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"Strange," Rachel mused aloud, the pieces clicking into place in her head. "Because we have sources that say otherwise."
"Sources lie," Carlos shot back, but his voice held a tremor.
"Sources like the girls working the truck stops? Or the ones walking the casino floors at night?" Ethan's question hung in the air, sharp and accusing.
"Look, I run a business, okay?" Carlos's facade cracked, a fissure in the dam.
"Anna was part of your 'business,' wasn't she?" Rachel pushed, feeling the anticipation coil in her gut.
Carlos's silence was answer enough, his gaze fixed on a crack in the floor. It was a confession etched in the lines of his face, the slump of his shoulders.
"Anna was one of your girls," Ethan stated, flat and unyielding.
Carlos finally met Rachel's eyes, a storm of defiance and resignation within their depths. "Says who?" he demanded, his accent growing thicker as he issued defiance.
"Says the cops," she replied.
"You're a reservation girl, ain't ya?" Carlos said. "But you?" he glanced at Ethan, and wrinkled his nose.
"We're not here to talk about me," Ethan retorted.
Rachel sat slowly in one of the metal chairs, leaning back and studying the man across the table from under the brim of her hat. It was nearly midnight, and she could feel exhaustion pawing at her.
The table was an island in a sea of shadows, and Carlos sat hunched over it like a gravestone weathered by years of rigidity.
"Anna," Rachel began, her voice slicing through the tense air, "tell us about Anna."
"You think repeating a name will help me know her more? I don't. Never known any Anna."
"Ever?" Ethan said, snorting.
"Okay, Carlos," Rachel interjected, her voice dripping with a mix of frustration and sarcasm. "Let's try a different approach then. How about we talk about the girls you do know? The ones you exploit for your own gain."
Carlos smirked, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "Exploit? These girls come to me willingly. They know what they're getting into."
Rachel leaned forward, her eyes locked onto Carlos's. "Do they really? Or are they vulnerable young women desperate for a way out? Desperate enough to fall into your trap?"
"I provide a service," Carlos retorted, his voice tinged with irritation. "These girls make good money under my protection."
"Protection?" Ethan scoffed. "Or just another word for control?"
Carlos bristled at the accusation, his fists clenching involuntarily. "I protect them from pimps who would treat them worse than I do."
Ethan's nostrils flared with anger as he leaned forward, palms flat on the table, "Don't you dare pretend like what you do is noble. Exploiting vulnerable young women for your own profit is nothing short of despicable."
"I don't see anyone complaining," Carlos shot back defiantly.
"That's because they don't have a choice!" Ethan's voice rose, echoing through the stark room. "You manipulate them, prey on their fears and vulnerabilities until they feel like they have no other option but to stay under your control."
Rachel frowned at her partner.
He caught her glance, and leaned back again, going quiet.
She rarely saw Ethan this emotional in an interrogation setting, but he'd always been a protective sort. Growing up in a large family, she wondered if he thought about his sisters... what he'd do if anyone exploited them.
But Rachel was far more practical in a sense. They needed the truth from Carlos, and lecturing him wasn't going to help.
"So how come Anna was listed in payments made by you," she said simply. "Anna had your number in her phone."
