Atlanta’s finest poured through the doors.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Atlanta PD escorted all the occupants of the drug operation to a secure room on the second floor for processing, while DEA agents examined the warehouse’s contents.
A young woman, no more than a girl, really, cowered on the floor, eyes red and swollen, gasping for breath between sobs. What could he do? What could he say?
Comforting a hysterical woman. So not Lucky’s strong suit.
He glanced right and left. The closer the uniformed cops came to her, the harder she cried. She uncurled her legs from her chest.
Oh. God.
Pregnant. Very pregnant. And in near hysterics. In her panic he’d not recognized Yolanda.
He crouched down to her eye level, speaking softly, as he’d heard Bo do when trying to soothe someone. Would she recognize him as one of the men who’d tried to save her before? Had Cruz even explained Lucky’s presence, or told her who he was? “Yolanda, please calm down. You’re not doing yourself or your baby any good.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she shrieked louder, shouting in Spanish. Lucky only recognized a few of the words. Whatever she said wasn’t something he’d learned in prison. Worthless. In this situation he couldn’t do one damned thing.
Except…
Lucky stood and searched the room. The cops were busy processing the others. No help in sight. “Can I get a female officer or agent in here?” he called.
Several sets of eyes focused on him, quickly turning away.
“I got one!” came from the hallway outside the way-too-small room they’d assembled the workers in.
The sea of blue parted, though with the height and hair he’d already spotted the female agent in question.
“You needed me?” Johnson strode forward, the emblem on her blue SNB-issued polo shirt marking her unmistakably as someone Yolanda would fear.
“This is our informant, Yolanda. I need you to talk to her. See if you can settle her down some.” Good, with Johnson here, Lucky could make a quick exit.
The woman continued wailing when Johnson drew near. Oh, twice the girl’s size and muscles upon muscles rippling in her arms. Not the least intimidating woman on the planet.
In a moment of relative quiet, a soft voice answered the woman’s plaintive Spanish. She perked up, searching the room for the source of the sound.
Hallelujah! Bo squeezed through the tightly-packed bodies, worming his way across the room. The woman sniffled and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.
Bo didn’t merely crouch as Lucky had. Uncaring for his pressed dress pants, he sat down on the filthy floor beside her. Whatever he said, she paid rapt attention. When Bo stopped talking, she replied.
Bo stood. She took his offered hand and wobbled to her feet.
“Excuse us.” Bo pushed through the crowd, arm around Yolanda, who clung to his side.
“Somebody get a chair in here,” Johnson barked. A uniformed cop disappeared into an office area and returned with a dilapidated rolling chair.
Bo led the woman to the chair, hip-checked a few uniforms out of the way, and settled her there.
Her eyes went wide when he stepped away, but she relaxed at a few words from her savior. Bo disappeared into the area of the warehouse recon showed to be a breakroom and returned with a few paper towels and a bottle of water. Ever so gently he sank to his knees, offered her the bottle and wiped her face, repeating, “Yolanda” all the while
With the situation under control, Lucky could resume his case. Fluent Spanish wasn’t necessary to gather certain information. By all appearances, judging by her clean but threadbare clothes and no obvious signs of drug abuse—may he be right for the sake of the baby—she might be innocent in this situation, a young woman taken advantage of as she’d told Cruz.
He’d met many in the drug trade over the years, from a genteel lady doctor to soccer parents, to die-hard traffickers without the slightest trace of decency. One thing they all shared in common: they had no qualms about coercing someone weak and helpless to do their dirty work.
How he’d love to ride out this investigation, trace it back to whoever pulled the strings, but the time for action was now.
No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, his attention kept wandering back to Bo and the girl. Oh, dear Lord. In a matter of minutes, she’d gone from hysterics to clinging to Bo’s arm.
