CHAPTER 1
November
“Grab her!”
“Oh, no!” Cara Montero groaned as she watched one of Emilio Azarola’s drug soldiers grab one of her fellow prisoners, blonde, attractive Inga, in the large outdoor cage.
Cara watched mutely, still unable to believe she was actually living this nightmare. Two weeks ago, three drug dealers who had been driving around looking for women to kidnap to be sold as sex slaves overseas, had dragged her off the streets of Tucson.
The day had been warm, bright, and sunny, and people were out in numbers enjoying the fine weather and the local shops and bistros. No one expected to be snatched in broad daylight from the streets of a major city.
And then the men had spotted Cara, innocently walking down the street, just blocks from her home. They screeched to a halt, grabbed her off the sidewalk, and pushed her into the van. Stunned, unable to fathom what was happening, she had been wrestled to the floor by two masked men, held down, and injected with a drug that rendered her unconscious.
Then she had been driven to a two-story villa deep in the mountains of Sonora, Mexico. Cara still didn’t know where she was except for fragments of conversation she’d heard from the soldiers who spoke Spanish. She knew the men reported to a drug dealer named Emilio Azarola, but that was all. The three German tourists in the cage with her spoke a little English, enough that they could talk stiltedly between themselves.
She knew her gentle, loving parents, Mary and Diego Montero, must be frantic not knowing what had happened to their daughter and every day Cara prayed that someone would rescue her. The day after her abduction, three captured German tourists had joined her in her cell. The four women had bonded in desperation, despite their language barrier.
Now, Inga screamed as one of the men grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the tall, rusty iron door, now open, where two more armed soldiers stood. She tried resisting, but the more she struggled, the more the men laughed. Finally, one of them cursed her in Spanish and slapped her hard, knocking her to the ground. She lay there, crumpled, as the other women gasped and shrank back, knowing what was coming next.
Cara pressed her hand across her mouth to stop from screaming, and watched as the woman was jerked upward, shakily standing barefoot before her gloating captors. The men had taken the women’s shoes away so they couldn’t escape. But where would they go? Deep mountain forest surrounded the area for as far as she could see. Dios, she wished she knew how far they were to the US border!
Inga’s tormentor pushed her toward the opened villa door as the other men laughed, rubbed their crotches, and grinned at each other. Yes, they were going to rape Inga. Again.
Cara turned away, unable to watch. She couldn’t bear to see the horror on Inga’s face, her tears, and then hear her wild-animal screams. Every morning after breakfast, a group of soldiers came out and grabbed one of the three women. For some reason, they had spared Cara, but she knew her time would come.
She gulped, her mouth filled with a bitter taste, her stomach roiling with nausea. Cara felt almost out of body as the cell door was once more slammed shut, a heavy chain and padlock keeping them prisoner. Hannah and Eva, the other two women, were thirty-five and forty-five, respectively. They were huddled together, sobbing, hot tears rolling down their cheeks—one woman’s pain belonged to all of them.
The worst news, which the drug soldiers enjoyed telling them daily, was that the women were now sex slaves and would be driven over to Baja, Mexico. There, they would board a container ship in Puerto Nuevo, bound for Asia, that was due to arrive in another week. Azarola had already sold all four of them after taking humiliating pictures of them stripped naked, their genitals prominently exposed.
Although Cara had not been raped, she was terrified that one morning, after choking down her meal, they would grab her and haul her off to the villa where unspeakable sexual acts had been committed upon her cellmates. They often spent three to four hours being passed around between ten to twenty drug soldiers for their sick pleasure.
Yesterday, the men had hauled Hannah and Eva out of the enclosure. This morning the women were still in shock from yesterday’s rape and assault, shivering uncontrollably. All three of them were white, with beautiful blonde or red hair, and blue eyes.
In contrast, Cara was half Yaqui Indian through her mother and half Mexican through her father. She had golden skin, black hair, and brown eyes. Clearly, these soldiers, some of whom came from overseas—including Russia—preferred the statuesque German women. Could it be that her brown skin was saving her from the same degradation as her companions? Or maybe the soldiers had some special selection she didn’t know about? If only she knew!
Cara’s stomach revolted and she vomited up what little food she had eaten. Arising, she went to one of two large, black rubber water buckets. Kneeling down, she cupped the warm water, and washed the awful taste from her mouth.
She stared over at the villa, a white limestone structure, that looked more like a fancy French castle. There were always men on watch carrying AK-47s. They wore Kevlar vests and their heads were shaved bare. Their job was obviously security, and they made a regular circuit around the huge, walled courtyard.
Cara slowly got to her feet again and went back to where Hannah and Eva stood, clinging to one another.
There was a more protected area at the back of the cell where they all slept on blankets thrown to them by the soldiers. Two pots in the cell were for latrine use and she could smell the urine as the mild breeze shifted through their enclosure. She stood behind the other women and wrapped her arms around their trembling shoulders.
Right now, language was unnecessary—there were no words to give them comfort. They were at the mercy of Azarola’s monsters, men who enjoyed hurting them, and hardened even more when the women screamed and cried. Cara rested her head against Eva’s filthy blonde curls, and held her with all her strength, letting her know she cared. That was all she could do.
Cara had been told that she was going to a special buyer in Singapore, one who had paid a large sum for her. What did that mean? Every day she kicked herself for not having paid more attention to the media’s warnings about sex trafficking—but these things happened to other women, surely not her, a kindergarten schoolteacher!
She had always been the gentle child, while her older sister by two years, Aliyana, was strong, confident, and a born leader. Ali had gone into the Marine Corps, and was one of the few women to graduate from its world-class sniper school. She had already saved countless lives with her military skills. Now, she was out of the Marines and working for the CIA. Obviously, that was all she could tell her family, since her work was top secret. Cara didn’t even know where Ali was right now.
Oh, Lady of Guadalupe! Cara prayed daily to all the saints she could think of. Help us! Dios, please help us!
Hannah and Eva continued to sob softly, and Cara tried to hold them tighter, but she was weak from throwing up most of her meals. For some reason, her companions never threw up, which made her feel more vulnerable. She had always been sensitive to the pain of others.
Every day, a guard would bring out two buckets of warm water, one for washing and one for rinsing. But unlike the others, Cara was given a ginger scented shampoo and conditioner to wash her hair. Then, she would be taken to another area within the outer grounds, and given a warm shower with soap and a white, fluffy towel to dry off with behind the privacy of a closed opaque curtain. Still, she hated the new, fear-drenched odor she emitted, and the dirt on her flesh from living in squalor.
Why did the soldiers treat her differently? They never manhandled her as they did her three friends. No one tried to touch her, pinch her, or rub her breasts and behind—the other women had terrible bruises on their arms and around their necks.
The four women found that two buckets of water left little to wash their faces and hands—let alone wash their hair—and they learned quickly that the buckets of water set inside their cage should be used only for drinking.
Cara usually had beautiful, coal black hair with blue highlights when the sun hit it just right. It was halfway down her back, and her mother had taught her at a young age to use olive oil to keep it sleek. Every Saturday, she would wrap her thick, slightly curled hair, in a white towel while the oil seeped into her strands. When she washed it an hour later, it would gleam, looking impossibly beautiful.
One soldier had told her at the shower facility that she was special, which apparently meant she would get better treatment than the other women. The man in Singapore who had bought her wanted her skin in perfect condition, unbruised, and her hair and body clean. Cara was afraid to ask the soldier more, but because he seemed to be in a good mood, she did. He said it was because even though she was twenty-six, which was “very old” for a high-class sex slave, the buyer had wanted her. Then, the soldier had taken one last drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt beneath his combat boot. He looked at her lustfully, and told her that if his boss hadn’t already sold her for a million dollars, he’d like to get a piece of her for himself.
Now, caged with her companions, Cara huddled with the two women, trying to calm them. She suddenly saw herself back in Tucson with her parents. How happy she’d been then! She and her sister Ali had grown up so loved, cared for, and supported. Family meant everything to her and yet, here she was, a thousand or more miles away, alone, helpless, and afraid.
In another week, the ship to Asia would take them all away, probably forever. And then? Cara simply couldn’t fathom what would happen to her. The other three women did not even know their fate—just her—but Cara was sure they had been sold, too.
The door to the villa opened and shut. Cara’s head snapped up, her eyes focused. There was the head soldier, and he was walking quickly toward their cell, his gaze was fixed firmly on her! She didn’t know his name, but he terrified her. He was even crueler than his companions, clearly enjoying the pain he inflicted on the women. The soldier had a shaved head, stood six-feet, five-inches tall, with flat, gray eyes, and a four-day growth of beard. She knew he was Russian because she often heard him speak the language interspersed with Spanish, and sometimes, English slang.
Oh, no! Cara slowly stood up, her hands against her roiling stomach.
He opened the door with a jerk and stepped in. “You! Get over here!” he snarled in poor Spanish.
Cara froze. They were going to rape her! She saw the hardness in the man’s eyes and noted his powerful muscles. He had an AK-47 hanging off a strap in front of him.
“Get over here!” he bellowed, and took a threatening step toward her.
Stunned, she forced herself to walk around the two women who were whimpering with fear, holding tightly to one another. Her heart was pounding so heavily she didn’t know if she could make it to where he stood, his hands imperious on his hips, his glare eating into her like acid. Cara knew if she didn’t obey instantly, he’d grab her by the hair and jerk her off her feet. They had never slapped her since she’d arrived. Was all that about to change now?
Lowering her eyes, head bowed, she walked to within six feet of the soldier. Earlier that day, three cars had driven up to the double wooden doors of the villa. The soldiers had opened the doors and allowed the visitors into the spacious area. Cara had seen one man leave each chauffeured car. All three were dressed in expensive business suits, and she could only guess what they were doing here. In the weeks since her capture, she’d sharpened her hearing, listening to snatches of conversation from the soldiers.
She’d found out that Emilio Azarola was a Sonoran drug lord who sent drugs across the border to the US and kidnapped young girls, some as young as age ten. They came from various cities, some from the United States, and others from cities and towns in Central and South America.
Azarola’s sex-trafficking trade was growing, which was why this huge cell, that was roughly two-hundred square feet, had been built: it was a holding cell for his captives until their ships pulled into the dock at Puerto Nuevo. From there, children and young women would be shipped to the Middle East or Asia.
The soldier glared at her. “Come with me.”
Shocked that he wasn’t going to grab her or yank her by the hair, she hesitated, at a loss for words.
“Move!” he snarled, making a sharp gesture.
Cara leaped out of the cell and stood. Furtively, she looked around, trying to see if an escape was possible. Disheartened, she saw him looking at her, stripping her from head to toe with his colorless grey eyes. Now she knew what it felt like to be a mouse about to be pounced on by a tiger.
“Go to that door,” he muttered, walking toward her, threatening her with his height and bulk. Instantly, Cara moved, but she suddenly felt weak, her knees turning mushy. Oh, Dios . . . protect me . . . protect me . . .
*
Cara jerked awake, breathing harshly, sweat running down her temples, her body damp, heart hammering. It took her a few moments to realize she was at home and no longer in that cell. She sat up, the sheet and blanket falling away from her cotton nightgown that clung damply to her body.
Dios, would the nightmares, the memories of her capture and weeks spent in that cell at Azarola’s, ever end? She threw off the blankets. The room was still dark, except for a small night-light, because full darkness scared her. Since her rescue, she continued to suffer from insomnia unless it was dark in her room, and her father had covered the window with a solid black cloth to help her sleep.
Remembering that it was late November, she sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to breathe more slowly, as Ram Torres had taught her. She was more than grateful that the ex-Navy SEAL was presently her security guard. Ali, her brave, brave sister, Ram, and his men, had rescued her and the German women from Azarola’s fortress. In typical black-ops style, Ali and Ram had gone under the cover of night to get the captives out of their cell and away from that villa.
In a few days though, Ram was going back to Artemis, the security company he worked for. Ali was leaving three weeks after him because she had accepted a job at the same company. Cara pushed her disheveled hair away from her face, some of the strands clinging to her cheek. Looking at the clock, she saw it was nine a.m. The black cloth over the window hid the morning from her, and getting up, she padded on bare feet across the red tiles and pulled it aside. Her heart was still hammering. Every time she thought of her captivity, she could feel that rush of adrenaline shooting into her bloodstream. Would it ever stop?
Bright sunlight cascaded in, making her wince and hold her hand up to her eyes. Cara turned away and picked up her sandals, sliding them onto her feet. Her knee-length, brightly-colored, flower-print robe was draped over the back of a chair and she pulled it on, tying the sash around her waist. Pulling open the wooden door, she looked up and down the quiet hall. She listened, but couldn’t pick up the voices of her parents, who would both be at work by this time.
Ram was usually out in the garage helping her father fix some items around the home. Her heart warmed as she thought of the tall security guard. He was the opposite of the Russian soldier, and over the past month, she no longer saw her captor’s face, but Ram’s instead. His presence gave her a sense of safety and peace. She relied on him to protect her from her wild imaginings about Azarola. She was terrified he would send his soldiers back to Tucson to kidnap her again. Ram, thank Dios, was the perfect guardian, and if anyone could help her heal from her capture, it was him. She was so grateful that he was there to keep her safe.
She wondered where Ali was. Her sister was the only person she could share her feelings with, although Ram often asked how she was doing. She’d always say she was fine, but that was a lie. It was just too hard to open up to him right now—perhaps later.
She headed for the bathroom down the hall. To her left was the kitchen and living room area, and to the right, Ram’s bedroom was opposite hers and Ali’s was down the hall on the left. At the end of the hallway was the bathroom. She hurried towards it, desperate to wash off the fear sweat, that awful odor that made her wrinkle her nose. Her black hair swung around her shoulders as she walked, her sandals clip-clopping with each step against the red-orange tiles that lay throughout the house.
Cara had been born in the room that was now her bedroom. Her Yaqui-Indian mother hated hospitals and had refused to birth her two daughters anywhere but at home. Thinking of this made her feel good. When she focused on her parents or sister, she felt safer.
She pushed the door open to the huge bathroom, the alternating white and pale-blue tiles gleaming on the floor.
After a hot shower, scrubbing her flesh clean with her mother’s herbal soap, she began to feel better. Another sage-scented soap made by one of the Yaqui women on the reservation, made her hair shine. Her mother was a strong woman, a leader, and she sat on the tribal council of the Pascua Yaqui south of Tucson.
Now, Cara truly appreciated being able to take a shower and wash her hair properly. These became huge events in her daily life since she returned home. The pleasure of running a comb through her wet hair afterward, of putting on a clean set of clothes, would never again be taken for granted. Not ever. She dried her hair, putting it into one long braid, and nudged it between her shoulder blades. She’d chosen a pair of tan cargo pants, a bright-pink tank top, and slipped on her leather sandals.
Her stomach growled. Since coming home, she had avoided breakfast, but today, for whatever reason, she was really hungry. Ali had been begging her to eat something for breakfast and right now, huevos rancheros in a warm, soft corn tortilla sounded really good to her. As a child growing up, it had been her favorite breakfast. Maybe, after five weeks of being home, she was finally starting to heal? Cara hoped so, because until she could find the courage to go outdoors, she couldn’t walk to her school and teach kindergarten again.
As she padded to the kitchen, she spotted Ali shutting the garage door and coming inside.
“Hey,” she called out, letting Ali know she was up and about.
Ali smiled brightly upon seeing her. “Hey yourself. How are you doing this morning?” she asked, walking into the kitchen.
“I’m hungry for the first time, Ali.” She saw her sister’s expression change from anxious to relieved. “Do you think I’m finally starting to heal?”
Ali hugged her tightly. “That sounds great! And yes, I think you’re starting your healing journey. What do you want to eat?”
“Huevos rancheros.”
Laughing, Ali said, “Your favorite meal. Can I help you prepare it?”
“No, but sit down.” Cara gestured to the large wooden table. “I love having your company.” She spotted a half-full pot of coffee on the percolator. “Want coffee?”
“Of course,” she deadpanned. “You can’t have served in the military and not be a coffee hound.”
Giggling, feeling much lighter than she had in a long time, Cara poured two cups and took one over to Ali. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Ram and I ate about 0700. I mean, seven a.m.”
“I’m getting used to your twenty-four-hour clock,” Cara said, going to the fridge and taking out two eggs.
Chuckling, Ali leaned back in the chair, the cup balanced on her thigh, watching her sister putter around in the kitchen. “We’re going to be leaving for Artemis pretty soon. Our time with you is coming to an end,” she murmured sadly. “I’m really going to miss being here with you.”
With a grimace, Cara said, “No more than me. And Ram? I’m going to miss him terribly. He really made me feel safe here.” She cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them. “And so did you,” she quickly added.
“Oh,” Ali said with a grin, “Ram makes everyone feel like he can handle anything that comes up. It’s just who he is. And I can see that his being here has really helped you. At least you can walk within the walled enclosure of our yard and our house now. And he’s gotten you feeling safe about walking down to the end of the block and back. Those are huge steps, sis.”
Cara nodded, taking bacon, shredded cheddar cheese, beans with green chilies, and other Mexican ingredients from the fridge. “I feel like such a coward compared to you, Ali. You’re afraid of nothing.”
Ali frowned, her voice turning low with emotion. “Listen, Cara, unlike you, I’ve never been captured and gone through what you have. I’m not sure I wouldn’t be behaving just like you are. What you endured is . . . well . . . I don’t even have words for it . . . it was terrible.”
She placed the items on the counter and turned. “You’ve always understood me. I know Mama and Papa try, but you’ve gone to the heart of my wounding.” She lightly touched her chest. “I know I’m not like you, Ali. You’re bigger than life. You’re fierce and you’re a leader. I’m not like that. I’m quiet, I love teaching young children in kindergarten, I love gardening, and staying home. In many ways we’re not alike, but you ‘get’ me. And I worry about how I’ll handle it when you and Ram leave. I truly do.”
Ali got up, leaving her coffee on the table, and came into the kitchen to help her sister put the meal together. “Look, the guy that’s coming in to replace Ram? He was on the team that rescued you. Tyler Hutton. Do you remember him? He was our combat medic on that mission.”
“That’s so funny,” Cara muttered, shaking her head. “When you came to rescue us, everything became a blur. Even now, I don’t remember much about that night we escaped. Sometimes, though, I get dream fragments about it, or as I’m waking up, I’ll have a vision of it.”
“Because you were in shock and traumatized,” Ali reminded her, choking up, and placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Tyler was there helping the German women, but he saw where you were being held. He’s got a much better handle on what happened to you because he was part of your rescue team. That’s a big plus!”
Cara shrugged and went back to preparing breakfast. “I know you’re right. My feelings are so skewed. I don’t trust anyone—especially men. Ram made it easy for me to trust him, but probably because you were here, too, Ali. You were the bridge I desperately needed between Mama, Papa, and Ram. And now, you’re going to leave me.” Glumly, she cracked the eggs into the hot iron skillet.
“You can Skype me any time you want, Cara. I’ll be with you whenever you need to talk to me. Okay?” She placed two corn tortillas in another hot skillet, standing beside her sister.
“It’s better than nothing. I just worry, Ali. I know you and Ram truly respect this Tyler guy, and you say he’s great, but I feel scared again, like I did in that cell, surrounded by strange men.”
“It’s because you don’t know what to expect.” Ali quickly turned the tortillas, pulling over a plate to put them on. “After breakfast, let me show you some photos of him. He works at Artemis right alongside Ram.”
“You’ve told me Artemis hires only the best.” Cara placed the hot mixture into the two tortillas that Ali held on the plate.
“That’s true. Tyler was a SEAL just like Ram. He was a Delta 18 combat medic. He’s among the best trained in the world, and Ram worked with him on Wyatt Lockwood’s SEAL team on and off for years. You’re getting the best protection possible, sis.” Ali turned off the gas stove and retrieved a napkin and flatware from the drawer.
“And you say he’s gentle, thoughtful, and listens well?”
“Yes, and he’s sensitive, too,” Ali said, straightening. “You’d never guess he was a SEAL. He doesn’t have that hard layer of bravado they usually strut around with.”
Cara brought the food to the kitchen table opposite the counter. “Would you like some, Ali? This is an awful lot. I can’t eat it all. I think my eyes are bigger than my stomach.” She managed a weak smile.
“Sure, be right back,” and Ali skipped to the kitchen to find a plate and more flatware.
Cara gave her sister one of the tortillas filled with the spicy eggs, and Ali sat down opposite her at the table. “This smells so good!”
“Try it. If your stomach starts rolling around, stop eating,” Ali advised, expertly rolling up her tortilla.
Cara did the same. “I’m so sick of my stomach rebelling in the morning. I used to eat a good, hearty breakfast before all this happened.”
“Traumatic things happened after breakfast, though,” Ali said softly, giving Cara a loving look. “I know. You told me, remember? Just do the best you can.”
Cara took a tentative bite. She chewed slowly, afraid her stomach would act up. But it didn’t. Maybe having Ali with her helped.
“Taste good?”
“Does it ever. I missed Mama’s cooking so much when I was locked up there.”
Ali grinned, eating hungrily. “I know the feeling. I’ve been on way too many sniper missions for days or weeks at a time, and lived off meal replacement foods. Those MREs were so bland they were inedible until they finally put some hot sauce in them.”
Cara nodded. She swallowed and waited, hating that her physical body’s responses still reflected her abduction. She wanted to forget all of it, read books, watch movies with happy endings, and finally get to putter in her mother’s huge garden. Gardening had always made her feel peaceful.
But now, the emotions she felt most often were terror and suspicion. Ali said it was the shock, and that slowly, these would be replaced with her normal emotions.
“You really trust this Tyler Hutton?” Cara asked quietly, holding her sister’s golden gaze.
“With my life, Cara. That guy is a hundred-percent trustworthy. He will guard you with his life—and he’d give it in a split second without hesitation.”
“I wish I could stop my brain from screaming that Azarola’s coming back to recapture me and take me back to Sonora again.”
Reaching out, Ali placed her hand over Cara’s. “This is all part of the healing journey you’re on, pequeña, my little one.”
Cara felt her heart breaking as Ali spoke her endearing, loving nickname for her. She had grown up with it. Ali had always been her personal guard dog, protecting her from being bullied in school. She felt hot tears leap to her eyes. “I just want to forget all this, Ali. I want to get back to what I loved to do so much: teach kindergarten children. They’re my whole life! I want that back.” She closed her eyes, her voice trembling.
Ali gripped her hand. “It will come with time, Cara. I promise you that. Look how much you’ve changed since Ram and I stayed here with you. Tyler will continue that healing. He’s a medic, after all. If anyone knows about regaining your health, it’s him. Trust me on that.”
Cara curved her fingers around Ali’s hand, now bearing small scars and callouses on it. She hungrily absorbed the love that Ali was giving her right now. “I do trust you,” she affirmed.
But could she trust this stranger coming into her life?