“I’m afraid we’re firm. We can cancel the exchange.”
Noel’s hand clenched the metal rail so tightly the edges left impressions in his palm. The stifling air, not even a breeze, had him burning inside and out. Yet his voice was calm when he said, “Very well, the deal is canceled. You understand that I don’t take these setbacks lightly, Roger.”
There was silence on the phone line. Noel fumed, unable to enjoy this judicious release of information.
He hoped there would be an opportunity to break this idiot’s neck during the exchange. It would please Noel to see him dead.
“I need to discuss this with the organization,” Richter said, his voice cracking just a fraction.
“You have twenty minutes.”
Noel hung up the phone. Ling said, “Well done, sir.”
“Trying to renege on me. He’ll pay, maybe not tomorrow night, but one day.”
“They say revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“Whoever came up with that is an idiot as well. Revenge is best when you can see its results, hot or cold.”
Ignacio walked in without knocking. Noel glared at him.
“Excuse me, it’s urgent,” Ignacio said.
Noel continued to stare.
Ignacio left the room and closed the door behind him. A moment later, he knocked.
“Ling,” Noel nodded toward the door.
Mr. Ling opened the door and Ignacio walked in. “Sir.”
“Yes?”
“The feds found the warehouse.”
Noel smiled. Government cops were so predictable.
He hoped she liked the message he’d left for her.
“Find out where they’re headed and keep me informed.”
Driving back from Lodi after the ERT arrived to process the crime scene, Dean was worried about Sonia’s silence.
“Are you okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She was absently drumming her fingers on her door handle.
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know-I’m just wondering about the time line.”
“Talk it out.”
“Jones was killed around midnight Wednesday, twenty-four hours after the raid of his house. But those three women weren’t killed until last night, twenty-four hours after Jones.”
“Right.” He didn’t see the connection.
“If the killer thought Jones or Vega had talked, he would have moved the girls before last night.”
“We don’t know that he didn’t,” Dean said.
“But it doesn’t make sense to move the girls the night Jones was killed, then bring three of them back to kill.”
“It was a message. He knows we’re close. He’s trying to throw us off.”
“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more to scare me off this case.” Sonia shifted in the passenger seat to face him. “I’m going to find these people and bring them all to justice. I don’t think they were moved until last night. It’s not easy arranging transportation of that many illegal aliens who are being held against their will, even if they’re too terrified to attempt escape. He had to have had inside information, information that he knew could lead to the girls even if we didn’t know.”
“Like that we were looking into Weber Trucking.”
“Exactly! That’s it. I’ve been after Omega since the beginning, but Weber is new. It was only a matter of time until we pulled Weber property records and started looking at places the women could be safely kept. So he moved them-”
Dean interrupted. “I don’t know. That means he has a mole in ICE or the FBI. I don’t think so. Not many of us were privy to our investigation into Weber. That only came up yesterday when I went further back into Xavier Jones’s client records-”
“-after realizing the importance,” Sonia said, practically jumping up in the seat. “When we talked to Craig Gleason.”
Dean sped up. “You think he’s involved.”
“It’s the only way. He’s the only other person who knew we were even asking about Jones’s clients. If he knew who was involved, he could tip them off.”
“I think you’re right. I hope he’s in the office right now, otherwise I’m putting out an APB and he can talk to us from jail.”
“Where do you think the woman is?” Trace asked Sam as they sat in their car down the street from George Christopoulis’s stately home in Stockton. They were parked under a tree and had the windows rolled down, but still the heat was nearly unbearable.
When they first arrived an hour ago, Sam had gone up to the front door alone and knocked. There was no answer, and a small dog barked incessantly from the interior. Sam checked the garage through a window; there was no vehicle. The house had a silent, empty feel. He returned to the car and called the office to research Victoria Christopoulis’s immigration status-she was in the United States on a vacation-and he had her passport flagged.
“Maybe we should call Sonia,” Trace said, “and get her take on this.”
Sam liked Trace, but he was young and overeager to please his boss and seek her approval. “We’re okay for now. We don’t have anything to report, not of substance. Let’s see what happens.”
Ten minutes later a Mercedes pulled into the driveway. Sam peered through binoculars at the figure in the driver’s seat.
An attractive, middle-aged woman with dark red hair and excessive makeup drove. The garage door went up and she pulled in, and Sam lost sight of her.
“Shall we talk to her?” Trace had his hand on the door handle.
The woman was familiar, but Sam didn’t know why. “Hold on.” Where had he seen her? Dammit, it was just outside his memory.
“Sam?”
It wouldn’t come if he forced it. “Let’s talk to her. Casual. Inform her of Jones’s murder, ask the last time she saw him, see what she says. Nothing about trafficking.”
“Got it.”
Sam turned the ignition and drove the car down the street, parking in front of the Christopoulis house. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t bullshit me!” Sonia slammed her fist on the conference room table. Gleason blinked rapidly. He should be scared. Sonia was in no mood to play nice with criminals. And he was sitting here lying to her about Weber Trucking.
“You’re the only person who knew we were asking about Weber Trucking,” she said. “You alerted them.”
Gleason shook his head. “No. I didn’t. Check my phone records. Check my emails.”
“I’ll do that, with your permission,” Sonia said, waiting for him to balk.
He didn’t.
Dean sat casually on the edge of the table while Sonia stood, palms down on the surface, glaring at
