Jax read the notes Rita had given him from her conversation with the girl. The child’s name was Catalina Rodriguez. Home for her was in a small village miles below the border, but she had come with her mother, two brothers and other relatives to escape erupting violence there a few months ago.
She was thirteen, the eldest of three children. They had taken shelter with the relatives she called grandparents—although Rita believed they were not actually that—after her mother’s boyfriend had beaten her and threatened to harm the kids. She thought “Tio Antonio,” as she’d been told to call him, might be involved in the drug cartel, but she did not know. Things she had seen on television at her grandparents’ made her think he was.
She could not name the bad man, the one who had come and killed
