Border Line, page 15
Thinking about the woman and her body sent a thrill of desire through him. It was still early, but he poured himself a drink before he headed toward the door to the basement.
31
It took a while, but I managed to find a weapon. In my fury, I’d ripped the mattress and box spring off the bed frame and propped them up against the door as a makeshift barrier. That’s when I noticed the two slats of wood that stretched across the bed frame to support the box spring.
I picked up one board. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. The old-fashioned phone was hefty. I’d lifted it to see if there was a dial tone, but it was dead. It was probably controlled upstairs like everything else down here. But it could be a weapon for up-close battle.
Sliding down the wall to the floor on one side of the door, I waited, clutching the board. Finally, I heard voices outside my door and then a door slam.
I waited, keeping my eyes on the brass door handle, but it didn’t budge.
After about an hour, I heard another sound. I wasn’t sure what it was but scrambled to my feet, grabbing the board with both hands and winding up.
When the door swung open, I didn’t wait to see who it was before I let loose, aiming for an area I assumed would be close to the head or neck. I heard a grunt and the board vibrated as it made contact with the man’s face. He slumped to the ground. I leaped over his body and was a few feet into the kitchen when I heard a roar at the same time I was yanked backward by my hair. I lost my balance and fell back hard against the man’s bulk. He jerked my head back so hard I heard a crack and for a split-second saw stars. Despite the shock of pain, it didn’t appear anything was broken.
His hold loosened and I reared back hoping to smack the back of my head into his face, but he somehow dodged my maneuver. I whirled with my hands out in front of me and saw a bloody mess of a face on top of a body propped up against the wall. It seemed to have taken the last of his energy to chase after me, grab me, and yank me back. He was struggling to breathe through a nose I had smashed. His eyes locked on mine. That’s when he smiled.
I backed up until I was against the kitchen counter. My eyes searched the counter area to my right. It would be too much to ask for there to be a butcher block of knives sitting there. Nope. The counter was bare. But then I saw something that might help me. Resting inside a coffee maker was a glass carafe. It was within arm’s reach. I would need him to come to me if I had any hope of grabbing it in time to smack him with it.
“Where is Rosalie?” I asked.
“She is safe.”
From where I stood without turning my head I could see two other closed doors.
“Rosalie?” I yelled. “If you can hear me shout back.”
I waited. Silence.
The man smiled again. He raised a hand to his nose. He winced as his fingers probed. “You broke my nose.” His voice sounded like he had a stuffy nose.
I didn’t answer.
“You are not leaving here alive,” he said. “If you fight me, you will die a painful death. If you do as I say, you will die with dignity. That bottle of tequila, the gas in the ventilation system. It will be peaceful. It’s up to you.”
“Fuck you.” I narrowed my eyes at him. He wasn’t the first one to threaten to kill me. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be the last one. Men were so stupid. They always looked at my face and my body and underestimated me. To a fatal degree.
It was the same every time.
And the other mistake? He wasn’t the first man to let his lust get in the way of his survival instincts.
Very slowly, not taking his eyes off of me, the one bloody eye looking like it might be in danger of falling out, he began to unknot his tie. He was wearing some fancy suit, a blindingly white shirt, and silky tie. Without the bloody eye and swelling face, he’d look fairly sharp. My best friend was a gay man with the finest taste in clothes. I knew a good suit when I saw one. After taking off his tie, he held it in one hand and gave me a smile, so I knew exactly what he was going to do with it next. He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind him. He unbuttoned a few buttons on his white shirt and, still leering at me, took a step my way. He held the tie, each hand on one end, and licked his lips while looking at my neck.
It took all my willpower not to dart a sneak peek at the glass coffee carafe to my right, just behind the refrigerator and I hoped, just out of his line of vision.
I slit my eyes watching his feet, not his face, gauging how close he needed to get before I could step into a kick and try to sweep his legs out from under him. The carafe would be my last resort weapon if my attack failed. Right then, lunging for it would warn him to duck or dodge my swing.
He took another step closer.
“Look at me, Malena.”
I couldn’t help it and looked up when he called me by the other name. I had to see his eyes to judge the crazy. And when I did, fear shot through me. The one eye that was not bloody was glazed over and looking off into the distance. He thought I was someone else.
“I’m not Malena.”
He stopped. Then he shook his head. Just a little. Barely enough to notice. His laughter startled me. “Yes. I know that. But we are going to play pretend. Right now, you are her. And you will answer to that name, do you understand?”
I shook my head in disgust.
He took another step forward, and I launched into the kick. To my surprise, he responded with a classic defense. I only just managed to free my foot before he grabbed it and took me down. Then he was on me, wrapping the tie around my neck so quickly I couldn’t react.
I managed to jam two fingers underneath it so there was a tiny bit of room between the silk and my flesh. He jerked on it from behind and then backed up. I had one hand free but was too far away from the coffee maker. My only hope was to get us over there somehow. I needed to back him into it or he might suspect what I was up to.
The only problem was getting there before I blacked out. Even with my fingers jammed between the tie and my throat, I was starting to feel the effects of him trying to strangle me. I couldn’t help but think, Damn it, Santella, that’s twice in one week.
With the last bit of strength, I had left, I lunged and sent us flying up against the counter near the fridge. My fingers stretched out and touched the glass of the carafe. I inched them forward, grabbed the handle, and swung it up and behind and heard the satisfying crack of it smashing into his skull.
The pressure on my neck released, and I sank to the ground, landing partly on top of his body. But I didn’t have the strength to move. I just sat there sucking at the air, trying to fill my lungs again.
His body lay still underneath me.
“Gia?”
I lifted my eyes.
Rosalie stood across the room. She was in a nightgown that reached down to her bare feet. Her hair was neatly braided off her face, which was pale.
“I’m okay, honey,” I managed to say in between gasps.
I turned to see Carnegie. His legs were splayed funny, and there was a nasty cut on his head, trickling blood. Shards of glass were scattered on the floor around his head. But his chest still rose and fell.
“Rosalie? Go lock yourself in a room,” I said. “Any room with a lock. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.”
“I want to leave.”
“I know you do.” As I spoke I felt Carnegie’s body shift slightly under me. I was still partially lying on his leg.
I scooted off quickly and, using the counter, pulled myself to standing, glancing quickly around the kitchen for another weapon. Or could I lock him up?
Rosalie still stood there.
“Go!” I shouted. She scampered off.
The room I’d been held in had a deadbolt that locked from the outside. It was my only option. But I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to drag him into the room.
I sensed him before I felt him. He was up and standing behind me. This time, I didn’t have time to react before he yanked my arm back behind me. Searing pain shot through me. As I reeled nearly passing out from the pain, I felt something crash down on my head that sent me plunging to my knees. For a second I thought I was okay, but then I felt myself tip over, and my cheek smacked against the floor before all went black.
I woke to the sensation of my head bouncing across the floor and white hot pain in my left arm. I was being dragged by my feet across the kitchen toward a bedroom. The irony that this is what I’d planned to do to Carnegie didn’t escape me.
At that second, I heard the distinctive dinging of a phone being dialed. He did too. And froze. I lifted my neck. Rosalie stood across the room holding up the burner cell phone in one hand.
“Rosalie?” Carnegie said. “Where did you get the phone?”
“I found my backpack in the cupboard by the bathroom.”
“Aha. Well it is your backpack. I was keeping it in a safe place so we could bring it with you to your new family.”
“I don’t want a new family.”
Tinny voices came out of the small phone.
“Rosalie?” Carnegie said. “Who did you call?”
“911.”
He let my legs drop. They thudded to the floor, and I was up on my hands and knees and crab walking away from him as fast as I could, trying to get my bearings so I could form a plan of attack.
“Rosie?”
“That’s not my name.”
“Sorry, Rosalie, will you please tell the people on the phone that you dialed by mistake?”
“No.”
She held the phone by her side.
By now I was near the steel door. There was a keypad on it.
As we watched, Rosalie held the phone to her ear and spoke. “There is a bad man here. He wants to hurt me and Gia. Please come help.”
The man closed his eyes for a second. Then he headed toward the door to the stairs. I lunged and came at him, taking out his legs with a sweep of my own. We both crashed to the floor and wrestled. Rosalie was in the background screaming bloody murder.
Her voice startled me so much I froze, and Carnegie landed a blow to my eye socket that made me reel.
The screaming continued, piercing the dull quiet of the underground bunker and echoing slightly.
I managed to land a knee into the back of Carnegie’s skull as he bent over me, fiddling with something near my feet, and it sent him crashing onto the floor beside me.
If I didn’t feel so shitty, it would have been comical. We lay side by side and both turned our heads to look at one another.
“I did it for my daughter.” He whispered the words and then his eyes closed.
I closed my eyes for what seemed like only a few seconds, but then I felt a tiny touch on my arm. “Gia?” It was Rosalie’s voice.
“Mmm hmmm.”
“Are you okay?” she said.
“I think so.”
“That woman is here. The queen.”
My eyes flickered open, and I saw Eva standing above me. She nodded and then I fell into darkness again.
32
Joe Carnegie woke to silence.
But it didn’t last long. He heard the wail of sirens. A lot of them. He was lying in a pool of blood. He was weak. He couldn’t move his legs at all.
He knew it was over. He might survive his wounds, but his life was over. And if he survived, he would go to prison.
He grabbed a shard of glass from the floor. It already had his blood on it.
If he made it look like murder instead of suicide, his daughter would still get his insurance money, right? That was the only thing that mattered. He couldn’t count on the cartel to take care of his baby girl. She would have a hard enough time growing up with the knowledge of his crimes and misdeeds. At least she could be rich.
He took the shard of glass and plunged it into his neck.
33
As soon as I woke, I could tell I wasn’t in my own bed.
The thread count felt like it was hovering in the millions, and at first, before I lifted my head, my view was of an elaborate gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The bed was round and was as big as a small swimming pool. It was bordered with massive gold pillars and filmy white curtains. The room itself was also circular and lined with windows.
Eva’s face came into view.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My home.”
I blinked. She had a home? I had no idea where that was.
“Where?”
“La Paz.”
“Mexico?”
“Yes.”
But then the ground shifted wildly under me.
“Earthquake,” I mumbled weakly.
She laughed. “My home is a boat.”
“A boat is your home?”
“One of them,” she said.
I glanced around at the sumptuous trappings. More like a fucking yacht.
“You have a broken arm.”
I glanced down. It had a cast on it.
“My doctor is good, but I am flying you back to California. Plus, James is worried. He wants to see you. Can you sit up?”
“I think so.”
I used one arm and my legs to scoot to a sitting position. Then I could really see the room. It was a master bedroom. A wall-sized TV was opposite me. It was on, but muted. Some massive press conference with a bunch of people on the steps of the Capitol in Sacramento and several podiums with official looking seals.
I watched as the screen flashed to aerial footage of Carnegie’s home. I read the ticker tape.
Joe Carnegie found dead in his home. Apparent suicide. Immigrations and Customs Enforcement had been investigating him and his child trafficking operation for the past six months. They showed two mug shots. I immediately recognized them. The two corrupt ICE guys looking for Rosalie in San Francisco—Sam Miller and Gabriel Hernandez. They’d been arrested for treason, conspiracy, child trafficking, the gamut.
Then the screen filled with a mugshot of the coyote. It said his name was William Montero. He was being charged with multiple rapes and murders. They cut back to the press conference. Then I saw her in the crowd—Espinoza—the Border Patrol agent who had taken me to the rape tree. They said she had been instrumental in the arrest of the coyote. I smiled. Then I turned to Eva.
“This is great news.”
She stared at me, unsmiling.
“What?”
“It’s a diversion tactic.” She drew a blade out of the sheath around her leather-clad leg and held it up in front of her mouth while she reapplied red lipstick.
“Diversion?” I sat up straighter.
“A three-year-old girl died at an Arizona detention camp yesterday. They made this announcement to try to divert attention. To distract us from what is going on.”
“That’s awful.” I sank back into the pillows, suddenly exhausted.
Eva took the knife she held and with the flick of a wrist sent it whizzing across the room where I heard it sink into something solid. I craned my head. The wall opposite her was made of some softer material and smack dab in the middle was a picture of a man I’d never seen before.
“Who is that?”
“He is the one behind all this.”
I stared. The guy had neat gray hair and a blue suit. He looked like any American CEO or politician. It wasn’t over yet.
Then I remembered. I pushed back the covers and swung one leg over the edge of the bed, suddenly frantic.
“Where’s Rosalie?”
“She’s in her own room getting ready.”
I stayed in bed, feeling a little dizzy.
“Getting ready?” I asked.
“She is coming back to San Francisco with you.”
“Wait?” I squinted. “What about her family?”
Eva shook her head. “The ones in Guatemala are dead.”
“Her grandmother? What about her brother?” I remembered the story about the boy dying in the detention camp.
“He’s been released from the detention camp. He was reunited with a man—a U.S. citizen claiming to be his uncle.”
“Was it? Is it Rosalie’s uncle?”
Eva tilted her head. “No. It was a man who needed workers for his soybean farm in Minnesota,” she said. “They can buy the teenage boys they need this way.”
“What?”
“They are not slaves. He pays them well. Charges them a very small amount of rent to live in a boarding house. The boys do not have to work for the man. He gets them out of the camp first—and then offers them work. If they want, they go with him back to Minnesota, if not, he lets them go. After that, it’s up to the boys what to do.”
“Did Miguel go with the man?”
“No. He chose not to. The man last saw him in San Diego near the airport.”
“We need to find him.”
She didn’t answer, just stared at me.
“Can’t we help him? Can’t we help Rosalie? I know they are just two kids of hundreds—thousands—but we have to help them. We have to do something.”
“It is a problem beyond what you and I can do,” she said.
“That’s a shitty attitude,” I said. “Some fucking Robin Hood you are.”
“Didn’t you see what happened with El Chacho?”
He was the cartel leader who’d been convicted by a U.S. court a year ago and then replaced with a man people only called El Grande Jefe. The big boss.
Eva continued. “They take the head off the beast, but it does not stop running. Like a chicken. But worse, it grows back. Maybe stronger?”
I swallowed. She was right. It was too big to fight.
“Why did they want Rosalie?”
“My men went to the resort. El Grande Jefe’s wife was waiting for the girl.”
My eyes widened. “His wife?”
Eva nodded. “We aren’t sure why. But there are some theories.”
“Like?”
“She cannot have a child and wants the girl for her own. Or…” Eva paused. “Or…that Rosalie is his own biological daughter.”
“You’re fucking kidding me?”
