Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
His smile slips, his laughter dying as uncertainty filters through his expression. "I have a green card. You can't deport me."
"Wrong." Troy smirks at him. "You had a green card. We found you with drugs and drug money in your pocket. You're also a confessed member of the Tarasova Cartel, a known Russian organized crime syndicate."
"One currently under investigation for human trafficking and slavery," I add, planting my fists on the table and leaning toward him. "We don’t keep Bratva members involved in human trafficking in this country, Marozava. You might have made Faith Donovan's life hell for the last five years, but she sealed your fate. You never should have admitted to knowing her when she's a known victim of human trafficking. She's been held against her will by Nikolai Tarasova for five years. You won't see the outside of a jail cell until you're on a plane back to Mother Russia."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" I ask, giving him a savage smile.
Panic ripples across his face, wiping away his smug amusement.
"You're done, Marozava. You were beaten the minute I got my hands on her."
"I want a lawyer!" he shouts, his voice rising an octave.
He can have any lawyer he wants. It's too late for one to save him. He's already given me what I needed to take him out. He knows it as well as I do. He’s going back to Russia. And judging by his reaction, that’s the last fucking place he wants to be right now. Good. I hope whoever he’s running from over there and whatever they do to him when they find him hurts like hell.
"Take him to a cell to wait for ICE," I mutter to Troy, gathering his folder off the table and then hitting the button to stop recording the interview. I head out of the interview room to go collect Faith from Dr. Shapiro's office, Mikhail shouting curses at me the entire way.
They don't fade until I'm halfway down the hall.
"Hernandez!"
I glance up to find Officer Livingston headed my way at a quick clip.
"What's up?"
"Captain told me to find you. Finn Bethel has been trying to reach you."
Finn usually passes info to me through Roman, but Roman took the weekend off. Which is why Faith has been with Dr. Shapiro for the last three and a half hours. Roman has been working nonstop for weeks. The man needed a break, so Finn and Luke took his caseload for the weekend.
"Thanks. I'll call him," I tell Livingston, striding down the hall toward my office to drop off Mikhail's file and grab my cell phone. I pause, curiosity filling me when my gaze falls on Faith's notebook sitting on the corner of my desk.
What did Mikhail mean about her begging for their lives? Whose lives? Why?
She's already filled over half of the notebook. It wouldn't take anything more than flipping open the cover and reading to find out if the answers I seek are inside…but I don't do it. I desperately want to know what she's writing, what she's hiding, but I don't want to invade her privacy to find out. She'll come to me when she's ready.
Dios. I hope she comes to me.
I lock Mikhail's file up in a drawer, grab my phone and Faith's notebook, and head toward Dr. Shapiro's office.
"It's Hernandez," I mutter to Finn when he answers the phone. "I was told you're trying to reach me."
"Yeah, where are you?"
"My office. Why?"
"We're at Curtis Kaleo's. We found a gun hidden in his shed. It looks like it's been there for years." Finn pauses. "It matches the weapon used to kill the three gang members you're investigating Kincaid for killing."
"Mierda." Curtis Kaleo is my other suspect in those murders. He's also our suspected tipster, and the reason I had to leave Faith with Finn a few days ago. Kincaid and Roman's team raided his property. Franklin heard about it and demanded I bring Kincaid in for questioning. If ballistics can tie that weapon to those murders, Curtis Kaleo is going to have a whole lot of questions to answer. Just as soon as I find him. I've had people looking all over the place for him, but he's missing in action. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
"We'll wait."
I disconnect and shove my phone into my pocket, jogging down the hall toward Dr. Shapiro's office. The door is standing open. Faith is curled up on a leather couch, sleeping. Dr. Shapiro's seated behind her desk, her glasses perched on her nose as she types notes into a document.
"Hey," I mutter to her.
"Octavio." She glances up, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she sees me. Dr. Shapiro is in her fifties, with graying hair and a kind smile. She's tough enough to handle unruly police officers, but gentle enough to be good for someone like Faith. I like her.