Bella shifted her stance, looked away. "So? What do you want me to say? That you've worked for an animal like Diego Vargas for enough years that you've become an animal, too?" She hadn't intended to vomit up the pain so caustically.
A faint smile carved his beautifully damaged mouth, but he said nothing.
"I've drafted a deal. Are you ready to look at it?" she asked sharply.
After a long silence, he said, apropos of nothing, "I have a picture. You look very like her."
Bella trembled and covered her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn't pretend not to understand and was furious about the possibility that a man like Santos had a picture of her beloved sister.
Silently she held out her hand while he reached inside his pocket and placed a snapshot carefully in the center of her palm, closing her fingers over the worn edges.
She peered at the photo, not really able to make out the features. Perhaps it was a picture of Maria. Or it could be her mind playing tricks on her.
"How did you get this?" she demanded.
"I will tell you that later," he said, "after our agreement is complete. I can tell you what happened to her. I imagine that information would be very valuable to you."
"I can't bargain with you for personal reasons," she answered even as her fingernails dug into her palms and the beginning of a plan scurried through her mind.
"But you can bargain with me to get El Vaquero. Consider the information about Maria a bonus. And perhaps you will feel generous enough to give me a bonus in return during your negotiations."
She knew he spoke the truth when he mentioned her sister's name. "You bastard," she whispered as he retrieved the photo from her lifeless fingers.
"Yes," he said, "that is true, for my father never married my mother. Think about what I can give you. Not only Diego Vargas but… "
He spread his hands in an old-world gesture and smiled with those beautiful white teeth, but the look in his eyes reminded her of a snake ready to strike.
"Uncle Santos?" The voice over the cell phone was small, quiet, and sounded very, very young and frightened.
Santos was shocked to hear Cory's voice on his cell number because only Diego and a few close advisors contacted him by this means. "Ay, Cory, mi pequena muchacha querida. ¿Cómo estás?"
"Okay, I guess." She sniffled. She had been weeping.
"How did you get this number, little one?"
"I have Papa's phone," she whispered. He could imagine the small girl, slender and dark like her mother, hunched over the phone, fighting back tears she could not quite control.
"Where is your papa?"
"He's sleeping. He snores real loud." She paused and then rushed on in a tumble of words. "Uncle Santos, he's been drinking… a lot."
"Where is he, Cory?" he repeated.
"He… he's in my bed," she sobbed, "and I can't go to sleep because he's so loud."
A rage wholly unfamiliar to Santos squeezed his chest. Rage mixed with a helplessness also alien to him strangled his breathing. Pinche cabrón, he ranted silently as he had many times before about his boss.
But this time, he vowed silently, the pig would be stopped.
Rafe followed the directions Max had given him to the house in South Highland Heights.
Max greeted him at the door of a ramshackle stucco dwelling whose lawn needed mowing and whose trim needed painting. "So, the Vargas case is a mess, huh? Good thing I'm here to solve it for you."
"Yeah, man, I could use a fresh set of eyes." Rafe looked around the porch landing at the general air of neglect and lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. He knew Max was a neat freak.
"Uh, listen, this is my grandma's place. She's in a nursing home, but her only son, my Uncle Brian, hasn't gotten around to selling the house yet. He's letting me bunk here for a while in exchange for keeping an eye on the place."
"Sounds great. I'm in that lousy extended-stay motel."
"Hey, Hashish, why don't you grab your stuff and stay with me? It'll be great, just like old times at Stanford."
Rafe hesitated, wanting to spend time with Isabella, but wondering if they'd complicated matters by moving their relationship up a notch. On the other hand, maybe distance would be good until the case settled.
He wasn't ready to share his feelings about her with anyone just yet. Even with his best friend.
And, on top of everything, at the far back of his mind, that little warning jiggled. "Hell, why not?" he finally answered.
He left Isabella a voice message, giving her details of where he'd be, explained that his old friend needed him, and he'd contact her after she sealed the deal with the informant. Caution made him leave out Gabriel Santos' name.
This would buy him time, he told himself. He'd know when he looked Max directly in the eye. His old friend couldn't lie straight to his face and get away with it.
But the cold suspicion that maybe he'd been betrayed chilled his heart.
Chapter Thirty-five
Very early the next morning the second meet with Santos took place in Bella's office at the courthouse. She hadn't seen Rafe since yesterday, but he'd left a cryptic voice message. She'd deal with that after she solidified the negotiation with Santos.
John Sanderson, who normally filled the desk clerk duties, had taken temporary command of the sheriff's office since neither Slater nor Harris had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. Sanderson arranged for extra guards to be assigned at all the courthouse entrances.
After Santos had been patted down, carefully searched for weapons, and secretly admitted through a side entrance, he was led past the metal detectors to the stairs leading to Bella's office on the second floor. She was determined no one would know about the clandestine meeting with Diego Vargas' second in command.
Two armed guards stood at attention outside her office along with Sanderson. His bald head gleamed wetly in the overhead lights while his ebony face reflected his disapproval of Santos' presence in his precinct.
After the formalities, the two attorneys measured one another across the expanse of Bella's desk. She retrieved a sheet of paper from a military green file folder and slid it carefully across the desk. Santos relaxed in the comfortable arm chair as if he hadn't a care in the world.
He narrowed his eyes and reached for the paper, never looking down, but piercing her with a sharp, cunning appraisal. "What is this?" he asked.
"The terms of your plea bargain agreement." Bella leaned back in her desk chair, her elbows on the arm rests, her fingertips bouncing lightly against one another. She had taken the death penalty off the table.
Like yesterday, she was oddly lacking in fear around Santos, even though a general air of malevolence hung around him like a carnivorous bird of prey. She'd recovered from the shock of seeing Maria's photo, and today she felt in control. She recognized the last rolling momentum of the case against Diego Vargas and knew it would lead to a triumphant end.
Santos would not refuse the deal.
She didn't know why she was so certain of this. Perhaps it was the pallor that showed beneath his dark skin or the erratic drumming of his long fingers on the desk that made her sure.
Something had tipped the scales in her favor and Santos was ready to cut a deal. He had made the first overture. He had shown her the photo.
When she'd called him this morning, she had detected an unfamiliar air of resignation in his voice.
"ADA Torres." His gravelly, formal voice had wafted over the phone line. "Verdad. I had just intended to call you."
"Really?" Bella forced coolness into her voice, desperately wanting to maintain control. "I'm glad to have saved you the trouble, Mr. Santos."