When she arrived at the airport early this morning, I hugged her the moment she walked out of the restricted area. We rocked back and forth for five, ten minutes. Maybe longer. Time had become irrelevant. When we let go, cries turned into a quick laugh. We pointed at each other’s faces. She looked like an exotic zombie, if there was such a thing. I’m sure I looked far worse. From there, we went straight into planning for the funeral. People of the Muslim faith tried to have their funerals within twenty-four hours of the death. It made sense to me.
Throughout the day, during downtimes, more tears were shed. I even saw Zeke break down after Zahera had told him how much she appreciated his kind heart. I tried to block my mind from opening the door to all the questions I had for Zeke. The only update Nick had provided was a one-sentence text that said: Sorry about the loss. I’m still working things on my end. I wanted to ask what he was still working and why, but it could wait until tomorrow.
A wedge formed in the sea of people, and I could make out the top of Armand’s coffin being carried by six of his longtime friends. Zahera dug her nails into the palm of my hand.
The men carried the coffin to the large hole in front of us and carefully lowered it inside. A single shovel of dirt was dropped on top. Zahera pressed her nails even harder into my hand, and then the torrent began. A waterfall of tears poured down her face. I quickly gave her a wad of tissues from my purse, but they did little to stop the flow. Through all of the tears and the kind words, she stayed upright, and that was saying something. When the service ended, a number of folks walked by and offered their condolences, not only to her, but to Zeke and me as well. It felt a bit strange, but all funerals have a little awkwardness to them. People didn’t know what to say or how to act exactly. They realized that kind words do little to change the feeling of loss and grief. It seemed like many people were forcing themselves to talk to Zahera, as if they needed to feel at least some of the anguish that she was experiencing.
Again, Zahera handled herself with great poise. Well, until she’d had enough.
“Get me out of here,” she said into my ear.
I leaned forward and saw a line of folks still waiting to speak to her. “Okay,” I said with some hesitation. “We can do that.”
“Ivy, I don’t know any of these people. I know they’re just trying to be nice, but I—” She brought a hand to her face.
I whispered, “I get it.” Then I took a step forward and spoke in the general direction of the people still in line. “Thank you for coming to the service. Zahera greatly appreciates your support. She needs some time to herself right now.”
Zeke gave me a nod, and the three of us turned around. Stan, his wife Bev, and Nick were standing right there.
“Zahera, we’re so sorry about what happened,” Stan said. “We just wanted to offer our condolences.”
Zahera took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Stan’s neck. He reciprocated with his one good arm. I looked at Nick, trying to read his face. It seemed like he was avoiding my gaze. Had he told Stan about Armand’s past? I had a million questions for him, but now certainly wasn’t the appropriate time or place. Later, hopefully. No, definitely.
Zahera stepped back and said, “Tell me you know who did this, Stan.”
Stan licked his lips, shifted his eyes to me for a quick moment.
“Zahera, dear,” Zeke said, touching her arm. “Are you sure this is the best time? We know Stan and the SAPD are working on finding the person who did this. Why don’t we go back to your place so you can rest, and then maybe Stan can talk to us tomorrow?”
She turned to him, removing her sunglasses. “Zeke, I know you think you’re helping me, but I don’t need to be coddled. I’m a grown woman whose father was just run over like he was roadkill.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bev wince at Zahera’s use of the word “roadkill.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Zeke said.
Zahera took his hand in hers. “I’m being a bitch, I know. I’m just glad to have you by my side through all of this.” She kissed his hand, and he put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. For a moment, he snagged my gaze. I wasn’t sure what I saw. Stress for certain. But part of him seemed distant, as if his thoughts were somewhere else.
Zahera turned back to Stan. “Do you have anything you can share?”
“Actually, we do.”
She reached out and grabbed his arm. But it was his prosthetic, and she quickly pulled back. “Sorry, Stan.”
“No problem.” He lowered his prosthetic arm. “If I tell you this, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t draw any conclusions. Investigations have many lows and highs. And I feel confident—”
“Just tell me, please.”
“A street camera three blocks away captured a picture of the vehicle Ivy described, a silver, older model pickup with a cattle guard on the front.”
“Did you get a plate?” I asked.
“We did.” He paused. “But it doesn’t exist.”
“How can that be?” Zahera said.
“We’ve had occasions where stolen license plates are basically torn in two, then welded back together to make it look like a regular plate. So when you look it up in the DMV database, it doesn’t exist.”
Zahera shook her head slowly. “Who would do something like that?”
I’d been wondering the same thing since the horrific incident happened. I looked to Nick, but he was staring at the ground. No doubt in my mind—he was avoiding me…or the topic of Armand and his past.
Stan wiped a line of sweat off his face. “Professionals.”
“Professional what?” she asked.
“Professional criminals. People get up every day knowing they’re going to break the law. Look, this investigation might take weeks, or even longer. I know you want closure and all, but the justice system works on its own schedule. So, please let Zeke and Ivy and all of your friends take care of you. Take care of yourself.”
A slow nod, then she put her forehead against Zeke’s shoulder. I was about to lead the entourage over to the parking lot when she suddenly turned back to Stan.
“If you’re saying the person who killed my father is a professional and not just some asshole who had a beef against a guy in a military uniform, then that tells me he must have interacted with someone dangerous.”
“It’s very possible. We still have a lot of interviews to conduct to try to understand everything about your father, his past, people he’d spoken to in the last few days, two weeks…as far back as we can go.”
Zahera turned to me, grabbing my wrist. “Ivy, I don’t think I knew my real dad. He must have been involved with some bad people, and I didn’t even know it.” She planted her face on my shoulder and cried. And I cried with her, but for a very different reason.
Guilt.
34
Leaning against the island in Zahera’s kitchen, I downed an appetizer with crabmeat and something else I couldn’t distinguish. But it was damn good. I paused mid-chew—the doorbell had chimed for the fifth time in the last minute. Apparently, none of the twenty or so folks in the condo could open a door. Zahera was sitting at the kitchen table, her legs crossed, talking to a woman and her husband who lived on the floor above her condo. I’d actually seen her crack a smile in the last thirty minutes when they were trading dog stories. Her dog, Clint, a faithful Doberman, had made a brief appearance earlier, then parked himself back in his crate.
The influx of friends and their homemade food, while unexpected, had been a healthy dose of medicine for the good doctor. I scooted out of the kitchen, passed a few people clustered together in conversation, and went to the front door. I opened it to see Cristina and Saul standing there.
“We were beginning to wonder if she’d moved,” Cristina said.
“You were just here a couple of nights ago.”
“With her kind of money, anything is possible.” Cristina walked into the foyer, her backpack over her shoulder. She’d skippe
d Armand’s burial service, saying, at age seventeen, it just wasn’t her kind of scene—and that was one thing we agreed on. She’d texted me earlier saying she wanted to stop by the condo and pay her respects, as well as share some new information she’d learned.
Saul took me in his arms, and we hugged. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the service earlier. Ross cracked the whip and—”
“I know,” I said, holding up a hand. “You told me he threatened your job if you didn’t stick around for some deposition.”
“It was ridiculous, but I’m here now.”
I patted his chest and shut the door. “Did you check to see if you received your bar exam results today?”
“Early this morning. Nothing. I’ll check again later. Trying not to get my hopes up.”
“Your hopes of leaving that asshat, Ross, right?” Cristina said.
Saul tilted his head, keeping his eyes on me. “Can’t she tell when someone doesn’t want to dwell on something because it makes them feel uncomfortable?”
“Hello, I’m right here.” She waved her hand in front of Saul’s face.
“McFly, we couldn’t help but notice,” Saul said, with a wink to me.
“My fly’s not open,” she said, looking down at her jeans.
Saul and I shared a quiet chuckle, then I led them into the kitchen. Zahera came over and received a double hug from Cristina and Saul. As they chatted for a couple of minutes, I scanned the area for Zeke. No sign of him. I wasn’t sure why, but I had this urge to keep him close by.
Saul recognized the couple Zahera had been speaking with as clients of the firm for which he worked—Wilson, Mendoza, and Ross. He grabbed a plate of appetizers and walked over to talk to them. Cristina, with a twitch of her head, gave me the signal that we needed to talk.
We walked back through the dining and living rooms, then reached the carpeted hallway that took us to the main guestroom. The door was shut, but I paid it no attention and walked right in.
I stopped so fast Cristina ran into my back. Zeke was sitting on the edge of the bed, a phone against his ear.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.” Did I just see tears in his eyes?
He quickly stood, held up a finger toward me, and then turned his back and walked to the far side of the room. I turned and traded a glance with Cristina. “Is he crying?” she whispered a little too loudly.
I shook my head to get her to be quiet and turned back to Zeke. He was nodding, talking quietly. He scratched the back of his head and then ended his call.
“Hey, sorry about that. It was one of my needy clients. He rambles a lot. I think he pays me just to listen to him.” He gently tossed his phone in the air and caught it after a complete flip. He smiled as if we should be impressed.
Actually, I was—he hadn’t even looked at the phone during his little trick—but it seemed forced, as if he were trying to lead us away from what we’d seen in his eyes. Of course, it could have just been that he was sharing the news of Armand’s death, but his follow-up move was out of place.
“We’ve all had to work for clients who’ve had their issues, I suppose.” His eyes moved from me to Cristina, and then back to me. He was reading our expressions. I walked over to the desk. “We can set up right here, Cristina, where we were last time.”
“I’ll let you ladies have your privacy.” He pocketed his phone and walked past us.
Cristina began to pull her laptop out of her bag. I noticed he’d stopped at the doorway. He glanced at us, then his eyes dropped to the floor.
I said, “We’ll be out in few minutes. You’ve got Z for now?”
“Yes. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
He left.
And I stood there questioning everything I’d just seen and heard.
35
Cristina snapped her fingers in front of my face. I swatted at them and missed.
“You were in one of your trances.”
“I know that.”
“You saw that he was visibly upset when we walked in, right?”
“That’s not all I saw.”
She lifted the lid on her laptop and logged in, then looked up at me.
I held out my hand and began tapping my fingers with the opposite hand. “First, if he was talking to his client, then I’m the fricking Pope.”
She crossed herself, just to be sassy. I ignored her and continued. “Whoever was on the phone, he knew well. Real well.”
“I’m following you, but unless we ask him, we’ll have no idea.”
“We can’t ask him. Although, if Nick ever hears back from Alex—”
“Who’s Alex again?”
“His partner. She’s at INTERPOL in France, remember?”
A nod. “She’s a chick. Got it.”
“So, back to Zeke’s little act. Second, he was trying to read us. It’s like he suspects that we’re on to him.”
“You think? But we’re not really on to him, not yet. We just have our suspicions.”
“Maybe. And third, did you see his eyes when he left the room?”
She was starting to type on the computer. “Pretty dreamy, huh?” She stopped and looked up at me. “Don’t tell Z I said that, okay?”
I propped a hand against my hip.
“What? I wasn’t really watching closely. What did I miss?”
“He looked under the desk…where the satchel full of letters used to be.”
“Crap,” she said. “We should have brought it back here today.”
“Too late now.”
She put her hands on the computer keys but didn’t type a thing. “So you’re thinking he knows about the letters?”
“It’s possible.”
She shook her head. “What if he knows we took them?”
“Even worse.” I paced behind Cristina and ended up over at the windows. I peeked through the blinds to see the sparse San Antonio skyline, then twirled around. “You said those letters were organized, stacked neatly.”
“They were. So, I guess that means he probably didn’t read the letters.”
“Or he’s just real good at covering his tracks.”
“More James Bond shit.”
“This is real life, Cristina.”
She smirked. “I know. I just like screwing with you.”
“Not sure what to make of Zeke right now. I really need Nick to get back to me. And I’m kind of freaking out about Zahera. She hasn’t asked what her dad was doing at our ECHO office, but she will.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. As usual, it didn’t help. “I don’t want to add another lie on top of everything else she’s dealing with. She’s been through so much, yet if some of this stuff is true, it seems like it could just be the beginning.”
“You’re talking about if we get word that Zeke is part of this international drug cartel?”
“And with Stan saying that a professional ran down Armand, I’m wondering if somehow that connects back to Zeke’s other life. If he has another life, I have to remind myself.”
“Wait. What did Stan say?”
I remembered she hadn’t been at the service, and so I filled her in. When I was done, neither of us said a word. She raked her fingers through her mane of hair, while I tapped my foot against the floor. Then we both sighed at the same time.
“My stomach is in knots,” she said. “I don’t have a good feeling about all of this. We’re waiting to hear the worst news from this Alex person, Nick, even Stan.”
I tried to clear my head for a moment and let the information we knew marinate a bit. Through the muddled mess of all the facts and suppositions, a very clear warning zipped to the front of my mind. “Stan said that Armand’s death was a professional job. While Zahera is worried that her father was connected to some bad people, we have no reason to suspect that, right?”
She nodded.
“But we do have all of this mounting…” I couldn’t think of the right word.
“Bullshit?”
“No, no. I guess you could call it evidence, but it’s also our intuition based upon Zeke’s behavior. Whatever we call it, Zeke is in our crosshairs.”
“I like the term.”
I walked toward her. “What I’m trying to say is, what if Armand was killed because of Zeke’s connections?”
“To that Russian.” She paused, looked off for a second. “Well, the Russian drug dealer.”
“Stay on point. We have no knowledge of Armand being associated with criminals, but Zeke very well could be.”
“Armand did frame a KGB spy though—that Anton guy. And he was concerned Anton might somehow be involved in this.”
“True, to a degree. The KGB thing with Anton happened umpteen years ago. How it all unfolded…it’s disturbing and, even after Armand shared the details, hard to fathom. But, dammit, Zeke’s association—possible association—with this drug leader is present day. It could have gotten Armand killed. If so, then Zahera could be in danger.”
Cristina didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. The tension in our space was unnerving, but it didn’t come close to the stress I felt inside. It all started the moment Armand had walked through the ECHO office door and asked me to secretly dig up dirt on Zahera’s fiancé. Well, he didn’t say that exactly, but that was how I had taken his request. My instinct initially told me not to take the case. And every minute since then, I’d felt like I’d betrayed my best friend. The myriad of lies and cover-ups had only made the trench that much deeper.
36
Before this all started, I would have done anything to keep Zahera as a friend. I still would. Our friendship now, though, seemed like it was on a collision course with fate. And it was hard to imagine anything except an abrupt and painful end. And what about her marriage? I could be responsible for breaking up her relationship with Zeke before she walked down the aisle.
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 41