No One Heard Her Scream

shoving a pillow under her hips. When she resisted, he pinned her down.

'No, baby. You know I don't like it this way,' she protested, turning back to catch a look at him. But he didn't want to see her eyes, not now. Not with what he had in mind.

'Yeah, I do. Believe me, I do.' He forced her face into the mattress, a hand to the back of her head. 'But that never stopped me before, remember?'

With a sneer, he forced himself between her legs. Prepared to take what he wanted, he slipped on a condom and double-bagged himself to be safe. Until Sonja's demented obsession turned him off, she had been his equal in bed. He never knew a woman to match his sexual appetite. In fact, she had grown more deviant and harder to satisfy. So he learned to take what he wanted when they were together. His needs . . . his perversions. The only way Brogan retained control. Eventually, he called it off, tiring of her never-ending compulsions. Better to quit Sonja than find out he wasn't good enough anymore.

'Please, baby. You don't know what I got to say,' she pleaded, her voice muffled. Sonja tried to squirm free, but Brogan wrestled her into submission with an elbow. She argued, 'You're gonna thank me later, I swear.'

Her panic set in. She bucked under his weight, but Brogan showed no mercy.

'I don't want to wait. I'd rather thank you now. My way,' he whispered in her ear. With his teeth, he tugged at her earlobe, tasting blood. 'You deserve this . . . and so much more.'

From his experience, this crackpot bitch couldn't be trusted, so why start now? Brogan shoved into her and took her down payment on the past, watching as she clutched at the bedspread under the force of his 'gratitude.'

'Aarrgghhh,' she screamed into the pillow. Her body rocked under him. 'Stop. It hurts . . . stop!'

For old time's sake, Brogan started real slow. But as his anger mounted, so did he. Sonja tried crawling away, making things worse. He ramped up his abuse until she cried real tears, her face blotchy and red. Her knuckles blanched white, glazed in sweat as he humiliated her.

Sonja would think twice before contacting him again, regardless what she had to tell him.

If Cavanaugh kept his stash of girls here, Diego's heart wrenched with the thought of them held against their will in such a vile pit. The warehouse loomed on the horizon, looking more like an apparition. The bluish haze of moonlight washed over the scene, casting an eerie glow. Kids with too much time on their hands had broken many of the windows, but streetlights reflected off what remained. The mirrored light gave the impression the old building had eyes, luminous and vigilant.

Diego drove to the designated spot alongside the others. After parking his Mercedes, he got out and stripped off his light-colored sweater—no sense making himself a target. Underneath, he wore a black T-shirt. He joined the man in charge of the operation.

'You're late,' the FBI agent groused. Mike Draper tossed a Kevlar vest in his direction. 'And put this on. You're not getting shot up on my watch.'

Diego strapped into the vest and pulled out the latex gloves stuffed into a side pocket.

'What, you not getting enough fiber in your diet?' he theorized with a shrug, ignoring the 'stink eye' glare from the fed. 'Something came up. We ready to go in?' Snapping on his gloves, Diego fixed his eyes on the warehouse.

Draper would never hear an apology from him for being late. In his opinion, the man's face stayed in a constant state of discontent. His concern for the fed's fiber intake had sound reasoning behind it. Draper stood by Murphy's unmarked police car, dressed in his FBI windbreaker, pacing and barking orders on his com set. SAPD had the place surrounded and waited for his final order to move in. Diego knew the drill.

'Just waiting for you,' the man sniped. He hit the switch to his com set. 'Green light, Murphy. I repeat, green light. You've got a go.'

On the move, Diego reached for his .45-caliber pistol, a model 1911 Colt. He pulled the weapon from its holster at the small of his back. Alongside Draper, he walked toward the front of the old warehouse. Since he was a civilian, others would clear a path.

In the night air, he heard the first wave of Murphy's men calling out, 'San Antonio Police. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up!' When they were met with silence, the cops busted in, a precision maneuver. Beams of light strafed the structure as they rushed in, weapons drawn.

The place looked deserted, like all the rest had been, but something new laced the air. A strong odor of ammonia hung heavy, a by-product from neighborhood crystal meth users. Old mason jars, strips of surgical tubing, and empty bottles of hydrogen peroxide were piled in a corner, next to discarded boxes of time-release Contac and old bottles of rubbing alcohol. Nothing in working order, but the setup was unmistakable. Since the stench of crystal meth lingered and would permeate the walls for a long time, no telling if Cavanaugh would have used the place before or after the cooks had come and gone.

Diego didn't like the looks of it. He couldn't picture Cavanaugh's operation working out of here. He followed Murphy's men into the dilapidated building. They fanned out to secure the site for an investigative team to do their work. But he felt the oppressive stillness close in.

'Place looks dead,' Draper muttered, voicing the concerns Diego had twisting in his gut.

Even though it took a while for the three-story structure to be searched, the 'all clear' sign came too soon. If the cops had found any sign of the missing girls, the com set would be full of chatter. No such luck. Diego eased the tension in his muscles and holstered his weapon. Nothing would be happening tonight.

'Damn it,' he cursed under his breath.

'Murphy? Get your forensics guys in here. I want every inch of this place scoured for evidence,' Draper ordered. He directed his next comment to Diego, 'We may still find something.'

'If Cavanaugh's got girls stockpiled somewhere, why haven't we found them?' Diego ran fingers through his hair, frustrated as hell. 'These girls have suffered enough. They need to be with their families. I hate this.'

'All the more reason not to give up now. He's got to make a mistake and we'll be there when he does.' Draper holstered his gun. 'We knew what we had going in. This shit hole had no direct tie to Cavanaugh.'

Diego nodded and heaved a sigh. 'It was a long shot, I know.' He found it hard to keep the disappointment from his voice.

'You've done your part in this investigation, Galvan. I've got no complaints. We'll process what we get and hope for a break. I'll put a rush on it.' Draper walked off with flashlight in hand, leaving Diego standing in the shadows. He'd wait to see what the forensics guys came up with, but his expectations were low.

Diego had hit a dead end. Another failure.

'You act like you don't care what I got to say?' Sonja Garza filched one of Brogan's cigarettes and glared at him as he got dressed. She lay naked on the bed, propped up by pillows.

'Maybe I don't.' He smirked, all full of himself. 'I got what I came for, all I've ever wanted from you. You ain't much to look at, but you always were a great piece of ass. I'll give you that. Nobody makes me hard like you. But I ain't steppin' back onto your lunatic merry-go-round. No way.'

'You used to like it.' She blew smoke out her lungs and through her nose. 'But I tell ya, I never thought lovin' you could hurt so bad, baby.'

He never looked up to see the tears welling in her eyes.

'Get over it. It's not like we never done it that way before. Or are you forgettin' how we met?' Brogan grimaced at the buttons missing from his shirt, then chuckled under his breath. Real smug. 'And I'm damned sure not the only one to blaze that trail. You ain't no virgin, honey.'

She clenched her jaw and watched him dress. Nice threads, she thought. Real uptown. Life hadn't dumped on the bastard like it did her after their split. But inside where it counted, Brogan hadn't changed one bit. Every time he opened his pie hole, she remembered his nasty streak. And to prove her point, Brogan kept up his abuse.

'Hey, Sonja, anyone ever say you ride like a bad-tempered mustang with a burr under its saddle? You got a mean buck, girl.' He laughed and zipped his pants, barely looking at her. 'I could've used some leather rigging to stay on top.'

'I see you're spending quality time with the livestock . . . and it shows. Too bad you couldn't last the eight-