Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

“I’ll do my best.” Simone picked up her phone.

Sonia said, “Turn around and man the door. Be alert.”

Sonia slipped into “Ann Charles’s” room before Simone could stop her.

She let the door close.

“You can’t be in here.”

Sonia faced a seasoned nurse who was monitoring several humming, beeping machines while writing on a chart. The victim was the only patient in the 4-bed ICU room. “I’m Agent Sonia Knight with Immigration. Dr. Miller said I could see the patient.” She showed the nurse her badge.

The nurse shook her head. “I doubt that. He allowed the police department to collect evidence, but the patient is in-”

None of the staff’s efforts to protect Ann would matter if her attacker tracked her to Sutter Hospital. These people were ruthless; they would kill anyone who got in their way. While most of the brutal violence associated with trafficking occurred outside U.S. borders, there had been a marked increase over the last few years of “unsolved” murders that ICE believed were a by-product of the more-than-$23-billion-and-growing human trafficking business.

“Five minutes,” she told the nurse as she approached the victim.

The nurse called security and stood sentry at the foot of the bed. “Don’t touch her,” the nurse growled, but made no move to throw Sonia out.

The victim had clearly not been meant to survive. Her skin was bruised, a bandage covered half her head, and numerous cuts had been cleaned, interspersed with bandages over the deeper injuries. Amazingly, her beautiful face was unmarked except for a couple of minor scratches. But her throat was dark purple with a bruise pattern that clearly outlined fingers.

Previous victims flashed through Sonia’s mind. She’d seen similar marks before. In southern Mexico she was part of an international task force that uncovered an unmarked grave of more than a dozen women, all killed at different times. The most recent victim in the grave had been dead for less than forty-eight hours and bore similar violent bruising that covered her entire neck.

Though the task force had thoroughly investigated the murders, they’d never had a suspect. DNA was collected, but it didn’t match any known individual in CODIS. Mexico and other countries had their own CODIS systems, but their data was less complete than in the United States and Europe. Still, it was worth sending the DNA samples Simone collected to all countries in the western hemisphere that had the capability to run them against their files. The chances Ann’s rapist and the Southern Mexico killer were one and the same were slim, but because human trafficking was involved the odds increased slightly.

Sonia’s rage bubbled as she pictured the brute who had caused such pain and trauma to an innocent girl. She had to find the bastard and stop him. But even then, Ann’s safety was at risk. If she had been a captive, they wouldn’t let her live to tell her story or finger any of them. Sonia had to know what she was dealing with.

“Ann” was in a deep, drug-induced sleep, on breathing equipment and an IV. Her neck was bruised, in a partial brace, and Sonia didn’t dare feel around for the chip and risk further injury. She’d have to wait for the X-ray.

Traffickers inserted GPS chips when they planned to keep the victims alive and working, either in hard labor or prostitution. The implants, even when they didn’t function properly, kept them in line, because everyone believed they would be found even if they escaped. Some victims had cut out the microchips, but it wasn’t easy or safe. The back of the neck was a quick and easy incision with the least chance of infection, but the device was almost impossible to remove without assistance.

Sonia felt the nurse watching her closely, but she had no choice. She reached out quickly and pushed up the sleeve of Ann’s gown to see the tattoo.

The four stars were so familiar Sonia almost felt that she knew the girl. Of course she didn’t, not personally, only girls like her. She could have ended up like Ann. She also could have ended up dead. That she’d been one of the few to escape before suffering such physical and emotional trauma brought on mixed emotions. Relief and joy, guilt and sorrow. Knowing there were others not as lucky as she’d been. Others like Ann. Like Izzy …

The nurse grabbed her arm. “Detective, you need to leave right now. You think you can come in here and manhandle my patient?” she said in a loud whisper. “Do you know what this girl has been through?”

“I know a hell of a lot more about what she’s been through than you.”

Sonia jerked her arm away from the nurse and gently dropped the gown back in place. She didn’t know what the numbers meant-she had never seen anything similar. They didn’t look right, as if a different ink had been used. But there was no way the nurse would give her the time she needed to concentrate on the oddity.

The door opened and a security guard stepped in.

“Escort this woman from the hospital,” the nurse demanded.

“I’m leaving,” Sonia said.

“I’ll take you out, ma’am,” the guard said.

“I’ll wait for the doctor.” She stepped through the door. Dr. Miller came running and frowned.

“Agent Knight, I told you not to speak to the patient.”

“I didn’t talk to her. I needed to see something.”

“If you want my help, I suggest you follow my rules.” He dismissed the security guard. “The portable X-ray is on its way. Wait here. Or I will have you removed from the hospital.” He stepped into the room to calm the fuming nurse.

Simone grinned. “You have balls.”

“So they tell me. Can you rush the DNA tests? Or send some evidence to the DHS lab? It’s a long shot, but because we’re dealing with likely human trafficking, our suspect could be a foreigner. DHS works closely with the FBI and law enforcement abroad.”

“Consider it done.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky with an I.D.” As she spoke, she emailed her boss the information she had.

“I just hope he’s from a country with an extradition treaty,” Simone said. “What about the tattoo?”

“The stars are related to her destination. These girls don’t mean anything to them-they’re property. The marks tell them how to sort their ‘property’ to make it easier to inventory and distribute.”

“How can you talk about human slavery so matter-of-factly?” Simone asked, incredulous.

Sonia bristled, then bit back her temper. The criminalist was asking a valid question. Still, she responded with a question. “How can you collect evidence off a rape victim?”

Simone shook her head. “It’s not the same thing.”

“We all deal with our jobs the best we can. I have to be objective or I can’t do my job.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

Sonia pressed her palm to her forehead and said, “I overreacted.”

Sonia had been accused of being both overly passionate and overly clinical, which used to amuse her until she realized most people didn’t want to see either extreme. They didn’t want to discuss serious crime clearly and rationally to solve the problem, nor did they want to hear about their own culpability in ignoring the problems in the first place. If it didn’t touch their lives, they feigned ignorance. They didn’t want to know if the clothes on their back had been sewn by a slave or if the shoes on their feet had been glued by an eight-year-old.

“I’m going to check on the X-ray,” Simone said and went to find a nurse.

Sonia’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the number. It showed a 916 area code and nothing else. Federal. “Hello?” Oh, shit. She was way late to her meeting with the FBI.

“Sonia Knight, please.”