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When Nikki works the January meet at Gulfstream Park near Miami, something about new racehorse owner, Currito Maldonista, worries her. Bad enough she’s expected to handle the evil-minded colt that reflects his owner’s personality, but Nikki suspects the Colombian is a drug lord, selling his product to the US. Even worse, could he be abducting underage American girls into a network of overseas sex trafficking?
Friend Carla Ruben contacts Nikki, desperate to find the teenage daughter she gave up for adoption. The adoptive parents have died unexpectedly, and the exotically beautiful girl was last seen in Miami. Nikki’s ominous association with Maldonista will lead her down a dark road where she must search for Carla’s daughter.
CHAPTER ONE
I heard the SUV before I saw it. The deep thump of subwoofers rumbled in the deserted street as I headed away from the sea, moving west on the sidewalk. Pausing, I glanced back.
A block away, the vehicle cruised slowly toward me, chrome and glossy black beneath the bright streetlights. At four a.m., it was the only car on Hallandale Beach Boulevard.
I quickened my pace, stepping around a pile of crushed beer cans and dirty party streamers, probably left over from New Year’s Eve. Overhead, the palm trees shimmered, their stiff fronds rattling in the humid breeze that blew along the boulevard from the Atlantic Ocean.
I didn’t need to be at Gulfstream Park racetrack this early, but sleep had evaded me, nervous energy driving me into these predawn hours. Again, I glanced behind me. The pounding music grew louder as the black SUV loomed closer, its chrome grill gleaming like shark’s teeth.
Ahead, an abandoned shopping cart lay against a small bus-stop shelter. Instinct drove me to step behind the shelter’s solid rear wall, and from there, I peered around the edge, my senses heightened. Inside the vehicle the music seemed to crescendo into a scream as the glistening metal drew even with the bus stop.
The rear door jerked open. A girl, her dark hair streaming, pushed herself away from the door frame, flinging herself into space. Her feet hit the pavement, she lost her balance, and went down. Tumbling across the concrete, she landed on her side near the curb. She was almost naked, dressed in a tiny sequined outfit.
The vehicle’s transmission slammed into reverse as the girl struggled to get to her feet. She cried out as one leg gave way and she fell back to the pavement. The SUV stopped, and I waited for someone to get out, to help her. The passenger window lowered, and loud Spanish rap poured into the street. I glimpsed a stubbled face behind dark-glasses.
“You stupid bitch,” his Latino accented voice yelled over the music. “You break your leg? What good are you now?”
The girl tried to crawl away and I almost rushed to her, but a glint of metal shone from the car’s window. A gun.
“No!” I screamed. “God, no!”
Two hot flames. Gunfire shattered my ears. The girl screamed, jerked twice. A geyser sprang from her chest, spilling blood over little strips of sparkling cloth. The SUV sped away.
Frantically, I searched the boulevard for help. We were on our own.
I ran into the street and squatted next to the girl. I thrust a hand out to steady myself, my palm skidding on her blood. Ripping off my hoodie, I wadded it and tried to compress her chest wound. A second hole darkened the skin above her collar bone.
The girl’s eyes were open, fixed on me as her heart pumped a well of blood beneath my hand.
“They’re gone.” My voice cracked. Did they hear me scream? God, don’t let them come back.
Carefully, I removed my cell phone from my blood-soaked hoodie. “I’m getting an ambulance.” I thumbed 911. “You’re gonna be fine,” I nodded like I believed it, my left hand pushing harder against the makeshift compress.
She coughed horribly. Blood dribbled from her mouth.
“No,” I whispered. Don’t die.
“A girl’s been shot,” I said, when the 911 dispatcher came on the line. “Hallandale Beach Boulevard at – ” I looked around wildly. “There’s something called a Publix, next to a Walgreens. What? Nikki Latrelle, my name is Nikki Latrelle.”
Beneath me, the girl shuddered. Her eyes became fixed and unseeing.
I slumped to the pavement, the girl’s blood soaking into my jeans. I stared at her. Beneath the blood, the tops of her small breasts were pushed up by a tight glittering bra. Lower down, a G-string hid almost nothing. God, she was still a child.
I could hear the dispatcher’s voice calling me from the phone. I set it on the curb, turned back to the girl.
Then I saw the dark turquoise sea horse on the flawless skin of her forearm.
