“High-class hooker at a country-club party. How come I’m not surprised?”
“First off, the term is ‘escort,’ according to her employer.” Jonah skimmed his notes. “This woman runs a pretty big business, from the looks of it. Anyway, the victim’s last scheduled date was at this pool party, which followed a men’s poker tournament there at the club. Not a lot of wives invited, as you might guess. Victim’s boss got a text message from her about nine p.m., saying she’d made it to the party. That was the last anyone heard from her. Her body turned up two days later in the woods off the golf course.”
“And the day after that, the groundskeeper gets shot,” Ric said. “Same gun used to kill Hannigan. Detective up there thinks the gardener might have witnessed something.”
“So here’s the interesting part. The guest list. If her boss knows who Laura’s date was at that party, she’s not saying.”
“Any cops there?”
“Don’t think so. Why?”
“Just a theory Mia has. It might be off base.” Ric reached across the table. “Here, let me see. How’d you come up with this?”
Jonah slid his notes over. “Clerk at the club. Promised I’d keep his name out of it since I didn’t have a warrant.”
“Lotta movers and shakers,” Ric said, reading the list. “Tim Connell’s been all over the news. He’s running for state attorney general. And Jeff Lane is the lieutenant governor. Shit, which one of these guys is using an escort service?”
“My guess is half of them.”
“Holy shit. Camille Lane.”
Jonah frowned. “There’re no women on that list.”
“No, I know. She’s the lieutenant governor’s wife. Her name came up already.” Ric pulled a thin folder from the stack on the other end of the table.
“What’s that?”
“Jane Doe case from Lake Buchanan. Some remains were found up there, never been identified. Bone expert at the Delphi Center thinks it’s the same MO as Ashley Meyer—duct tape, blunt-force trauma, stabbing with a serrated knife.”
“What’s that got to do with Camille Lane?”
“Sheriff up there interviewed her when he was making the rounds. They have a lake house down the road from where the body was found.” Ric was combing through the file now, but there wasn’t much in it. “Damn, where’s that guy’s number?”
Jonah stared at him. “You’re telling me Laura Thorne and this Jane Doe have a link to the lieutenant governor?”
Ric glanced up. “I guess I am. Fuck. Rachel’s going to hate this.” He raked a hand through his hair. “This is going nowhere. Damn it.”
He was right. No DA in her right mind would start investigating a political heavyweight like Jeff Lane without a boatload of evidence. Which they didn’t have. They had more like a thimble, and it was all circumstantial.
Ric cursed again and stared down at the file.
“Yo, you guys hear about our boy Corino?”
He and Ric turned to see Vince Moore standing in the doorway. Jonah scowled.
“Yo, dirtbag. Thanks for backing me up the other night with Sophie Barrett. What the fuck?”
Moore grinned. “Thought you’d like that.”
“She damn near shot my dick off! That girl packs heat.”
“No kidding?” Moore looked intrigued, and Jonah decided to shut up about it.
“What about Corino?” Ric asked, getting them back on track.
“They picked him up yesterday, down in Bexar County,” Moore said. “Buddy of mine tells me he copped to that motel murder you’re working on. Corino claims it was self-defense.”
“Always is.”
“Anyway, they’re sending his ass up here. Rachel wants a piece of him.”
Ric looked at Jonah. “That’s one case cleared.”
“Yeah, let’s all go home.”
Another detective walked by the open doorway.
“Hey, Burleson, what’s up on that gas station robbery?” Moore called.
“I’m on my way over there.” Burleson stepped into the room. “Any of you want in on this holdup? They got the store owner at Brackenridge Hospital. From what I got, we’ll probably be looking at a homicide by nightfall. Ric, you interested?”
“I’m slammed,” he said. “And I’ve got plans tonight.”
Jonah was pretty sure he knew what Ric’s plans were. He was playing bodyguard with benefits.
“I’ll go with you,” Moore said. “Long as we can hit a drive-through first.”
“Jonah, you want in?”
“Can’t do it.” He traded looks with Ric. “We’re on our way to go visit the DA.”
Mia breathed a sigh of relief as Ric pulled into the parking lot of the FBI’s San Antonio field office. Finally. She and Ric’s brother had been waiting nearly twenty minutes, and she’d been getting worried.
“Well. Thank you.” She turned to Rey, who had the same dark good looks as his brother, along with an aversion to small talk. “I’m sorry to interrupt your Sunday. And your Saturday, too. I really appreciate all your help.”
“No problem.”
What was the protocol here? Should she hug him? Shake his hand? His body language invited neither, so she rubbed her gloved hands together and smiled at him as Ric pulled up to the sidewalk. Rey reached around to open the door.
“Thanks again.” She slid into the pickup, and Rey nodded. “And for my purse, too. I really appreciate it.”
Ric leaned forward to peer around her. “Call you later,” he told his brother.
“Later.”
Ric pulled away, leaving the hulking concrete government building behind them. It was a full two minutes before he said another word.
“How’d it go?”
“Great,” she said cheerfully as he turned onto the freeway that would take them back to San Marcos. “He put me in a very nice conference room with furniture that was bolted to the floor, and I read the Sunday paper twice, including the classifieds.” Mia flipped the vanity mirror down and saw that her face was just as freckled and makeup-free as it had been that morning. “Funny thing, though, your brother didn’t seem all that busy while I was there. If you hadn’t assured me otherwise, I might think he went into the office today solely to baby-sit me.”
Ric darted a glance at her, then looked back at the road. “Classifieds, huh? You looking for a job?”
Mia sighed, letting it go. “I’m expecting to get my car-insurance check later this week.” All sixty-two hundred dollars of it.
She dragged her purse into her lap and rooted around for some Chapstick. Rey had recovered the purse from her rental car when he’d visited the scene of yesterday’s shooting. He’d also talked to the local sheriff and then returned the Toyota that Alex had rented for her.
The list of favors Mia owed the Santos brothers was growing longer by the hour.
She glanced at Ric. “What happened today? How’s the investigation coming?”
“It’s coming.”
She watched him, waiting for details, but his gaze was fixed on the road. “Any word from that sheriff?” she asked.
“Rey talked to him again this afternoon. No new developments.”
Mia suppressed a sarcastic comment. Four hours she’d spent with the man, and he hadn’t mentioned that. What was it with this family?
Ric swerved into the fast lane, and Mia stared out the window as the miles rushed by in silence. He still didn’t want to let her in. She’d told him everything. All of it. And she still wasn’t part of his inner circle.
Did he still distrust her? Maybe lying earlier in the DA’s office had been a bad idea. Mia didn’t lie well, but she hadn’t known what else to do.
She hadn’t known what to do yesterday, either, and so she’d trusted Ric. In every way imaginable. And now she wondered whether that had been a mistake, too.
The first sign for San Marcos came into view, and Mia summoned her courage.
“So.” Just get it out there. “Where exactly are we going?”
He seemed ready for the question. “I’m taking you to my place.”
She turned to look at him and wished more than anything that she could read his expression. Was this him letting her into his life finally? Or was this another baby-sitting arrangement, with maybe some sex thrown in to keep it interesting?
“I’ve got to be somewhere tonight, though.” He glanced at his watch. “’Bout half an hour from now.”
“I take that to mean you’re dropping me off or … ?”
“Jonah’s meeting us there. He’ll hang out with you till I get back. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
A few hours. Of waiting for Ric to show up. And once he came home, then what? Then they’d hop into bed together, and in the morning, he’d get up to go fight bad guys while she sat around his apartment, probably with some cop buddy he’d talked into babysitting for the day.
Mia looked out the window and bit her lip. God, she was such a wimp. And she was sick of feeling helpless while her life tornadoed around her.
She cleared her throat. “Could you pull over, please?”
He gave her a startled glance.
“Please?”
He checked his mirror before sailing across two lanes and taking the next exit. Mia’s heart thudded as he coasted off the freeway and pulled into a Burger King parking lot. She waited for him to stop the truck, then turned to face him.
“What’s going on with us, Ric?”
His eyes filled with wariness, but she steeled herself and kept going.
“A few days ago, you told me you weren’t in the market for a relationship.” She waited a beat. “Has something changed?”
She saw the muscle in his jaw tighten before he looked away.
“It’s okay,” she said, even though her insides were shredding. “You told me that from the beginning. I just wanted to, you know, make sure.”
He met her gaze again, obviously hating this conversation. “Look, Mia—”
“It’s fine. Let’s just go.” She pulled her phone from her purse and tried to keep her hands steady as she sent a text message. His eyes were on her, and she felt her cheeks get warm.
Why had she let this happen? In some tiny corner of her mind, she’d allowed herself to believe that sleeping with him would change things, would make him want what he clearly didn’t. Brilliant plan. Now here she was, asking him for the very thing she’d told him she didn’t need.
She finished her message and pressed Send.
“Mia, look at me.”
She slid her phone into her purse and looked up, hoping her emotions weren’t plain on her face.
“Everything’s complicated right now. You have no idea.”
“Don’t explain.” She held up her hand. “It’s fine. Really. But I’ve made some other arrangements, so I can’t come to your house tonight.”
He muttered something in Spanish. Then he shifted into gear again and pulled out of the lot. She didn’t know what to make of it. Clearly, he was pissed.
“I need you where I can keep tabs on you,” he said.
“Are you worried I’m going to take off?”
“I’m more worried about someone putting a bullet in you. Forget it. You’re staying with me.”
“I’m not staying with you.” All that hurt in her chest was quickly becoming anger. “I told you, I’ve made other plans.”
She looked out the window and tried to get her feelings under control. She didn’t want a scene with him, not after last night. Last night was precious to her. She had no idea what it meant to him, but to her, it was special, and she didn’t want to ruin it.
“What’s the plan, Mia? Your house isn’t safe, not if he’s leaving you threats on your breakfast table.”
She knew she shouldn’t have told him about the Mardi Gras beads. He was right about her house, though. She didn’t want to be alone there right now, but her emotions were too raw to want Ric there with her.
She realized he was looking at her. “What?”
“I’m not taking you home.”
“You don’t have to. I’m staying with a friend.”
He shook his head. “You’re just going to camp out at someone’s place? You think Sophie’s going to protect you if some thug decides to kick down the door in the middle of the night?”
She looked out the window. When she thought she could talk without sounding upset, she gave him an address on the south side of town.
“Next exit,” she added as he glared at her.
But it seemed he was finished arguing, because he silently followed the directions to the house. Mia had been there exactly once, but she remembered it well. It was a small brick one-story in a working-class neighbor-hood, and she prayed the garage door would be down when Ric pulled up to the curb.
No such luck.
A black pickup with oversized tires was parked in the garage. Beside it was a motorcycle.
For once, Ric’s face was easy to read. “Who the hell’s house is this?” he demanded.
“A friend.”
“Who?”
“He works at the Delphi Center.” Mia gathered up her purse and jacket. “This is perfect, actually. He can give me a ride to work.”
“Since when are you going back to work?”
“I want my life back, all right? I’m sick of running from things. It’s time I tried to salvage what’s left of my career, if that’s even possible. I’m not sure I can, but I know I can’t do it by running away.”
He glanced at the truck, and every muscle in his face hardened. “He’s a friend. You want me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe! He offered me a place to stay. On his couch. And you can believe whatever you want, because I don’t answer to you.” She reached for the door handle, and he grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Just … wait. Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she could tell he was trying very hard to rein in his temper. And that little gesture pulled at her, making her wait patiently for whatever he had to say.
He took a deep breath. “Who is this guy?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because it does.”
She looked at him, not sure what was going on now. Jealousy? Hurt? Over-the-top possessiveness that had no basis in reality?
She sighed. “I can tell what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that.”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“He’s a friend, okay? I’ve known him for years. I talked to him earlier today, and he offered to put me up. Given the circumstances, I think I’ll be more comfortable here.”
Ric snorted.
“God, why am I even explaining this to you? I’m too tired for this.” She reached for the door again, and again he stopped her.
“All I’m asking is his name,” he said with obvious effort. “I’d like to run a background check.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Scott Black,” she said quietly. “He works in our ballistics lab. And you don’t need to bother checking up on him, because everyone at Delphi has been thoroughly vetted.”
Ric gave her a long, steady look. “I don’t like this plan. I think you should take some more time off. Lie low.”
“I appreciate your concern, but it’s not your decision.” She reached for the handle again, and this time, he didn’t try to stop her. “Will you call me later, please? About the investigation? I’d like to be kept informed.”
He nodded curtly.
“Thank you.” She got out of his truck, amazed at how calm she sounded as she ended one of the most emotional
weekends of her life.
“Mia.”
She looked back over her shoulder.
“You can call me, too, you know. If you need anything.”
“I know,” she said. And the words sounded as hollow as she felt.
CHAPTER 17
Mia awoke to the smell of frying bacon and for an instant t
hought she was at her grandmother’s. A glimpse of the deer antlers mounted on the wall jolted her back to reality.
She was at Scott’s. She’d had a fight with Ric. Well, maybe not a fight, exactly, but their passionate week-end had definitely ended on a sour note. But since it had begun on one, too, she shouldn’t have been surprised.
Mia pulled off the wool blanket Scott had given her, folded it, and left it on the end of the couch. She slipped into his guest bathroom and spent a few minutes cleaning up before following the scent of bacon into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
He looked up from his frying pan and gave her a sly smile.
“You slept in. Guess you needed some rest.”
Mia had told him vaguely about spending the week end with Ric, and he’d obviously drawn his own conclusions. She’d been happy to let him.
She and Scott went way back, much further than Ric probably imagined. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, although they hadn’t overlapped in school because he was five years older. He’d dated Vivian, though, and probably because of that, he’d always treated Mia like a kid sister, even after they’d crossed paths again as colleagues at the Delphi Center. Mia was relying on that kid-sister vibe now to keep this from being awkward.
“Mugs above the TV,” he said, nodding at the little set on his counter where he was watching CNBC at low volume.
Mia helped herself to some coffee and looked around. It felt strange being in Scott’s kitchen. She still remembered the house he’d grown up in, right down the street from her parents’ place in Fort Worth. It felt weird to see him now all dressed for work, watching financial news and making breakfast in his own kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” she asked.
“Nope.”
She slumped into a chair and sipped her coffee. She felt stiff this morning. Sore. Some of it was from falling down at the gas station Saturday, but some was Ricrelated.
“Fried egg?”
She glanced up, and her stomach leaped at the words. “Sure, thanks.”
He slid an egg onto a plate, along with three strips of bacon. She started to add up the calories, then decided not to torture herself.
He joined her at the table and handed her some silverware. Along with khaki tactical pants, he wore a black golf shirt with the Delphi logo on it and some kind of heavy-duty military boots. The ballistics guys always looked like badasses. Most of them actually were, too.
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