Fatal Secrets

“Yes, but how? See, small-time drug dealers make their illegal money selling drugs; then they invest that money in a legitimate business, and over time, that business is in the clear. The statute of limitations is five years. If they stay clean for five years, and we don’t catch wind of their activities, they’ve won.”

“That’s if they aren’t still committing crimes,” Sonia said.

“Exactly. And there’s Jones’s property.” Dean crossed the room and flipped over a whiteboard. On the back was a map of the greater Sacramento area with two dozen color-coded dots. “Each dot represents land or a business Jones owns. The red dots are vacant or unimproved land. The blue dots are occupied-he owns several properties where some of his employees live, plus his residence, and an apartment building. The green dots represent businesses. So far, everything is legit-unlike Smitty, these people actually exist. We’ve looked into their finances, thinking maybe he’s paying his employees cash, but so far everyone seems to be living within their means.”

Sonia stared at his map.

“Do any of these dots mean anything to you?” he asked her. “I haven’t found a pattern yet.”

“I don’t know,” Sonia admitted. “Have you been to all these properties?”

“Between Callahan’s team and myself, we’ve visually inspected every one.”

“Have you run them against local crimes?”

“Excuse me?”

“Murder, for example.”

“There wasn’t a need to.”

“Maybe you should.”

“What would that prove?”

“I don’t know. But here”-she pointed to the foothills where Jones had extensive holdings-“is a good place to hide bodies. Or people.”

“Have you looked at his property as part of your investigation?”

“My investigation is new.”

“But you said this morning that you’ve been after Jones for years.”

She turned to him, looking sheepish. Dean bristled. He didn’t like being lied to, especially when he’d been up front since the beginning. “I have been after Jones for years,” she said, “but I didn’t launch my investigation officially until one of his top people came to me wanting witness protection in exchange for testifying against him.”

Dean’s voice was low. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t have time last night,” she snapped and rubbed her eyes.

“This is important, Sonia. You should have told me right off.”

“I did tell you I had an informant,” she replied. “I wasn’t going to risk him by going into the details in front of everyone and their brother.”

“Everyone? You think that one of my people is leaking information?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“Even my office doesn’t know who the informant is. Only my partner, Trace, and my boss. And the U.S. marshals who are putting together their witness-protection package.”

“Their?”

“My informant is married. His wife is pregnant. He came to me when it became clear to him that he couldn’t walk away with his life. He was worried about his wife, and I believed him. I don’t have to like him, or what he’s done.”

“And you still don’t have enough to get Jones?”

“This man has killed on Jones’s orders, has transported sex slaves, and has named some of the players-but there is no proof. It’s his word against Jones’s, and the lawyers felt that we didn’t have even a fifty percent chance of making it to trial against a well-known philanthropist who gives more than a million dollars annually to local charities. My guy can’t be wired because Jones has an elaborate security system. Jones randomly searches people who work for him. He sweeps his house, phones, and offices regularly for bugs. But my informant confirmed everything I suspected. I just need hard evidence!” She slammed her fist on the table.

“Together we’re going to nail him,” he vowed.

“I’m counting on it.” When she looked at him, Dean was surprised at the vulnerability behind her determined expression.

“It’s Greg Vega, Jones’s head security chief. He’s been with Jones for years.”

Dean appreciated Sonia’s revelation. The admission had been hard, and Dean respected the trust she’d placed in him. “I’d like to talk to your informant.”

Sonia balked. “You can’t.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you, it’s the system. The fewer people who know about Vega, the better chance he stays alive.”

“He might have information you don’t know to ask about.”

She stiffened as if he’d offended her. “I know my job.”

“And I know about racketeering. I need to know how Jones is laundering his money. I can’t imagine he’s smuggling people in and out of America for fun. He’s getting paid well for it.”

“True, but-”

“We took down Al Capone for tax evasion. We have better laws now to stop criminals like Xavier Jones. I just need the money trail, and then I can nail him. Protect your informant. I don’t want anything to happen to Vega or his family. Trust me, Sonia.”

Sonia saw that Dean meant every word he said. She had no doubt he would do everything in his considerable power to protect the Vegas. She wanted to trust Dean. Why was it so hard to give him that one olive branch? Trust was the most important thing between partners-and that was the crux of the problem. Charlie had not only betrayed their partnership, but he had also destroyed the trust inside of her. It had taken her years to rebuild her confidence in others.

Silence hung between them, and Dean’s entreaty turned to anger. “I see.”

He didn’t see; he couldn’t know what had happened. Not everything. And she couldn’t tell him like this, she didn’t talk about it. Ever. But she didn’t want this riff, she liked Dean, she needed him to take down Jones. Time was critical. She had to share something, so he understood why she was hesitant. She released a long, frustrated sigh. Dean turned from her, but she grabbed his arm to pull him back, her fingers gripping rock-hard muscle beneath his expensive tailored shirt.

“I lost an informant nearly four years ago,” Sonia said. “Before I was transferred here. A nineteen-year-old prostitute from Argentina. I was born in Argentina and I used everything in my arsenal to bring her on board. I pleaded with her, I threatened her, I guilted her into it. She was scared to death, but she knew what happened to the younger girls, girls who had become her sisters and friends. She wanted it to stop.”

Sonia dropped her hand and turned away from Dean, looking at the neat stacks of paperwork but not seeing anything but a blur of black and white. Why was this so hard to say out loud? Not a day went by that she didn’t remember …

“Her name was Maria. She had tattoos like Ann, who’s fighting for her life at Sutter Hospital. Not four stars, but a square with an overlapping cross. She finally agreed to help me after one of the younger girls was murdered by a john. Maria realized that none of them were safe. It took me months to work on her, primarily because I was undercover and only there one day a week. I was the “nurse” giving them their Depo- Provera shots, checking them for pregnancy and STDs, and treating their cuts and bruises.”

“How long were you undercover?”

“Fifteen weeks. We could have gotten them for illegal prostitution, but I needed to prove they were smuggling in not only illegal immigrants but also minors against their will. I wanted the whole chain, not just that one link.” Every night she’d left reluctantly, wanting to take all twenty-four girls with her. Help them. Protect them. That she couldn’t tore apart her heart.

“Did you get them?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, yeah. Twenty-seven people went down in that sting, from low level thugs to the coyotes who