“I want him to know,” she said. “I want him to know that I won’t rest until I see him six feet under, like my boy.”
Patrick straightened his shirt, obviously uncomfortable. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I want him to know,” she repeated, and allowed her son to lead her out.
The girls behind the counter didn’t move even after she left. They continued to gape at Rod as if they believed the accusations she’d flung and were afraid he’d hurt them next.
Muttering a curse for letting his father talk him into returning to Bordertown in the first place, he piled his trash on the plastic tray. But before he could reach the garbage can, the bell jingled over the door again.
This time it was Sophia. No longer in uniform, she wore a pretty blouse, a skirt and some sandals. But her eyes were wide with worry and her face was pale as bleached bone.
“What is it?” he asked.
Sophia held the paper she’d found on her nightstand tightly in her right hand. She had no idea who’d written the numbers on it if not Rod. She certainly hadn’t.
“Did you write this?” Pulling him outside, where they couldn’t be overheard, she uncurled her fingers. The crumpled sheet of paper she’d ripped from the notepad by her phone rested in her palm.
Lines creased his forehead as he took it and smoothed it out. “Yes. Last night. I didn’t want to forget it.” He glanced up as if he couldn’t believe this was any kind of problem. “Why?”
“What business do you have with my stepfather?”
“Your what?”
“My stepfather. Why do you have his number?”
Confusion clouded his expression. “I don’t— Wait a second. You’re telling me this number belongs to your stepfather? I don’t see how that can be.”
“Why not? You didn’t get it from him?”
“No. I’ve never even met him.”
“Then how—”
“I saw it on a wipe board attached to the fridge at the safe house,” he broke in. “There was no name, but the way it was written gave me the impression that it was significant to the people inside. There was no area code, either, so I assumed it was local. I memorized it just in case it turned into a lead of some sort.”
Sophia struggled to make the connection. Could her stepfather be involved with the people who’d beaten Rod? Involved in smuggling illegal aliens? He was the absolute last person she’d ever suspect of such a thing. There had to be another answer. But she couldn’t think of one single reason his number would be inside that safe house. “My stepfather has never stated an opinion on the immigration issue one way or another.”
“People who get involved in human trafficking don’t do it for political purposes,” Rod said. “They do it for the money, Sophia. You know that.”
Of course she did. But…her stepfather? Where would he have made the contacts? Why would he take the risk?
An image of the mansion in which her mother lived appeared in Sophia’s mind. Then she thought about the feed store and the article in the paper praising Gary O’Conner for his business prowess. Did he really earn such a great living from selling hay and other animal supplies and renting farm equipment? Or was that merely a front for a much more lucrative business?
“Oh, God.”
“You’ve thought of something?”
“Just growing suspicious. But we can’t tip him off. I need to talk to my mom, see what I can get out of her before they realize he might be at risk and clam up.” She knew instinctively that Anne would protect Gary. Anne would refuse to believe he could be involved in human smuggling just as she’d refused to believe he could be slipping into her teenage daughter’s bedroom at night. Anything short of complete denial threatened life as Anne knew it.
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” Rod said.
Taking the paper, she turned to head to her cruiser, but Rod caught her by the elbow.
“I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.”
She blinked up at him. “And you think that’s my problem? That I’ll let you stay with me again?” He’d made it clear that last night hadn’t meant anything to him. Why would she be so foolish as to welcome him back?
His gaze dropped to the sidewalk before lifting again. He studied her, looking extremely unhappy, but he didn’t speak. She sensed that he wanted her to understand what was in his head but couldn’t sort out his own feelings enough to explain them.
“Are you going to answer?”
“I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”
“Sorry doesn’t change anything, Rod.”
Nodding, he drew a deep breath. “I had no right to even ask. It’s just… I thought once would do the trick, that once would be enough, you know?”
“For what?” she asked.
“To get you out of my system,” he said, then walked away.
Anne’s house was like a mausoleum. Expansive. Sterile. Filled with art and sculpture. The only thing that moved, except the ceiling fans in the glass extension overlooking the backyard, was Dolly, the poodle.
Tail quivering with excitement, Dolly sat on her perfectly groomed behind and begged for a morsel of Sophia’s food.
“You’ve already had yours, baby.” After sliding the plate she’d prepared for Sophia away from the edge of the table, Anne scooped the dog into her lap. “Let Sophie enjoy her dinner. It’s rare enough that I get to see her.”
Sophia didn’t miss the chastisement in her mother’s words. She knew Anne wished she’d come out more often. Her mother always had some new trinket or painting or antique to show off. And the tennis courts were done now, as Anne had pointed out twice in the time it took to warm up a few leftovers. Her mother insisted there was so much to do at Casa Nueva.
That she’d actually named her estate was a bit too arrogant for Sophia’s tastes, but it certainly wasn’t the most pretentious thing her mother had ever done.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Anne asked before Sophia could once again point out how busy she was with her job.
Sophia gazed over the garden where her mother spent the majority of each morning. The tranquility of it should’ve drawn her out here more often. Except that every time she came, she saw herself as a teenager hiding in the pool house or skulking around the backyard to delay her entry into the house if her stepfather happened to be home.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “As always.”