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address it.
Telling her the truth wasn’t going to do the trick. As gently as he could, he
squeezed her arm, offering reassurance in the hope that she wouldn’t break down
until they were inside the SUV.
    Reaching them, Toby said, “We need to leave now.”
    “To go where?” Lea’s ponytail swung as she regarded him.
Pulling her arm from Jake, she stepped back. “What’s this really about?”
    She was on full alert now. Resistant. If she started to
scream or run, he and Toby were in deep shit.
    “You said I was in danger,” she accused Jake. “From what?
Who?”
    Toby answered first. “Do you watch the news, Ms. Baptista?”
    Jake frowned. They didn’t have time for twenty fucking
questions. God only knew how much Cubrero had already found out about her.
Before Toby could open his big mouth again, Jake took over. “A few days ago
there was a drug-related execution on the south side of town. At our request,
the press didn’t release the victim’s name. The man who was murdered was Manuel
Morales.”
    Lea stared, then scowled. “Who? You think because I work
here that I’m into drugs? Is that what this is about?”
    “Not at all. We know you’re clean.”
    Her eyes rounded. “You know?” She glared at him, then turned
her frown on Toby. “How?” Not waiting for an answer, she withdrew a step.
    Jake stayed where he was. Toby followed her. Tightening her
jaw, Lea lifted the container of pepper spray.
    Toby didn’t even blink. “We’re law enforcement, Ms.
Baptista.” He pulled out his badge, showing it to her as Jake had done with
his. “There’s no reason for you to be afraid of us.”
    Her expression said he was dead wrong or nuts. Shoving her
keys in her front pocket, she reached into her backpack.
    Toby got really serious. “You’re not carrying a firearm, are
you, Ms. Baptista? As I’ve said, we are law enforcement.”
    She pulled out her cellphone. “Tell that to 9-1-1. How do I
know you didn’t get your badges on Ebay?” She looked at Jake. “How do either of
you know I’m not into drugs? Have you been following me?”
    “We’ve investigated you,” Toby said.
    Her jaw tightened.
    Risking her further wrath, Jake approached and wrapped his
fingers around her wrist, his thumb on hers, stopping her from punching in any
numbers on her phone.
    She gave him a pissed frown and tried to pull back her hand.
    Jake didn’t allow it. “We know you grew up in foster care,
and that your mother brought you into the system when you were three. The
surname she gave you at that time was Baptista. In Florida, where you were
born, your last name was Morales. Your mother was married to Manuel Morales,
one of the lieutenants in the Cubrero drug cartel. Until he was murdered, they
lived here in Phoenix. He was your father.”
     
    A sense of unreality settled over Lea, quickening her pulse,
causing her thoughts to race. She’d been born in Florida, her last name was
really Morales, her mother brought her into the system, her father was dead,
murdered?
    No. Not true. All the times Lea had questioned her many
foster parents about her origins, they’d always said her grandmother had raised
her after her mother cut out in favor of men and having a good time. The woman
had died in an auto accident before Lea’s second birthday. Shortly after that,
her grandmother had become ill, eventually having to turn Lea over to the
system.
    All these years, a persistent memory had haunted Lea. In it,
she was wrapping her arms around a woman’s neck. Clinging to her, overwhelmed
by panic, Lea cried, not wanting to leave. The woman’s face was always wet with
tears. She’d smelled of cinnamon and coconut.
    Even now, Lea recalled her lilting, heavily accented voice
asking, “You want arroz con coco ?”
    One of Lea’s favorite dishes, white rice sweetened with
coconut milk and sugar.
    That had to be a memory of her grandmother. Lea recalled the
woman’s loving hug before she handed her over to a black woman who took