Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

“I can’t believe he left you.” Dean’s voice was rough with anger. He kissed her hands again, holding them so tightly her fingers almost went numb.

“Do you know who saved me from being hanged?”

“Don’t tell me Charlie.”

“Indirectly.”

“Do I want to hear this?”

“You asked about Kane Rogan. This is where he comes in. I was in prison, I wasn’t getting a trial, and I thought I was going to die. I didn’t get a phone call, I didn’t get to talk to anyone. Charlie hadn’t followed me from the farm. He didn’t know where I’d been taken. He was tracking the other girls. He called Kane-they’d been in the Marines together-and told him what happened. Some of what happened. Kane specializes in hostage rescues. He tracked me down, broke me out of prison, and brought me back to El Paso. I asked him where Charlie was and he thought I already knew. He said, ‘Charlie said you’d gotten yourself in trouble. Tell me what happened.’ I told him everything.”

Dean massaged her palms. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his support through his touch.

“I thought Kane was going to kill him. Really. He ended up testifying on my behalf during the OPR hearings.”

“On your behalf?”

When Sonia had first heard Charlie’s lies, she’d been devastated. Now it just made her angry. “Charlie had fabricated a story. A lot of stories. Suffice it to say, he was a hero. He saved all those girls who’d been branded with me, and he found the dozen girls kidnapped from the orphanage. No one wanted to believe that he set me up as bait so he could gather intelligence. But Kane believed me, and his word went a long way with OPR. If you ever meet him, you’ll understand why.”

“Sonia,” Dean said, “I’m glad you told me.”

She breathed easier, gave him a half-smile. “Me, too.”

He leaned over and kissed her softly, holding her face with his hands. “You are amazing, sweetheart.”

Dean’s respect and affection empowered Sonia, as if sharing the entire sordid story had purged the last of her anger and resentment and self-pity. She’d been holding back for so long, keeping the details of that unspeakable time locked deep inside, not realizing how it still haunted her. Now, her heart felt lighter, she was stronger. Because Dean drew the truth out like no one else had been able to.

She said, “I kinda like you.”

“I kinda like you, too.” He kissed her again. No urgency, just a deep affection like nothing Sonia had known before.

He reluctantly pulled back. “It’s getting late. I brought over the files on Rio Diablo and some of the older documentation I have on Jones, if you want to take a look while I take a quick shower.”

“I’ll do that.”

Dean pulled her from the chair and brought her lips to his. Lightly, a breath of a touch, but Sonia’s body tingled in response. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, her head nestled between his neck and shoulder. Just held her without moving for a long, peaceful moment.

“Okay. I’m going to get in the shower.” He made no move to leave her. He kissed her head, her cheek, her neck, back to her lips. “Now,” he said, his voice husky. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “The files are on the coffee table.”

“Thanks.”

She watched him walk down the hall. She was tempted to follow, but there was a time to play and a time to work.

She crossed to the living room. Mouse, the cat, followed her and jumped into her lap the minute she sat on the couch in front of the file box. She absently rubbed his fur as she took the lid off.

Most of the files were numbers. Rows and rows of numbers-they looked like printouts from tax returns or corporate filings. This wasn’t her forte. She flipped through those quickly, looking at only the names.

She put those files aside and pulled another one. And another. The shower went off and she didn’t see herself making any inroads.

She put the files back, moved the box, and looked at the files that were beneath it. They were marked THOMAS DANIELS. Smitty. The guy who had unwittingly clued Dean in to Jones’s shady dealings.

She opened the thin file and stared at a black-and-white photograph of nine men and a woman who looked familiar, but Sonia couldn’t put a name to her face. She recognized Xavier Jones and Smitty in the picture. She also noted Pieter Huffmann, a German who was wanted by Interpol and ICE for trafficking.

And she recognized one other man.

Sonia’s mouth went dry, and her hands began to shake. She flipped the photograph over; there was nothing written on the back. No date or time stamp. Nothing to tell her when or where it was taken.

She turned it again and stared at the familiar face again, bile rising from her stomach. The picture had been taken outside. Most of the men held big-game fish of all sizes; a huge blue marlin dominated the picture, half-obscuring the bastard in the center. Her hands and face became clammy, and she bent over to stem the nausea that continued to rise. Mouse jumped off her lap with an annoyed meow and reminded her that she was safe, safe in this apartment with Dean in the next room.

Only in her mind, only in her memories and nightmares could he hurt her.

“What’s wrong, Sonia? Are you feeling okay?” She hadn’t heard Dean return over the ringing in her ears.

He put a hand on her back. “You’re shaking. Sonia, talk to me.”

“This picture.” She still clutched it in her hands.

“Yes, I told you about it. It’s what-”

She interrupted. “Do you know who this is?” She straightened and tapped the man in the middle, the man with the blue marlin.

“No, we don’t have an I.D. on three of those men, him included.”

“When was this picture taken?”

“Sonia, what’s going on?”

“When!”

“We believe seven to ten years ago.”

“I know who this is. This is my father. My real father-Sergio Martin-who sold me twenty years ago.”

Dean was halfway to FBI headquarters when Sonia got the call from Detective John Black that “Ann” was awake and coherent. Her prognosis had been upgraded from critical to serious and the doctors were optimistic.

He turned off the freeway, then looped around and headed back downtown to the hospital. Sonia was optimistic that Ann could help them. The man who tried to kill her had used the same type of knife that had been used to kill Greg Vega; there was a connection but they needed more information. Information that Sonia was certain Ann could give them. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. But right now Sonia needed every last detail she could get to find the Chinese girls before they disappeared.

If it wasn’t too late already.

Ann had been moved into the psychiatric ward, which had the best security in the hospital, for her protection. Used only for assessments, Ann was the only patient in this wing.

“I need to warn you,” John Black said when he greeted them, “she can’t talk, and Dr. Miller doesn’t think she’ll regain her voice. But there doesn’t seem to be any brain damage. The problem is she doesn’t read or understand English or Spanish.”

“She doesn’t need to read anything,” Sonia said. “I’ll ask yes-and-no questions.”

“But if she doesn’t understand-”

“She knows a language. We just have to figure out which one.”

“How many languages do you know?”

“Enough to get by. I’ll figure it out. Unless it’s Russian. If that’s the case we’ll find a translator.”

A Sac P.D. cop was stationed at both the nurse’s station and Ann’s door. Dean and Sonia showed their identification, and entered Ann’s room. Black followed.