Read Online Body Heat by Brenda Novak - Free Book Online

various drivers and passengers roll down their windows to inspect these goods while inching forward. When it was her turn to speak with a border agent, she pulled under the overhang that announced Bienvenidos a Naco, Sonora, México and showed a uniformed Mexican man her passport, which was now necessary to cross the border, although at one time a driver’s license had been sufficient. She wasn’t carrying her badge. As far as the officials along the border or anywhere else were concerned, she wasn’t going into Mexico on police business, and she wasn’t armed.
    After a cursory glance at her passport, the man waved her through, and the engine thrummed between her legs as she guided her bike into Naco, Sonora. It was just on the other side of the border from its sister city but was ten times the size. With nearly eight thousand residents, it had housing, motels and grocery stores—and plenty of indigents who begged for money.
    It also had more than its fair share of coyotes.
    Sophia could see them lounging against buildings or loitering on street corners, talking with anyone who passed. Some stood off by themselves—smoking, eyeing the scene, searching for potential customers. For a moment, the babel of voices frightened her. She’d been to Naco before; she knew it well enough to feel as comfortable as one could in a foreign and rather dangerous place. But she didn’t speak much Spanish. She was relying on the fact that many of the people here knew English.
    A group of men clustered at the entrance to the ram-shackle motel Su Casa watched her “unass,” as Starkey would’ve described it. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly thought of her ex-boyfriend. Maybe because she sort of wished she’d brought him with her. He was no pillar of the community, but she did enough for Rafe that he treated her cordially, and he could hold his own in the worst of circumstances.
    Whistling and grinning as she removed her helmet,the men made their appreciation clear. They also spoke to one another in Spanish, using words like espléndido and atractiva. Despite numerous attempts, Sophia hadn’t been able to reach the person attached to the number she’d found in José’s sock, so she still didn’t have any identification. But, unlike the situation with the previous victims, she had pictures that showed an actual resemblance. She’d downloaded the photographs she’d taken at the scene and printed out several copies of the clearest ones before leaving the station.
    As she approached the group, most of whom were in their mid-twenties, she took a photo of each body from her back pocket. “Maybe you can help me.”
    Several were dressed in dirty “wifebeater” T-shirts and plain gray pants with thin-soled black canvas shoes. Others wore jeans and various kinds of shirts. They’d all been lounging against whatever was close by—the side of the building, a pillar, a foul-smelling trash can—but once she addressed them they straightened and stepped toward her.
    â€œCan you tell me who these people are?” she asked, holding the photos out for them to see.
    The closest one took the pictures and stared down at José and his wife. Then he handed them back. “No hablo Inglés.”
    â€œNombre.” She pointed at the pictures again and gave them to someone else.
    â€œThese people are dead.” The second man’s English was heavily accented but definitely understandable.
    â€œThat’s the problem,” she told him. “I’m trying to figure out how they got that way.”
    â€œSo…you’re a cop?” He laughed, making his skepticism obvious. “You don’t look like no cop.”
    She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Right now I’m just a concerned citizen.”
    â€œA concerned citizen,” he repeated, and squinted as he studied the pictures a second time. “These two