The Edge of Obsession (Black Ops Confidential 2.5)

“Hey, all,” Gracie said, looking up at her central monitor. Her green eyes widened. Her hand came up, covering her laughter.

Joyous news. This was the way her night was going to go.

Tony popped on a split second later, his hazel eyes focused on the screen. His instant laughter boomed over her. “D,” he said, wiping at the tears running down his face. “You’se found it. The one cover ya can’t pull off.”

He continued to lose it. Dada ground her teeth as the edges of her own mouth began to give way.

She loved these disrespectful people. The League of Warrior Women was, in large part, made up of the adopted members of the Parish family—twenty-six females and two males. When adopted into the family—twenty-eight kids and growing—she’d been assigned a unit. These were the siblings she’d trained with, confided in, fought with, ran operations with as an undercover agent.

“Would you all like time to get yourselves together? I can go get some tea and come back.”

Slowly, they settled down. Then each of the boxes shuffled right as another box opened. Bridget’s hair was a nest of strands stabbed with a comb on the side of her head. Her brown eyes appeared sleepy under her glasses. She blinked, leaned closer. A small smile lit her face. “I like your hat.”

All four of her siblings burst into laughter. It took a few more minutes of patience, patience that surely earned her sainthood, before they calmed down enough to get down to business.

When they did, she gave them an overview of what had happened since coming to Mexico, including her new contact. Except, because she’d promised him, she kept Juan’s true identity to herself. She did, however, tell them what he’d told her with Rosa. This was important. Someone was taking women from the town.

“So this woman in the square,” Tony said, causing the frame around his box to light up, “someone offered her a job, and she said other women had accepted the jobs and disappeared? Isn’t that what the cartels do?”

“Yes,” Dada said, “but, as I explained, Juan claims this isn’t what’s happening here. He says this is settled territory.”

“But this Juan guy,” Justice said, “works for Walid, so maybe he’s lying.”

Justice’s voice said her patience was on a razor’s edge. Pretty much where Justice’s patience started and ended, but especially with this mission. A mission to take down the men who had killed Justice’s biological sister.

“I believe he was telling me the truth,” Dada said. “It makes sense.”

“Well, fuck,” Justice said, “if it has nothing to do with Walid, it’ll have to wait until this op is over. We can’t risk discovery right now, and you poking around asking questions about missing women is a time bomb.”

“Asking questions is why I’m here. I can do both. Find out about Walid’s security, the people around him, and research what is happening to these women.”

“We don’t only need information on Walid. We need his routes,” Justice said. “Specifics on how women are being secreted across North America. We need to stop the flow—”

Dada switched her gaze to Tony. “I’m mentioning it so the team leader can make the call.”

Tony cleared his throat. Justice jumped in and over him. “I wish the League could take on every case, but there are rules. A process. Focus on the case in front of you. The approved one.”

“Even if women are being lured away?” Dada asked, ready to fight for Rosa and women like her.

“Settle down,” Tony interrupted. He rubbed at his face. “Right now, it’s a no-brainer. Finding info on one situation most likely will find info on the other. This Juan guy is key. Get in front of him every chance you can. Expose some part of you, feed him some truth, so he’s more likely to trust you.”

Expose herself? Feed him? Yes. Please. Heat rose from her fluttering belly to her face. Thanks to the sun god’s gift of melatonin, no one could see the heat flushing her face.

“You okay? Looking a little distracted,” Tony said.

Uh. Tony. Stop being so observant.

“Leave Dada alone,” Bridget said. “It’s hard enough being on assignment, having women disappearing around you while researching a trafficker’s business without getting teased.”

God bless Bridget. Still, her siblings wouldn’t be put off with an admonishment. They were evaluating her now. Closely. Which meant they required an answer. And what had Tony just said about giving some truth? She sighed. “Juan is cute, all. Very cute.”

“Uh oh,” Gracie said. “Stay clear of any complications. You know how that turns out for this family.”

She did. Well, she knew how badly it had turned out for Gracie.

“Not to worry,” she told her siblings, comfortable now that she’d distracted them from asking deeper questions. “I’m not interested in any man who would be party to those who would enslave a woman. And you all have to recognize the truth of that.”

There was a beat of silence. A recognition of her pain. And acceptance of her answer. All here had been rescued in one way or another. All here had given their lives to the League in place of any life that could be outside the League of Warrior Women. And that made them one, connected in a way that no one would ever be able to come between.

Chapter 7

The street on which Dada found Sion’s apartment was shadowed and rundown—the exact place one would expect to find a forger who worked for sex-traffickers. Now, to see exactly what Sion Bradford a.k.a Juan was doing.

Covering a yawn, Dada entered the building. Nun hours sucked. Four a.m. prayers? Five- thirty breakfast? And that was just the start of the grueling day. Why had Momma thought this would be a good cover for her?

This area had so much to offer, museums, mole, fabulous restaurants, mezcal, clubs, glorious ruins. But not for her. If she hadn’t found a way to bend the rules, she’d have spent all her time praying.

Inside the cool, dimly lit corridor, she knocked on a pitted door marked, “Gerente.” Manager.

The door swung open and Dada looked down at an elderly Mexican woman with silver hair and brown eyes, sitting in a wheelchair.

“Hello. My name is Sister Dee. Juan said you might be in need. I came to check on you.”

And to find out what she knew about Juan.

Hearing Juan’s name brought a smile to the woman’s lips. She introduced herself as Yolanda. Yolanda then pushed her chair backward and beckoned Dada inside to the kitchen. She took a seat at the glass topped table.

As she made tea, Yolanda talked about Juan. He was such a good boy. So kind.

Dada didn’t point out that he wasn’t a boy. He was all man. Or that he worked for human traffickers. “How nice to have him here. You must get lonely.”

Yolanda shook her head. “I’m not alone. My son is here.”

“Your son?”

“That’s me,” a man said, stepping out from a door in the kitchen, through which she saw a bedroom. He wore blue coveralls. The name on his pocket read Geraldo.

“Que es esto?” Geraldo said.

“What is this?” A little rude, Geraldo. And a bit young to be this woman’s son. He couldn’t be older than twenty-four. He had direct blue eyes and a skin tone halfway between Yolanda’s dark one and some unknown lighter-skinned parent.

Yolanda gently told her son, “Sister is here checking on me.”

Geraldo blinked and did a double take. His eyes widened. “Sorry, Sister. I didn’t see...”

He trailed off. They stared at each other. He hadn’t noticed she was a nun? She was wearing the full getup, habit and all. “It’s quite all right, my child,” she said.

He dragged his hand up and down the front of his chest and spoke slowly, as if he had to search a moment for each word, “I’m to fix the pipes in 4C.”

He walked out without another word. Hmmm. Could be Geraldo’s brain worked differently?

Yolanda watched her son go, her eyes filled with love. She pointed to him. “Another good boy.”

A flash of pa

in for this woman and her son lanced her heart. Sion seemed like a good man, but he was involved with some very bad people. She hoped trouble didn’t follow Sion here.

After a few more moments asking questions about Juan, including which apartment was his, Dada excused herself with a promise to return.

#

The unfortunate consequence of breaking into someone’s apartment to discover things you wished to know was that you could discover things that truly surprised you.

Sion’s one-room apartment had bags of stolen passports from all over the world. They were stacked on a wooden drafting table, spread across his unmade bed, deposited on the breakfast bar by the kitchenette. Along with the passports was the technical equipment to alter them—multiple tools for cutting and pasting, printing machines, blue lights, and lighted magnifying lenses. And all of that was more or less expected. What was unexpected was the paint supplies and paintings that lay near and on an easel. They were heartbreakingly beautiful. She hadn’t known he painted.

And even more surprising...

She lifted the Canadian passport and stared at the woman. Maria Salazar Montalvo the passport read. The picture on the passport was Rosa, the young woman from the square.