Border Line Read online

  I sighed. I wasn’t going to make them sit in the car with me for an hour. I’d get the mother and bring her back to the loft. The two of them could catch a bus in the morning.

  “I think I’m going to drop you guys off at home,” I said. I looked at the girl. “I’ll bring your mother there when I find her.”

  “Got it,” James said.

  The girl just stared at me.

  I rounded the hood and hopped back in. Before I started the car, I turned to the back seat.

  “Hey, Rosalie. We’re going to have a sleepover at my house tonight. I can’t wait to introduce you to my dog. He’s a big lug. Very sweet though. His name is Django.”

  “Perro?”

  “Si. He’s a good dog. He likes little girls.” As soon as I said the words I hoped I wasn’t lying. I guess we’d soon find out.

  As we pulled away I saw a black car pull up in front of the bus station. As I watched in my rearview mirror, my heart-raced to see one of the ICE agents hop out and walk toward the station’s front door.

  Close call.

  3

  “Daddy?”

  The man was distracted. It took him a few seconds to realize his daughter was standing at his side. Quickly, he clicked on his website, effectively covering the page he was looking at. He pulled his gaze away from the computer screen and turned to the child. She stood there barefoot and in yellow pajamas. His heart swelled when he saw the look on her face—pure adoration.

  She was such a daddy’s girl. Always had been. He had never tried to persuade her not to be one. Neither had his wife. She was a smart woman. She loved her designer clothes, her mansion, and her Mercedes too much to ever complain. Besides, the one time she had, she’d ended up in the hospital. She’d told the paramedics she’d tripped. She was a good wife.

  And now that he’d paid for assorted plastic surgeries, she was the wife he’d always dreamed of having on his arm when he walked into fancy charity events.

  The big boss, el jefe grande, had told him it was important for him to make himself a prominent member of San Diego’s wealthy upper crust. He did so by forking over enormous donations, mostly to organizations having to do with children. The friends they had made the past decade—and kept at arm’s length—figured he had inherited the wealth. With a last name like Carnegie, they were forgiven for their mistake. Which was exactly why he’d changed it the second he became an American citizen.

  He’d started out in the slums of Mexico City as a boy named Jose Garcia who ran errands for the drug lords. But fortune had smiled on him when he’d seen a gang member stealing from the cartel. As a reward for reporting it, he’d been taken to meet the boss.

  Thirty years later, the big boss was the most powerful man in Mexico. Jose Garcia, the boy who had dug in the trash for scraps of food, was now Joe Carnegie. A man who ate at the finest restaurants, owned a Rolex, drove a jaguar, and lived in the wealthiest San Diego enclave.

  And the proudest father who ever lived. His daughter, Adele, was the most beautiful, precious thing in his world. He lived for her. He would die for her. He had killed for her. And he would again. Everything he did was for her future. A little blonde American girl who had no idea that, as a boy, her father had eaten maggot-covered mangoes to keep from starving.

  Now, looking down at his daughter, he vowed to protect her from this knowledge with his dying breath.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said enthusiastically. Only a linguist would catch the faint accent in his voice. He smiled and scooped his daughter up into his lap, pressing her close to him, burying his face in her clean hair.

  “You smell lovely. Did you take a bath?”

  The girl smiled and nodded. “Mummy let me use her bath oil.”

  “Oh, did she? Well that was nice of mummy. Why don’t we take you shopping, and you can buy all the bath oils your little heart desires!”

  She giggled and then put her head against his side. “You read my mind! I love you so, Daddy.”

  “I love you so.” For a second tears pricked his eyes. “Are you ready for me to read you a bedtime story?”

  “Yes,” the girl said. “That’s what I came to tell you. You read my mind! You are a mind reader!”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”

  He made a funny face, and the girl erupted in giggles. He stood and she put her small hand in his. “Come on. Let’s go. Can you read more of The Lion Wardrobe?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve been waiting all day to find out what happened to Aslan.”

  “Oh Daddy, me too!”

  Twenty minutes later Garcia was back in front of his laptop. After looking to make sure nobody was around—even though he’d left Adele asleep and his wife in front of a Real Housewives episode, meaning that even if the house were on fire and flames were licking at her bed covers, she wouldn’t budge—he opened his laptop. He clicked on the page he’d hidden earlier. It was camera footage from a subterranean basement. The floor plan was identical to the kitchen where he now sat. Except there wasn’t a bar, and there weren’t any knives or other sharp objects.

  And the kitchen in the sub-basement beneath him had its own ventilation system he could control on his computer. It had been built as a bunker but he’d put it to other uses the past few years.

  The camera in the kitchen revealed three dark-haired girls sitting at the bar stools with bowls of ice cream before them. In the shadows stood a wiry man. When the girls were done eating and had obediently washed their bowls and put them in the dishwasher, the man stepped out of the shadows and called one of the girls over. He said something to her, and she nodded and left the room.

  Garcia clicked and another camera feed filled his laptop. This showed the girl in a bedroom reaching for a small backpack. She looked around the empty room and then took a small, folded-up piece of paper and stuck it under the pillow on one of the other beds. Then she returned to the kitchen.

  There, the wiry man gestured for her to go through a doorway. The girl didn’t look at the other two girls. She stared down at her feet. The other two girls began to cry and tried to grab her, but an elderly woman with gray hair tied back in a severe ponytail appeared and grabbed them both by the shoulders. She pointed a bony finger, and the two girls slunk toward a couch. The woman flicked on a TV. When one of the girls tried to look behind her at the door, the older woman held her bony finger out again.

  At the bar counter, Garcia switched feeds again and watched as a pickup truck pulled out of the home’s garage and lumbered down the street. Only then did his shoulders relax. He reached for his phone and made a call.

  “Wire the money. The exchange will be made within the hour.”

  After he disconnected, he punched in another number, keeping his eyes trained on his laptop screen. The older woman appeared on camera, answering a cell phone. He spoke to her and stayed on the line as he watched her walk into the bedroom and retrieve the piece of paper from under the pillow.

  “Read it,” he said.

  “llama a la polícia.” Call the police.

  “Destroy it.”

  After he watched the woman shred the paper and then flush the pieces down the toilet, Garcia rose and started the kettle on the stove. Before he carried his cup of tea up to bed to read over briefings, he made one last call.

  “Have you found her?” he asked.

  The answer was no. He pushed down his fury. The girl had been a special order. And not for some wealthy American couple who couldn’t conceive. This was something else. This order came from the top. And instead of handing her over during a clandestine meeting at a desert truck stop, he had been directed to take her outside of town to the Santa Fe Resort.

  A meeting that was thwarted when his coyote failed. Once the coyote found the girl, he would be punished. Garcia couldn’t afford to have fuck-ups on his team.

  And besides, he needed to send a message that if you fucked up, you signed your own death warrant. The only problem was that right now the coyote was his only lead on the girl’s whereabouts. As much as he wanted the man dead, he had to be patient.

  The boss had said the client would be at the resort for three more days awaiting delivery. Garcia knew firsthand you couldn’t get a room at the place for anything south of a thousand dollars a night. He wondered if that was what this was about—an uber-wealthy buyer? But it seemed more than that. There was something about the girl that made her more valuable than the rest. Something personal to the big boss. Garcia didn’t know what it was, but he was going to find out. After all, it never hurt to have a little leverage. Just in case.

  4

  Django licked Rosalie’s outstretched hand the second we walked into the loft. The bark rising in his throat died with one word from me, and he hung his head and came over wagging his tail so hard his entire seventy-five pounds wriggled.

  He said hi to me with a quick muzzle to my palm and then turned his attention to the girl who wasn’t much taller than he was.

  She stood there, clutching her plastic bag and giggling as Django licked her hand.

  It was the first time I heard a sound from her that didn’t stem from sadness or fear, and it filled my heart with joy.

  James wheeled his chair over to the table and opened his laptop. “I’m just going to catch up on some stuff.”

  “Sure.” I had dragged him away from his investigations earlier to go eat, and now we had a houseguest.

  I unfolded the green velvet futon that made into a bed and quickly stretched some soft white sheets and blankets over it.

  I patted it. “Here is where you will sleep tonight.”

  Rosalie hopped up on it, swinging her plastic bag onto the bed near the pillow.

  “I bet you’re tired.”

  She nodded.

  “Why don’t you take a bath and brush your teeth and get ready for bed?”

  I ran a bath and showed her where everything was: towels, soap, shampoo. She took out a toothbrush and toothpaste from the plastic bag and stood at the sink watching me in the mirror.

  “Go ahead and do whatever you need to do. I’ll be right back.”

  She turned on the sink. It was as if she was waiting for permission. I didn’t know what to think about that.

  After a few seconds, I returned with one of James’s large gray T-shirts. “After your bath, you can wear this as a nightgown if you want.”

  She didn’t answer. I set it on the counter.

  I paused in the doorway. “Okay. I’m going to give you some privacy now. Go ahead and call if you need anything.”

  I closed the door and headed toward James.

  “What now?” I said in a low voice, jutting my chin at the bathroom door.

  “You got me.”

  “You’re no help.”

  “You know I back whatever you decide.”

  I leaned over and kissed him. He pulled me close and my peck on the lips soon turned into a longer kiss that made him groan. I drew back. “Thanks for saying that.”

  “Gia,” he said and reached for my hand. “You are a wild thing. Beautiful, but wild. I’d be a fool to try to stop you from doing anything you wanted to do.”

  “True,” I said, but smiled.

  “Gia?” the girl’s little voice came from the bathroom. She was peeking out the cracked door. “I’m done.”

  “Come on out then.” She stepped out in the T-shirt, which reached down to her knees.

  “You hungry?”

  She nodded.

  I made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and gave her some carrots and grapes. I could tell she was hungry, but she had impeccable manners—chewing each bite slowly and carefully and dabbing her mouth with the napkin in between bites.

  When I grabbed my bag to go, she reached for my hand.

  She looked scared.

  “I’m going to the bus station to see if your mom is there. If she is, I’ll bring her back here. Okay? Do you want to come with me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then why don’t you go hop in bed.”

  She shook her head so hard her hair swung in front of her eyes.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Si. The man. El coyote. What if he comes to get me and you are gone?”

  I crouched down. “Rosalie, James will keep you safe. And besides, I made this place.” I gestured around us. “I built it. I designed it so nobody bad, no bad guys, could get me. And now you are here. And you are safe.”

  She looked doubtful.

  “James is going to stay awake and keep watch until I return.”

  She nodded but looked around. “What about when I sleep? What about when you both sleep?”

  I pointed to my bed in the corner. “That’s where I’ll be all night long. Right there.”

  Her bed, close to the door, was all the way across the loft. She looked at it, looked at my bed.

  I met James’s eyes, and he jutted with his chin toward our bed. I leaned over the futon and pushed it across the wooden floors so it was close to our bed and tucked into the corner.

  “How’s that?”

  The girl gave a small smile. I patted the bed covers. “Why don’t you come lay down and rest your eyes. I’ll be back soon.”

  She looked tiny in James’s shirt as she crossed the loft and crawled into the bed.

  Django followed her over.

  “Do you think Django can keep you company tonight?” I asked. “He likes to sleep at the foot of my bed. Maybe he could sleep with you tonight?”

  She nodded her head so fervently it plucked at my heart.

  I patted the bed and Django hopped up. But instead of settling at the foot of the bed, he put his face next to hers on the pillow.

  The girl smiled and slung her arm around him. Even when she smiled there was a sadness about her. Her life hadn’t been easy. I was curious but knew not to push or pry.

  I dimmed the lights so the sleeping area corner of the loft was darker. A few lights remained on, illuminating James who was still working at the table.

  “Be back soon.”

  The ten o’clock bus came and went. There was no sign of the girl’s mother. I stayed until 10:45 p.m. and then called it a night. When I returned home, James was still in front of his laptop.

  “Anything new?” I asked, settling into the chair beside him.

  His brow furrowed. “Maybe.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Chief has an interesting past.”

  “Do tell.” I reached over and took a sip out of the tumbler by his elbow. It was tequila.

  “I can’t find anything about him before he got back from the Gulf War. Everything before that is wiped. No high school, childhood, hometown stuff. Nothing.”

  “Maybe he wants to hide something?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  The girl moaned and then cried out. I jumped up, but quickly saw she was dreaming.

  “No. No!” the girl said in her sleep. She was breathing loudly enough for me to hear across the loft. Then she began to weep loudly. This time I raced over, but she was still sleeping. I’d never seen anyone cry in their sleep. I reached out a hand to do something—soothe her? Wake her? But I didn’t know what to do so let my hand fall back to my side.

  Meanwhile, Django put his muzzle against her cheek and gave her the tiniest lick. It seemed to calm her. After a few seconds, her face grew peaceful again, and her breathing seemed normal.

  My heart raced as I walked back to James.

  “She okay?” he asked.

  “I think so.” I couldn’t even begin to imagine what her nightmares contained. I’d heard horror stories about what immigrants faced on their journey to America. And even worse tales about what they were escaping from in their home countries.

  “So, what was the chief’s story in the war?” I asked, pulling up a chair at the table and straddling it backward. I reached for the tequila and took another gulp.

  “He was only over there for nine months.”

  “Huh?”

  “Right?” James said. “He was sent home before the rest of his platoon as far as I can tell. He wasn’t dishonorably discharged, but he wasn’t recognized, either. He just came back to the states and almost immediately was given a job at the San Mateo Police Station. He eventually worked his way up to chief here.”

  “Someone pulled some strings?”

  “I think so. But who?”

  I stretched. “Keep digging, baby.”

  James eyed my shirt as I yawned. He gave me the look. The one that still melted me into the floor.

  I licked my lips. He looked over at the girl asleep in bed. I jutted my chin toward the bathroom. He nodded.

  Soon we were behind the locked door of the bathroom.

  “Gia?” The little voice filtered through the door at the same time the door handle turned. I quickly crawled off James’s lap and was at the door. I unlocked it, cracked it, and stuck my face in the gap.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Oh.” I paused.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I was taking a bath. I’ll be right out. Can you wait just a minute while I get dressed?”

  She nodded. I was hoping she couldn’t see anything in the candlelit room behind me. I heard the sound of the wheelchair moving across the floor.

  “Is James in there too?”

  “Yes. He is. We’ll be right out.” She must have been scared shitless waking up to an empty loft.

  I closed the door and turned to James. He was smiling and shaking his head. “Did you say you wanted kids one day?”

  “No,” I said. “You did.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.”

  I was dressed and out the door in thirty seconds. James followed me out and then pulled on a jacket. “I’m meeting with the sergeant.”

  I glanced at the time. “Right now?”

  “He just got off his night shift.”

  James had sworn that Sgt. Newton was one of the good guys and would help him investigate the chief. But I wasn’t sure I trusted the dude. I was tempted to tail James on my bike just in case it went sideways and he needed backup. But I couldn’t leave Rosalie alone. And if James found out, he’d be furious.