Dropping his bravado, Cruz crooned softly to the woman. She poked her head out of the apartment, took a long look right and left, then stepped aside. Her eyes went wide at Lucky’s gun, but she said nothing.
In her world, chances were thugs with guns made daily appearances.
Four single mattresses took up the main room, no table, no chairs, though he counted eight women. All were young. Clothes formed neat piles beside each mattress. The pregnant girl sat in the middle of one of the mattresses. She paused, mid-brush of her hair.
Cruz crouched in front of her, his voice a mere whisper. She answered with “Si”, “no” or a head nod or shake, and the occasional sentence or two. She kept her eyes downcast, staring at her hands.
At last he stood, motioning with his head toward Lucky. Together they stepped out into the hallway. “Her name is Yolanda, but she wouldn’t tell me her family name. I told her she wasn’t safe here. Me pretending to look for her puts her in danger. She won’t come with us. She’s more afraid of us than of the men she refers to as bosses.”
“We can make her.” Lucky had seen the inside of the apartment, and at least eight people living there. No way for someone to survive.
“That would make us no better than the bosses. But she did give me some information.” Cruz trotted down the stairs, forcing Lucky to keep up.
“What?”
Cruz kept his mouth shut, the bastard, waiting until they’d gotten into the Malibu to speak again. As they pulled away the four thugs peeked out from behind the building and hurried up the steps, posturing like they hadn’t just been beaten down by a lone man.
Lucky glanced to the passenger seat. Muscles twitched in Cruz’s jaw. “Out with it.”
“She’s from Mexico City. Her father sent her with some men who promised her an education and a job in the states as a hotel maid. They took what little money she had and any decent clothes. For a while she transported drugs over the border until they brought her here and put her in a room with those other women.” Cruz clenched and unclenched his fists. “The men told her and the others that if they tried to run or go to the cops, they’d be arrested and put into jail as illegal aliens.”
Motherfuckers. “What about the baby?”
“She met the baby’s father here. He was one of the guards until he got into a fight with another guard and wound up on the wrong end of a knife.”
Fuck. “Let me guess. She’s never been to a doctor for her pregnancy.”
“I don’t think so. She worries. Thinks the bosses are going to sell her child.”
What the ever-loving hell? The assholes! “And she wouldn’t come with you.”
“No. I wish I’d had more time, but she begged me to leave before we got her into more trouble.”
“Will the other women tell the bosses?”
“Only if they have to, and to save their own hides. They’re as scared as she is.” Cruz sucked in a deep breath and blew out his cheeks. “She’s only nineteen. Most of the others are younger than her. She thinks one might only be fifteen.”
Shit. Younger than Ty. She should be at home with her parents, going to school. Hell, Yolanda should be in college like Todd, not worried for her life and pregnant with a dead man’s baby, with no one to take care of her or the child.
“You should’ve made her come.” Lucky flexed his jaw. Suddenly the image of Yolanda changed into a younger version of Charlotte, cradling a swollen belly in one hand and a black eye with the other.
“I agree. But she did confirm your suspicions about the warehouse. Medicines are stored there. Most nights she works at a pharmacy under strict supervision. Her job is to package pills into bottles.”
“Does she know what they are?”
“No. She goes to work, does her job, comes home. No one tells her anything.”
“Do they pay her?”
Cruz shook his head. “Food and a place to sleep.”
Slavery, then. Lucky might lose a lot of sleep over this shit. Human traffickers were the worst kinds of scum. Worse than palmetto bugs. And like palmetto bugs, the only good one lay crushed beneath his heel. “Thanks, Cruz. I appreciate your help.”
“No problem. But why didn’t you get your partner to help? He speaks Spanish quite well.”
Lucky couldn’t hide a wince. “I need to keep him out of this, at least for now.” He pulled into the underground parking garage at the SNB and the impounded car lot and switched off the ignition. The engine sputtered and died.
He whapped the glovebox in the right spot to knock the lid open and retrieved his backup gun.
