Very early the next morning the second meet with Santos took place in Bella's office at the courthouse. She hadn't seen Rafe since yesterday, but he'd left a cryptic voice message. She'd deal with that after she solidified the negotiation with Santos.
John Sanderson, who normally filled the desk clerk duties, had taken temporary command of the sheriff's office since neither Slater nor Harris had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. Sanderson arranged for extra guards to be assigned at all the courthouse entrances.
After Santos had been patted down, carefully searched for weapons, and secretly admitted through a side entrance, he was led past the metal detectors to the stairs leading to Bella's office on the second floor. She was determined no one would know about the clandestine meeting with Diego Vargas' second in command.
Two armed guards stood at attention outside her office along with Sanderson. His bald head gleamed wetly in the overhead lights while his ebony face reflected his disapproval of Santos' presence in his precinct.
After the formalities, the two attorneys measured one another across the expanse of Bella's desk. She retrieved a sheet of paper from a military green file folder and slid it carefully across the desk. Santos relaxed in the comfortable arm chair as if he hadn't a care in the world.
He narrowed his eyes and reached for the paper, never looking down, but piercing her with a sharp, cunning appraisal. "What is this?" he asked.
"The terms of your plea bargain agreement." Bella leaned back in her desk chair, her elbows on the arm rests, her fingertips bouncing lightly against one another. She had taken the death penalty off the table.
Like yesterday, she was oddly lacking in fear around Santos, even though a general air of malevolence hung around him like a carnivorous bird of prey. She'd recovered from the shock of seeing Maria's photo, and today she felt in control. She recognized the last rolling momentum of the case against Diego Vargas and knew it would lead to a triumphant end.
Santos would not refuse the deal.
She didn't know why she was so certain of this. Perhaps it was the pallor that showed beneath his dark skin or the erratic drumming of his long fingers on the desk that made her sure.
Something had tipped the scales in her favor and Santos was ready to cut a deal. He had made the first overture. He had shown her the photo.
When she'd called him this morning, she had detected an unfamiliar air of resignation in his voice.
"ADA Torres." His gravelly, formal voice had wafted over the phone line. "Verdad. I had just intended to call you."
"Really?" Bella forced coolness into her voice, desperately wanting to maintain control. "I'm glad to have saved you the trouble, Mr. Santos."
His deep rumble over the phone line sent chills down her spine and reminded her of Rafe's warning that she was dealing with a dangerous animal. To her surprise Santos had readily acquiesced to joining her here, on her home ground, instead of his own territory. She wondered briefly what story he'd spun for Diego Vargas, or if he'd kept the clandestine appointment a secret from everyone.
"He thinks I am conferring with some of our associates," Santos offered as if he had read her mind. "Import associates."
She didn't pretend not to understand the tacit admission of drug dealing. Or that he kept secrets from Diego Vargas. "That was judicious of you."
Santos barked out a sound that was a cross between mirth and menace. "Ay, I am a wise man."
She nodded and waited for him to pick up the paper lying on the desk in front of him. When he did, he read the document with what seemed deliberate languor.
"And since I am a wise man," he continued, "not given to foolish bargains, tell me, Ms. Torres, why should I consider this offer?" He dropped the paper and waved a negligent hand over it, conveying the paltry insignificance of her carefully-constructed agreement.
So he wanted to play games first? Bella tightened her lips. "It's a good deal. You should consider it."
Plea bargaining on felony charges was a tricky negotiation at best, much like bartering in an Egyptian bazaar. She made an offer, he countered, and they parried and thrust until they came to mutual agreement.
He surprised her with his next words. "A good deal, but not an excellent one."
She allowed a modicum of impatience to show in her expression. "Mr. Santos, if my office brings charges against you, they will likely be multiple counts of murder, conspiracy, and drug trafficking, not to mention kidnapping and human trafficking."
"Charges you cannot prove," he countered.
"Maybe, maybe not." She waffled her fingers in a so-so gesture. "But I think you want something more than exoneration from the charges."
She leaned forward across the desk and lowered her voice, navigating solely on instinct. "I think Diego Vargas is out of control and you'd like to rein him back into the parameters of sanity."
"Bueno, for one so young, you are very sure of yourself, but Diego is El Vaquero. I am merely his lieutenant."
"I doubt you have ever been merely anything."
He nodded in acknowledgement of the veiled compliment.
Bella pushed back from the desk and swung her legs around to the side before rising. She turned her back to Santos and gazed out the wide expanse of her office window to the courthouse lawn below. She would not be the first to mention the picture."What would you consider an excellent deal?" she asked reflectively.
"Complete immunity," Santos replied without hesitation.
She spun around, ready to show her scorn, and bumped into the wide, iron behemoth of his body. He'd approached her unawares.
"You're joking," she said breathily as she retreated a step and crossed her arms in front of her.
His scarred face remained impassive. "I never jest about money or prison time."
"There's no way I can grant you complete immunity."
"Naturalmente. But of course you can."
"What are you offering?"
But she already knew. He was offering something so much more important to her than convicting Vargas. And the thought of it nearly made her weep.
Santos turned silently to glance at Sanderson still leaning against the wall, his hand resting on his revolver. He jerked his head toward the deputy, a clear indication that he wouldn't speak further with someone else in the room.
Within seconds of Sanderson leaving the office, Bella's desk phone rang. She stared stupidly at it for several moments, hating to break her rhythm by answering it.
Santos nodded toward the jarring sound. "You should answer the telephone, counselor." He rose and patted his jacket pockets. "I will step outside to have a cigarillo and give you privacy."
Bella grabbed the receiver. "No smoking in public buildings," she said automatically to his retreating back.
Santos smiled, his large white teeth flashing in his scarred face. "But of course. I would not want to be charged with so significant a misdemeanor." He stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door softly behind him.
"Hello, hello," Rafe's voice sounded faintly over the line before Bella lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Hi," she breathed into the phone, happy to hear his voice, grateful to get a break from the oppressive weight of Santos standing inches within her personal space.
"You sound flustered. Is everything okay?" Rafe asked.
"Yeah, well, sort of."
"Is Santos still there?"
"He stepped out for a minute." She hesitated and then plunged on. "He's going to be a hard nut to crack." She hadn't told him how Santos had shown her a photo of Maria, and wondered why she'd kept this from him.
"I'll come right over." His voice was decisive and she knew he'd rush right in and fracture the fragile progress she was making with Santos.
"No, no, it'll be fine."
A heavy pause hung weightily, dead space over the line.
Rafe cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Well, I called to let you know I'm going to stay with Max for a while."
"Max Jensen?"
"Yeah, his grandmother's house has been empty for a while. He's staying here." He rattled off a quick address in Highland Heights.
"Oh." She felt an unexplainable chill. "How convenient."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Of course. Look, I've got to finish this meeting, seal the deal."
Bella stared at the phone long moments after she'd hung up. Jensen had relatives in the area. A house to stay in. Why did that situation seem strange to her?
Why did she suddenly remember the knowing look on his face when she'd encountered him in Rafe's L.A. office waiting room? What had sparked that sense of unease then, so brief she'd nearly forgotten it?
Deputy Sanderson escorted Santos into the room, and when the lawyer had sat, the deputy took up watch again, this time outside the door.
Santos and Isabella Torres measured each other across the desk like two warriors lined up for battle. He could tell by the set of her pretty jaw that she had no intention of letting him win. She believed she had right and the law on her side.
Santos had long ago put such foolish ideas aside, but the ADA was young enough to believe in them still. Nevertheless, he regretted being the one to burst the bubble of her idealism.
Her dark eyes serious, her lips lushly red, she very much looked like the woman whose picture he kept in his inside jacket pocket. A new picture today, a more focused image, one that Isabella would have no trouble identifying.
"Tell me about Diego Vargas." The aura of an avenging angel blazed about her.
He examined his hands and thought how to measure the impact of his words. "First, let me tell you a story, Isabella."
"Ms. Torres," she corrected him, narrowing her eyes.
Ay, she would do serious battle with him. But he believed her need for vengeance would win. It was the way of the human condition.
"I'm not interested in fairy tales, Mr. Santos. I deal in the truth, nonfiction if you will. What's the truth about Councilman Vargas?"
"I will give you the complete truth, but only for full immunity."
"You know I can't do that, even for… "
Santos laughed softly, enjoying the righteous indignation on her face. She held so much power in those small hands, that slight body. "Ah, but of course you can."
She looked at a spot over his left shoulder, her face smooth and completely devoid of the turmoil that must rage within her. To capture a man like Diego Vargas was a professional coup and a personal victory. But she would not want to let Santos himself go without punishment. To free him would rankle her to no end.
When she remained silent, looking as if the answer to her dilemma lay on the wall behind him, he decided to make the situation more complex. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the second photograph, the vivid colors speaking louder than any of his words. Turning it face down on the desk, he pushed it carefully across the smooth wood until it touched her splayed hand.
He noted the tremor in her fingers as she tapped the edge of the picture. She knew. At some instinctive, primal level, she understood the significance of the photo.
"I've already seen this," she said, easing one corner toward her.
"Not this one. It will change your mind," he said simply, not bothering to keep the sorrow out of his voice. He received no pleasure from telling her about the picture. From showing it to her.
Slowly she turned over the photo, confusion furrowing her brows, a look of puzzlement in her dark eyes. He recognized the exact moment when the truth dawned on her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief and then closed in agony. "It's Maria." Her fingers covered her mouth as if she'd vomit the grief out of her body.
"Sí, your sister."
She swiveled around in her chair, presenting her back to him. He barely heard the muffled sounds of her grief. Ay, a strong woman.
She had immediately recognized the significance of the bright dress and garish makeup on the face of the young woman in the photo. Santos waited for the emotion to pass, for Isabella to absorb the pain of seeing the photograph, to ask for the details of her sister's life.
"Is she alive?" The question came from a stone voice, as though she had cemented her sorrow behind a wall.
"Do we have an agreement?" he countered.
"Be specific."
Santos' voice was fierce with certainty. "There must be no misunderstanding in this plea bargain. Full immunity for particulars about your sister's death."
He knew if she gave her word, she would see that the agreement held. She would not break her bond. But her pause was longer than he had anticipated.
Did the little lawyer desire his incarceration so badly that she would forego information about her beloved sister? Had he misread her?
But finally she nodded, bobbing her head up and down as though she could not stop the action once it was in motion.
"Is she alive?" she repeated, her voice an immeasurable sea of torture.
"No."
He thought he heard a small sigh.
"When did she die?"
"Within a year after she disappeared."
Anger whipped her around, and the wet splotches on her face glinted like sun on steel. "She was taken, kidnapped. She did not disappear."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Sí, she was kidnapped. Secuestrado."
"And you had something to do with it."
"Sí, along with Diego Vargas."
She flinched at the name. "I knew it."
"I can give you specific details," Santos offered, locking eyes with her, "of your sister's last months."