so bad I can taste it."
Bella rose and walked around the desk, leaning against the edge. "Vargas is a maniac, an insane madman. We'll get him on any charge we can make stick." They all realized it was a kind of truce.
Slater moved across the room and paused at the door. "I've got county business looming ahead of me," he said with a wry smile, "but I'll personally oversee the transport of the girl."
Bella nodded. "We can't let anything happen to her."
"It won't." Slater walked down the hall, his shoes clicking loudly on the linoleum flooring.
Bella and Rafe were silent for long minutes after he'd left. The weight of this latest discovery lay between them like a fog of grief and disappointment.
"Come on, Torres," he finally said. "Let's have that late breakfast."
"I'm not hungry," she murmured.
"Early lunch, then," he wisecracked, but she could see his heart wasn't in it.
Last night Bella had started putting together a proposal for using Santos as a wedge against Vargas. Dangerous business, but she was convinced Vargas' only weakness was his reliance on Santos. And she'd seen something in the bodyguard's flat, dark eyes that had spoken to her in some crazy way. She wanted to approach him alone.
Without his boss around. Without anyone knowing what she was doing.
Santos did not mind the intrusion of the attractive Latina ADA into his personal life. He had not completely forgotten how to admire a pretty, young woman. What he minded very much, however, was the uncanny resemblance the woman bore to the dead girl whose picture he carried with him always.
ADA Torres approached him at his home, a sacrosanct habitat. At first, this seemed a violation. The persistent ringing of the doorbell interrupted his dinner, and he ignored the annoying sound for a while, but when it appeared the intruder would not leave, he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, tucked his handgun into the back of his trousers, and looked through the peephole before opening the door.
The woman occupied the small landing to his condominium like an avenging angel, holy retribution surrounding her like a refiner's fire. ¡Ay, madre del Dios! This one was a starving dog with a scrap of bone. She would not go away.
"Assistant District Attorney Torres." He barred his teeth and looked down his nose at her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
The strap of her purse hung over her shoulder and even in her high heels she barely reached his chest. She planted both fists on slender hips. "We need to talk."
"We have nothing to say to each other."
"I think we do, Mr. Santos."
He grinned then, amused that such a little one could be so fierce a warrior. She reminded him of little Cory when she tried to defy her father. "Why should I talk to the district attorney's office? To do so would only disadvantage me."
He moved to shut the door on her, but she inserted her foot into the doorway. He glanced down, back up to her face again, and flashed a warning. "That is a dangerous move, Ms. Torres. Perhaps you should reconsider invading my home in this bellicose manner."
"Bellicose?" The woman smiled mockingly. "You have a fancy repertoire of language, Santos." He noticed she'd dropped the courteous salutation. "Perhaps you should consider how much trouble you and your boss are in."
"And why should you concern yourself with our troubles?"
"Let me in and I'll explain."
He assaulted her with his eyes, hoping to intimidate her. "As I explained, there is no advantage to me in giving you access to my home."
"How will you know if you don't hear what I have to say?" When he hesitated, she pressed her advantage. "Five minutes. If you don't like what I say, I'll leave."
What was it about this one that caused him to open his door to her, to gesture her into the entry and then into the small kitchen where he prepared tamales and a giant salad? He could only conclude that she had piqued his curiosity. Why else would he make so incautious a gesture?