vocabulary? We’re in the middle of a major investigation. Did you just not feel like contacting us?”
Callahan straightened and reddened. “We have a subpoena.”
She started to kick the door of one of the SUVs, then pivoted before her boot made contact. She was pissed off, but she’d take out her frustration on the racquetball court later.
What was she going to tell Andres? She pictured his troubled face, his warm brown eyes, begging her to find his sister. Andres had been here, at the Jones house. He’d seen the gate, had known about the mermaid fountain- completely out of place in the foothills. This was where Sonia had to start looking for Maya.
She needed to talk to her informant, Greg Vega, but she couldn’t jeopardize him, not when they were this close. He’d missed two scheduled contacts, and she desperately wanted to pull him now, but her boss made it clear: no hard evidence, no witness protection. Toni Warner was playing hardball with Jones’s key man because Vega was certainly no saint. Complete immunity and witness protection would only be worth it for ICE if they got something, or someone, big in return.
The passenger door on which Sonia had nearly taken out her anger opened. A man stepped out, clearly in command as evidenced from the quiet that descended among the other FBI agents. Unlike the rest of the feds in black SWAT gear with FBI-logo jackets, this man was dressed like a wealthy corporate attorney in a sharp charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and dark blue tie. He filled the suit beautifully, but looked like he’d be more at home wearing a black flak jacket and carrying an M16.
The suit shut the door and stared down at her with eyes so dark brown she couldn’t see the pupils. Sonia unconsciously straightened. He wasn’t as tall or big as she’d first thought-just over six feet and 180 pounds was her guess-but his commanding presence made him appear larger. She noted that he wore a double shoulder holster; on one side, the standard-issue Glock; on the other a definite nonissue HK Mark 23, a.45-caliber pistol that was used by U.S. Special Operations Forces.
Who was this guy?
“Callahan,” he ordered, “walk the radius, make sure the perimeter is secure before we serve the subpoena.”
“There’s no one inside,” Sonia snapped. “And no one’s coming with you and your clowns parked like we’re having a damn party.”
“Now,” he said.
Sonia glanced at Trace and jerked her head toward Callahan. He joined the FBI team dispersing to search the immediate perimeter.
“You blow my investigation and start issuing orders?”
“I have a subpoena,” he said.
“Give it to me.”
His expression changed almost imperceptibly with a mere hint of a smile. “It doesn’t have your name on it, and I didn’t hear you say
Sonia hated to be ridiculed. “There are lives at stake! Do you think this is a damn joke?”
His face hardened. “Follow me.”
He turned and walked toward the edge of the driveway, beyond earshot of the remaining agents, expecting her to follow. She did, if only to explain that she was at the top of the chain of command. And though she knew she’d been “rash” (as Trace would say), she wasn’t about to apologize.
When they were out of sight of his team, he turned and glared at her. His body was so rigid and still, she suspected he was made of stone. For the first time, Sonia saw true impassioned anger in someone other than herself. She resisted the urge to take a step back.
“There was obviously a serious lack of communication between our agencies. If I had known ICE had a covert operation, I would have pulled back. But I am this close”-he put his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart close to her face-“to nailing Jones on money laundering and racketeering, and frankly, I don’t give a damn how that bastard goes to prison, as long as he’s locked up for the rest of his pathetic life.”
Sonia swallowed and took a deep breath. Money laundering? “I understand your enthusiasm,” she said, failing to hold back her anger, “and I don’t give a rat’s ass how we nail Jones, but there are huge concerns here of which you aren’t even aware! Jones is suspected of orchestrating a full twenty percent of our human trafficking problem in the U.S. I have a lead on a missing girl who is supposed to be here tonight!” That wasn’t completely true. It was only the men who had taken her in the first place. But Sonia desperately wanted Maya to be here as well. Chances were slim, but it was not an impossibility.
She was just getting started. “You send Jones away for laundering, that does nothing but cause a minor ripple in his organization. Another pervert will step in and take over. It’ll never stop until we nail every leader of every port in every country. It’ll never stop until we have all the names. Jones is the key to that information. He’s the middleman who knows
No matter what she did, how many of these bastards like Xavier Jones she threw in prison or deported or interrogated, there were a dozen more ready to take their place. The cycle was endless. As Renault said in
She turned her back on the man in charge. She didn’t even know his name, but she didn’t care. She had to find some way to reach Vega, to make sure he was safe, to push for the hard evidence so she could protect him and his wife. What was the FBI’s raid going to do to her inside man? Was Jones going to think one of his people turned? Would he look at Vega? Would he increase his surveillance on his own people?
“Sonia-”
She whirled around and glared at him. The stony look was gone. It was replaced by something that bordered on compassion.
“How do you know my name? You’re new here. I don’t know you.”
“Your reputation precedes you. Which is, frankly, the only reason I’m not writing you up.”
Writing
“You don’t have the authority, or the grounds.”
He looked amused. That irritated her. She remembered Trace’s comment.
“Look, Agent …” she waited for him to fill in the blank.
“Hooper,” he said.
“Hooper. I have a witness to protect. Your operation here is jeopardizing him. You need to leave.”
He didn’t say anything. She almost lambasted him for being rude, then noticed that he was listening to his earpiece, his expression unreadable. Into his sleeve he said, “I’ll be right there.”
“Not without me.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He was looking at her with … what? Pity?
Her stomach flipped with the all-too-familiar sensation of being watched, analyzed, and dissected. She didn’t know him, but he knew her. How much did he know? Her past wasn’t a deep, dark secret, but it certainly wasn’t something discussed around the watercooler.
He nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to work with anyone else.”
His temper had deflated a fraction and some of her steam dissipated. Still, she felt like a bug, the antennae twitching on her head, picking up a danger signal.
She just wasn’t sure if it was from arrogant Agent Hooper or something else. Something far more dangerous than the FBI.
CHAPTER TWO
