I hated myself for speaking the question aloud. Not because it wasn’t possible, but because saying it made the world tilt. Including every assumption we’d made in following Priya’s trail.
Rosa glanced toward the window, as if checking whether the street had changed while we’d been inside. When her gaze came back to me, it had sharpened into something hard and bright. “You think she was taken because of me.”
“No.” The word came out too fast. Too emphatic. Like I could shove the idea away by force. I forced myself to breathe. “No. I think she may have been taken because of… the conditions. From behind, in the dark, with a hoodie and a hat and someone who doesn’t care enough to learn a name?—”
Rosa’s hands curled on the edge of the table. “It is still because of me.”
Rios’s chair scraped back half an inch. “No,” he insisted, voice low. “It’s because of him.”
Rosa’s eyes flicked to him, something like relief flashing there before it got crushed back down under survival instincts.
I swallowed. My throat tightened, as if my body was trying to reject the air.
“Rosa,” I said carefully, “the reason this matters isn’t blame. It’s scope.”
She frowned slightly.
“If Priya was a mistake,” I continued, “then she was taken by someone who had a target in mind. A plan.” Which meant we needed to determine whether the target was Rosa specifically or simply someone like her. The answer would change the entire trajectory of this investigation.
I forced my voice to steady. “We need to ask you some direct questions. And you can tell us to go to hell at any point.”
The weight of Rios’s gaze was almost palpable, but he didn’t interrupt, which I took as tacit permission to continue with my line of questioning.
Rosa didn’t smile. “Ask.”
“Has anyone ever threatened you?” I asked. “Outside of work—on the street, near your home, on your way somewhere—anyone ever told you to watch yourself, to keep quiet, to stop walking a certain route?”
Rosa shook her head. “No.”
“Have you ever had someone try to get you alone before?” I asked. “Not like what happened behind the bar—maybe someone offering you a ride, someone waiting near your door, someone you noticed more than once?”
Her mouth tightened. “Men look. Men speak. I ignore.”
“And have you ignored anyone recently who didn’t like being ignored?” I pressed.
Rosa’s eyes flashed, irritation crossing her face. “I ignore all men. It saves time.”
Rios made a sound that might’ve been a laugh in a different universe. It wasn’t here.
I nodded once. “Fair. But I need to know if there’s anyone who might have fixated on you.”
Rosa’s gaze slid away for a second. Back to the window. Back to me.
“There is a man,” she said slowly, like each word had to pass through a filter of risk. “I see him sometimes.”
“Where?” Rios asked immediately.
“On the street. Near the marina. Sometimes near the market.” She hesitated. “Once, maybe twice, near my building.”
My pulse kicked.
“Not at Home Port?” I asked.
Rosa shook her head. “No. I do not work out front. Customers do not see me. I do not see him come inside.”
That mattered. A lot.
“Describe him,” Rios said.
