Three hours later, Santos had given the assistant district attorney all that she needed, and she had agreed to grant him full immunity in exchange for his testimony against Diego Vargas in a court of law.
"I'll need to run this by the district attorney." Weary lines etched around her mouth and between her eyes. "But I don't anticipate any objections."
In fact, Santos knew that Charles Barrington would be delighted that the ADA had resolved the case without further media criticism. And he would likely garner the credit for himself instead of giving it to her.
"You can sign your official statement after it's processed," she said. "If Vargas finds out that you've informed on him, you won't survive long enough for the trial."
Santos thought Isabella would not mind his death so much as losing him as a witness. He smiled and stretched his hand across the desk. Surprisingly, she extended hers and his large bear's paw engulfed her small hand like the mating of a giant and a dwarf. But her grip was firm and when she squeezed his hand, he knew that she was a survivor.
He was glad that he had not told her the truth about her sister.
Ay, ella era un ángel que se vengaba. The little lawyer was an avenging angel.
As soon as Santos left, Bella contacted Rafe on his cell phone. "It's done" was all she said when it went straight to voice mail.
Then she called Slater at the hospital. "He gave you everything?"
"Yes."
"Names, dates, places?"
"All of it."
"That's great." Slater's voice sounded strained over the line. "How did you manage it?"
"I'll drop by the hospital and tell you later."
"Bella, wait. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure."
The stress of the last few days rushed in like a storm to rip out her last ounce of strength. She hated the weakness, but she didn't want to return to her empty house. She didn't want her imagination about Maria to choke her mind like a poisonous vine.
She wanted someone to help her forget. She needed Rafe.
Although she didn't really want to spend time around Jensen, she did want Rafe. She wanted to cuddle, pour her heart out, cry for her lost sister, say her last goodbye.
Rafe could read the transcripted interview of the information Santos had given her. This was Rafe's case too and he should be in on the close of it. He wouldn't be happy about Santos getting off scot-free, but in the end he'd understand that the plea bargaining was all part of the prosecution chain. Vargas was the big fish.
Before going to South Highland Heights, however, Bella stopped by the hospital to look in on Slater. It was early enough that no visitors had arrived yet, and she was happy to get him alone.
After giving him the details on the Santos case, she waited for his comment, sure he'd be furious that she'd cut a deal with a man like Santos, but he remained silent.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" she finally asked.
"You did what you had to do, Bella. No shame in that." Slater looked much better today and she now suspected his stay in the hospital would be shorter than she'd expected.
"You know how I hate these plea bargains," she muttered.
Slater knew only the bare bones of her sister's disappearance. She didn't want to tell him about the new photo and the story Santos had spun about her sister.
She wanted to believe the tale of a car accident taking her sister's life. It was so much cleaner than the nightmares she'd had since she was old enough to know what stealing a teenaged girl meant.
She told herself that Santos would have no reason to lie to her. He'd gain nothing from that.
"Just be careful, Bella. Sometimes these things have a way of blowing up in your face."
She looked at him sharply. "Do you think someone will get to Santos before he can testify?"
Slater shrugged and swiped his big hand over his scruffy beard. "Who knows? There's gotta be another leak besides Manuel Ruiz."
"No one knows about the plea bargain but you, me, Santos, and Rafe. Even Sanderson doesn't know what went on inside my office," she argued.
"What about the meet yesterday? Did you have backup?"
"They were cleared."
"Anyone else?"
"No, no one… but… " Her thoughts went to the phone messages she'd left Rafe and the company he kept. Her mind flipped to Max Jensen. Had he known about the first meet? Had he overheard details about the plea bargaining? Did he know about this morning's deal?
"What, Bella?" Slater looked alarmed and the last thing she needed was him getting his blood pressure up when he was still recovering.
"Nothing, nothing at all. Rafe's checked everyone out, so it's fine." She arranged the covers around him and plumped his pillows. "You take care of yourself, okay?"
He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest. "Keep Rafe close to you," he warned. "He'll protect you."
She laughed, kissing his cheek. "How do you know?"
"Because I can see it in his eyes."
"What do you see?"
"He's half in love with you, Bella. He'll keep you safe."
She smiled, but wondered if it were true because she certainly thought she might be half in love with Rafe.
As Bella pulled out of the hospital parking lot, she thought with satisfaction of what they'd accomplished today. Everything was signed, sealed and delivered. Santos had refused any kind of protective custody with a sly smile that spoke volumes of his ruthlessness in saving his own neck.
Edgy and restless, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
Was Rafe still with Max? Why hadn't he contacted her? Dammit, if he planned to confront Jensen, she was going to be there, too.
Less than an hour later, Bella pulled into the circular, gravel driveway in front of the house where Rafe had given her directions. The house was in a marginal neighborhood where row upon row of cookie cutter houses, new forty or fifty years ago, now lined streets with broken out street lights and grass growing between the sidewalk cracks.
The house to which Rafe had directed her – 1300 Morene Way – was a little less dilapidated than the others. A white house with green trim, it sat further back from the street and boasted a large oak tree in the scanty lawn of the front yard. She didn't see Rafe's car.
Bella rang the doorbell, but not hearing a corresponding sound, rapped sharply on the door. Max answered, looking casual in jeans, a black tee shirt and sandals. He held a large spatula and wore a draped cloth around his waist.
His light blue eyes swept her from head to foot. "Hi, Bella. It's good to see you again."
"Hi, Max. I need to talk to Rafe."
"Early lunch," he said, holding the door wide. "Barbecue. Are you hungry?"
She still wore the black suit and sheer white blouse she'd put on for the Santos interview and looked down self- consciously.
"Never mind that," Max said, gesturing through the living area toward a patio door that looked out on a small, neglected back yard. A platter of produce sat alongside several bottles of condiments on a high, but narrow, serving table on the back patio.
Bella glanced around the living area, which opened up onto a tiny kitchen to the left. One lonely bar stool was pushed up against the counter.
The living room itself held only a small television teetering on a wooden box by a fireplace and a single recliner. A folding tray held several pieces of mail, an empty beer bottle, and a magazine.
She ducked her head back into the foyer which opened up to another nearly empty room on the right. Not only did the house have a general air of deterioration, but it was practically devoid of furnishings. "Where's Rafe?"
Max shrugged. "Said he had business in town. He'll be back tonight. The burgers are ready to flip."
She nodded, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Something didn't sit right with her about Max and the house, but she put on a bright smile and tried to shake off the queasy feeling.
"My grandmother just got out of the hospital and went into long-term care at a nursing home in Sacramento," Max explained. "My uncle Brian is kind of a lazy dude, hasn't gotten around to getting the house ready to sell."
He took a deep pull on his beer. "He's sold most of the furniture, but actually, this works out well for me."
"I'm glad you have a place to stay," Bella murmured politely.
"Yeah, well, staying with my wife in L.A. wasn't an option." He grimaced. "And I thought I could keep busy doing repairs around here while I get my head straight."
Bella heard the bitterness in his voice and mentally chastised her silent criticism of him. After all, the man's wife had left him. She flashed him a sympathetic look.
Max handed her a soda. "So, how's the case going?" he asked as he scooped burgers off the grill.
"Good." She wasn't going to elaborate about the deal she'd made with Santos. Not around a man she hardly knew.
"I was helping Rafe down in L.A., so I know all about Vargas and Santos."
Bella remained silent. Maybe she did or didn't trust the police officer, but she'd learned her lessons well from Slater. Play your cards very close to the chest and only reveal what you absolutely had to, especially to someone who was an unknown factor.
"Rafe said you've got someone to turn on Vargas," Max said casually.
Bella nodded briefly. "Bathroom?" She held up her hands.
Max stared directly at her, ignoring the request. "Really? That's great. Who?"
Amazed at the man's audacity, she mumbled, "Still too early in the deal. I'd rather not say." She smiled to soften the rejection. "Don't want to jinx anything."
Startlingly Max changed the subject. "Did Rafe tell you how me and him came to know each other?"
"College, wasn't it?" Bella answered, wondering where he was headed.
"We were college roommates, freshman year," he explained, a distant, puzzled look on his face as if he were trying to figure the answer to a math problem. "But we knew each other since fifth grade. He was a skinny little dude all the kids razzed because of his dark skin and tight hair."
Bella looked thoughtfully across the rim of her soda can, feeling puzzled by the strange turn of Max's conversation.
"He was ten years old, his mom had just dragged him from the deadly heat of the Middle East, and he spoke with his weird Arabic accent."
The Middle East? Rafe had never told her anything about his ethnicity, his family, or his homeland. A shock of alarm trailed down her back. How could she know this man so intimately and yet not have learned important and basic details about him?
"Yeah, the dude got his ass kicked nearly every day on the playground until I began standing up for him." His voice hardened and his eyes sparked. "I can't even count the number of times I rescued him." Max chortled mirthlessly.
"Then he shot up like a giant during eighth grade." He finished his beer and lined it up next to four other bottles on the ground. "And he didn't need me to save him anymore."
"Bathroom?" Bella said again.
Max was unfolding a volume of history, but she couldn't decipher the subtext of the words. Something was off, but what?
Max looked nonplussed for a moment. "Sure. Down the hall to the right."
"Thanks."
He flashed an easy grin. "Anything for Rafe's girlfriend."