dressed in uniform and Sonia asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I heard through the grapevine that you were involved and needed police protection for a rape victim.” He tilted his head toward the criminalist. “Hi, Simone.”
“Riley.”
“Thanks, Riley.” Sonia filled him in on the case as quickly as possible. “I’m glad you’re here. I feel much better leaving Ann in your hands.”
“Ann? You know who she is?”
“No, but I don’t want her identified as a Jane Doe. Be careful, Riley. These people are ruthless.”
“Right back at you, sis.”
Sonia left the hospital, relieved that Ann was in good hands and that the doctor was serious about protectingboth her identity and her life. She called Toni Warner as soon as she got into her car. “Anything about Charlie?” She asked without preamble.
“I’ve talked to everyone who would know about an undercover operation concerning Jones,” she said, “and no one is claiming involvement.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t something going on,” Sonia said. While the various branches of federal law enforcement had been working together better since 9/11 unified their key mission statements and goals, there were still clandestine operations throughout the country and the world. Sonia knew; she’d been part of several post-2001. But because of her position and reputation Toni had the right contacts. She’d get a hint of an operation if one existed. It would just take time, and every passing day made it harder to find Maya.
“Tread carefully, Sonia. Cammarata is a loose cannon and dangerous.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.”
Again
.
“Not intentionally, but he’s always felt his causes were just, his actions necessary. He’s always believed the ends justify the means, Sonia. And frankly, I don’t care how noble his goal is, Cammarata cannot break law after law. It’s why he was fired, it’s why he’s been blacklisted, and it’s why you, and others, were nearly killed. Don’t trust him because you think he feels remorse over what he did ten years ago. Trust me: I know Charlie Cammarata, and any guilt he feels is far outweighed by his personal mission to save the underdog at the expense of those he thinks should take care of themselves.”
“I’ll confront him and get him to talk, haul him into custody if I have to,” Sonia told her boss.
“Bring backup, Sonia. You can’t trust him.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Dean had been so busy working on coordinating DNA testing of Sonia’s rape victim that he didn’t notice it was well after three in the afternoon. He’d talked to Quantico and they would expedite the tests, with results sometime next week. With their current workload, that was the best Dean could hope for. He also contacted local authorities and arranged for some of the evidence to be shipped overnight to Virginia. And when put on hold during numerous calls, he had time to update his charts on Xavier Jones’s businesses.
He was concentrating on an updated printout of his spreadsheet when Sam Callahan escorted Sonia into the small conference room Dean had taken over when he arrived three weeks ago.
“How’s the victim?” Dean asked Sonia after Sam excused himself to finish up paperwork from the warrant last night.
Sonia shook her head. “She’s in bad shape, but alive. She has a chance. Maybe not a good chance, but so far she’s holding her own. I may have to run if the hospital calls. I want to be there when they take the GPS chip out of her neck.”
“Excuse me? GPS chip?”
“Human trafficking has heralded in the twenty-firstcentury with even more innovative ways to keep their victims captive.” She glanced around the conference room, her hazel eyes taking in Dean’s charts, diagrams, and extensive printouts. “This is all Jones?”
“Taxes, corporate filings, Fair Political Practices reports, SEC filings, any public information.”
She flipped through one of Jones’s tax returns, her brow furrowed.
“I heard through the grapevine that you were involved and needed police protection for a rape victim.” He tilted his head toward the criminalist. “Hi, Simone.”
“Riley.”
“Thanks, Riley.” Sonia filled him in on the case as quickly as possible. “I’m glad you’re here. I feel much better leaving Ann in your hands.”
“Ann? You know who she is?”
“No, but I don’t want her identified as a Jane Doe. Be careful, Riley. These people are ruthless.”
“Right back at you, sis.”
Sonia left the hospital, relieved that Ann was in good hands and that the doctor was serious about protectingboth her identity and her life. She called Toni Warner as soon as she got into her car. “Anything about Charlie?” She asked without preamble.
“I’ve talked to everyone who would know about an undercover operation concerning Jones,” she said, “and no one is claiming involvement.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t something going on,” Sonia said. While the various branches of federal law enforcement had been working together better since 9/11 unified their key mission statements and goals, there were still clandestine operations throughout the country and the world. Sonia knew; she’d been part of several post-2001. But because of her position and reputation Toni had the right contacts. She’d get a hint of an operation if one existed. It would just take time, and every passing day made it harder to find Maya.
“Tread carefully, Sonia. Cammarata is a loose cannon and dangerous.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.”
Again
.
“Not intentionally, but he’s always felt his causes were just, his actions necessary. He’s always believed the ends justify the means, Sonia. And frankly, I don’t care how noble his goal is, Cammarata cannot break law after law. It’s why he was fired, it’s why he’s been blacklisted, and it’s why you, and others, were nearly killed. Don’t trust him because you think he feels remorse over what he did ten years ago. Trust me: I know Charlie Cammarata, and any guilt he feels is far outweighed by his personal mission to save the underdog at the expense of those he thinks should take care of themselves.”
“I’ll confront him and get him to talk, haul him into custody if I have to,” Sonia told her boss.
“Bring backup, Sonia. You can’t trust him.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Dean had been so busy working on coordinating DNA testing of Sonia’s rape victim that he didn’t notice it was well after three in the afternoon. He’d talked to Quantico and they would expedite the tests, with results sometime next week. With their current workload, that was the best Dean could hope for. He also contacted local authorities and arranged for some of the evidence to be shipped overnight to Virginia. And when put on hold during numerous calls, he had time to update his charts on Xavier Jones’s businesses.
He was concentrating on an updated printout of his spreadsheet when Sam Callahan escorted Sonia into the small conference room Dean had taken over when he arrived three weeks ago.
“How’s the victim?” Dean asked Sonia after Sam excused himself to finish up paperwork from the warrant last night.
Sonia shook her head. “She’s in bad shape, but alive. She has a chance. Maybe not a good chance, but so far she’s holding her own. I may have to run if the hospital calls. I want to be there when they take the GPS chip out of her neck.”
“Excuse me? GPS chip?”
“Human trafficking has heralded in the twenty-firstcentury with even more innovative ways to keep their victims captive.” She glanced around the conference room, her hazel eyes taking in Dean’s charts, diagrams, and extensive printouts. “This is all Jones?”
“Taxes, corporate filings, Fair Political Practices reports, SEC filings, any public information.”
She flipped through one of Jones’s tax returns, her brow furrowed.
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