He forced his mind back on track. “Memorial Park,” he said, his voice a little husky. “I didn’t want anyone to see us or overhear our conversation. We have no idea where the threat might come from. And Tony’s a cop. All the more reason to keep the contact on the down low.”
Jase scrubbed a hand over the jaw he hadn’t bothered to shave again that morning. He was tired from the long drive and lack of sleep, impossible with Kate lying in bed on the other side of the wall. He’d wanted her all night. Ached with wanting her.
He had never felt this way about a woman, never felt this driving need, this constant desire just to be with her. He had a feeling he never would again.
But Kate was right. He couldn’t just sleep with her whenever it was convenient. It wouldn’t be right. Or fair. And he couldn’t offer her more than that. He lived a life of uncertainty. And even if Kate was seriously interested in a guy like him, which he doubted, sooner or later she would realize the mistake she had made.
He needed to keep his hands off her and his mind out of the gutter. Once this was over, he’d get out of her life for good.
In the meantime, they had work to do.
He turned into the park and wound his way along the lanes through the lush green landscape, tall pines and gnarled oaks. Dirt paths provided jogging trails, and there were ponds and creeks scattered around the park. When he reached the area where the meet was set, he kept driving just to be safe. He didn’t see anything but a string of bicycle riders and a handful of joggers, working up a sweat along the road.
Circling around, he drove back to the parking area. A brown unmarked police car sat in one of the spaces not far from an old Chevy minivan. A caravan of kids climbed out as Jase pulled into one of the empty spaces. He spotted Castillo sitting at a picnic table on the grass.
“Thanks for meeting us,” Jase said, shaking Castillo’s nut-brown hand. He was a good-looking guy, about six feet, with an athletic build and glossy black hair. “Tony, this is Kate Gallagher.”
“Good to meet you, Kate. Jase filled me in on what’s been happening and told me about your sister. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He had leveled with Castillo, taken a certain amount of risk, but they needed help. To get it, he had to trust someone.
“What can you tell us?” They sat side by side across from Castillo at a picnic table not far from the parking lot. A warm breeze rolled over the short green grass and rustled through the branches of the trees.
“You asked me about what they called the Easter Bunny raid. That was conducted by the sheriff’s department over a period of a couple of weeks back in April. Picked up twenty johns from various locations. The deputies were mostly focused on the men and whether the prostitutes picked up in the sting were being trafficked.”
“Were they?”
“Most of the women were older, been in the life for a while. A few young Mexican girls who’d crossed the border illegally. Nothing organized turned up. Nobody underage. Nobody being held against her will.”
Kate shifted on the wooden bench. “Were any of the women marked with a red lipstick tattoo?”
“Jason mentioned that on the phone. I checked. There was nothing noted in the arrest records. But about a month ago, we got a report of a woman missing from a homeless shelter. Odds were she’d wandered off somewhere, so there wasn’t much concern. Two weeks later, we found her body in a ditch. She’d been beaten to death. She had a lipstick tattoo on the side of her neck.”
“Kate’s sister had that mark, and there’s a dead woman in San Antonio who also has it. Word is both of them lived in Houston before they were killed.”
“So you think the homeless woman was being trafficked and escaped? They caught up with her and killed her?”
“I think that’s what happened to Kate’s sister, Christina.”
Kate leaned forward, catching Castillo’s attention. “Where was the woman’s body found?” A question that had proved useful before.
“Field off Interstate 10 out near Brookshire. Not much around there. After I talked to Jason this morning, I made a few calls. There’s a rumor on the street about an organization that’s set up shop somewhere in the Houston area. First I’ve heard of it, but I have a hunch they been in business awhile.”
“Trafficking?”
“Looks like it. They’re running women, marking them as their property. The people who work for them call that lipstick tatel beso de la muerte. The kiss of death. The men who own them are known as Los Besos. They’re bad hombres, Hawk.”
“We figured that out when they murdered Kate’s sister. The question is, how do we find them?”
Castillo looked at him hard. “A better question might be how do we stop them?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The conversation went from bad to worse.
“One other thing,” Castillo said. “Last night, a call came in from the sheriff’s office in Wharton, young girl reported missing. Apparently, she’s been gone from home a couple of days. Stepdad convinced the mother she was just acting out. Sooner or later she’d come back on her own.”
“But she hasn’t.”
