by Jordan Dane
Mrs. Tanner listened to Cook and smiled, but when she thought Jessie wasn’t looking, the woman stole glances at her. Jessie felt like a damned lab rat. The staring made her uncomfortable until she got distracted with the woman’s house.
The Tanner house was real homey inside, especially with the smell of coffee and cinnamon lingering in the air. And she collected antique furniture, good-quality stuff, and had lace and pastel frills everywhere. But when Jessie saw all the family photos in the living room, the smiling happy faces reminded her of what she’d never had—a family.
She’d been a ward of the state of Illinois and had never been around a real family, except for those in the foster-care system that she’d stayed with when she wasn’t in an institution or halfway house. All of her belongings had been kept in a trash bag, ready to move when the state ordered it. That was no kind of life for a kid.
“Can I get you some coffee?” the woman asked.
“None for me,” he said.
Taking a cue from Chief Cook, Jessie shook her head and said, “No thanks.”
“Please, sit.” Mrs. Tanner took a seat and folded the washrag on her lap, something to do with her hands. “How can I help you?”
The chief sat in a wingback chair, and Jessie took a spot on the sofa.
“Like I said on the phone, I’m lookin’ into the Angela DeSalvo murder case,” he began.
“I don’t know. That’s been so long ago. I thought I read somewhere that you’d closed that case, Tobias.”
“That case never went to court. And murder cases stay open until they do. You remember how that works, right?”
“Terrible thing.” The woman shook her head. “I had nightmares over that for such a long time.”
“I can understand that.”
“So why are you here . . . talking to me, Tobias?”
“I hate to admit this, but we’re missing some paperwork on the case. Everyone whose property was adjacent to the DeSalvo house got interviewed, except for you. And I’ve come to rectify that.”
“But I did talk to someone. One of your men, I think.” She wrung the cloth in her hand. “Maybe that old paperwork will show up. Maybe it was misfiled, is all.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Sophia, but while we’re here, I’d like to ask you a few question. Will that be all right?” Without waiting for her reply, he continued as he opened a notepad, “What can you tell me about the night Angela DeSalvo was murdered? Did you see any strangers or hear anything out of the ordinary?”
Sophia Tanner told Chief Cook all she remembered. The more she talked about Angela De Salvo, the more her fingers worked the washrag she still held in her hands. And she avoided eye contact as she spoke. She was uptight about something more than recalling the murder of a neighbor.
While the police chief made a note, Jessie had a question of her own.
“How well did you know Angela?” she asked.
Chief Cook gave her a sideways glance, and, under his breath, he said, “So much for not saying a word.”
When Jessie saw him raise an eyebrow, she ignored him and turned her full attention on Mrs. Tanner.
“I knew her as well as anyone would know a neighbor, I suppose. We didn’t socialize, if that’s what you mean. We talked on occasion, as neighbors. That’s all.”
“Do you remember seeing any children at the DeSalvo home?” From the corner of her eye, Jessie saw Chief Cook shift in his seat, and she heard his sigh, but that didn’t stop her. “Maybe she had kids at her place that week prior to the murder.”
“Tobias, what is she talking about? Kids? You never said anything about wanting to talk about children.”
Sophia Tanner’s eyes watered, and she looked confused. If Chief Cook had been doing his job, he might have attempted to calm her down, so he could continue his questioning, but that’s not what he did.
“I think I’ve got everything I need.” He stood and reached for Jessie’s arm, heading her for the door. “Thanks for your cooperation, Sophia. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“I will. I promise.” The woman forced a smile. “Have a good day, both of you.”
When they got outside, out of Mrs. Tanner’s earshot, Jessie had plenty to say.
“You call that an interview? You clearly don’t watch Castle, to see how it’s done.”
“And you clearly make promises you have no intention of keeping. I think we’re done here. Have a good day, Ms. Beckett. And if I hear that you’ve come back here to harass this poor woman, I’ll arrest you. Is that clear?”
The man was done talking. He got in his squad car and waited for her to get in her rental. Any hope she had for his cooperation had dried up, and she had no idea why. She’d hit a wall that she had never seen coming.
Now she’d have to scramble, and she had a good idea where to start.
La Pointe, Wisconsin
Twenty minutes later
If Chief Cook wouldn’t give her any more information on the murder of Angela DeSalvo, Jessie knew how to dig up stuff on her own. And a good source for a story nearly decades old was the town library and the newspaper archives.
She took a corner of the archives and worked over the digital images of old newspapers until she was bleary-eyed. With only the occasional bathroom break and a raid on the snack machine, where she finished off the Cheetos and KitKat bars, she searched the digital records, looking for anything pertaining to the murder of Angela DeSalvo. And seeing the newspaper evolve over time gave her insight into the community and people of La Pointe.
TV detectives always had miraculous databases to help them solve cases in a make-believe world where DNA results could be done in minutes, and the killer always confessed in the last five minutes of the show. In real life, it didn’t work that way. Most cases involved “beating feet” on pavement and tedious grunt work that could be butt numbing.
When she’d located a string of articles that encompassed months after the murder, Jessie made copies of the best ones with the most details. Since this was a small town, the newspaper took liberties with its reporting. It deviated from the typical sparse style of journalistic writing and sometimes focused on the more emotional aspects of the story.
She scanned the pages and didn’t see anything that she hadn’t expected, but she’d go over the articles later when she had more time to read.
When the last article had printed, Jessie sorted through her pile and placed the most important pages on top. Once she got back to her motel room, she wanted to read them first. And considering the stack of paper, it would be a long night.
She headed out of the library with her gold mine of old articles on the DeSalvo killing rolled up in her hand. When she got outside, it was the first time she realized that she’d spent almost the whole day ratholed in the archives. But after she filled her lungs with cool dusk air and caught glimpses of the sunset glittering on the churning waters of Lake Superior, she got a second wind. And her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten much all day.
She followed the main drag, walking toward the water. From what she remembered of her ferry trip, the harbor area had some inviting restaurants near the shore. That made her belly rumble, but as she turned down a side street, she caught a glimpse of movement in the waning sunlight. A shadow had moved behind her.
La Pointe was small, a tourist town. Why she flinched at the sight of someone behind her, she didn’t know. Maybe her wariness had been a by-product of digging into the DeSalvo murder all afternoon. And being in the very town where it had all happened had caused her jumpiness.
The way Jessie figured it, it didn’t hurt to be careful. When she picked up her pace, she paid closer attention to the sounds coming from behind her and kept a watchful eye on any suspicious movement. Under her windbreaker, she carried her Colt Python. And with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she felt the weight of her weapon as she ducked around another corner. If someone was following her, she’d have precious seconds to expand the ga
p between them and look for a place to confront the bastard.
Jessie had no intention of losing him, not when she wanted to look the son of a bitch square in the eye.
Chapter 10
La Pointe, Wisconsin
Jessie spotted a darkened alleyway ahead. The sun was low enough on the horizon to leave shadows in its wake. The alley separated two storefronts. One place was still open, a small gift shop. And the other had lights out and was closed for business. Before the guy who was tailing her rounded the corner, she darted into the alley and shoved her back against a brick wall.
Come on, you sorry son of a . . .
She didn’t have to wait long.
When the guy thought he’d lost her, he’d picked up his pace. The sound of his footsteps grew louder. Jessie waited for him to run by the alley where she was hiding. All she saw when he jogged by was a blue plaid shirt, jeans, running shoes, and a navy baseball cap pulled low over his face.
After she’d turned the tables on him, she fell in pace behind him, tailing him instead. But the guy must have seen her make the move, because with barely a look over his shoulder, he made a run for it.
“Damn it!” she cursed under her breath as she chased him. “If you make me break a sweat, I swear . . .”
There was only one good thing about the guy hauling his ass down the street. With him running, it confirmed that he’d been following her. She hadn’t been overly paranoid after all.
But with the guy having a lead on her, Jessie had to make up ground. Her lungs were burning, and the muscles in her legs were on fire. With her arms pumping, she carried the rolled-up newspaper articles clutched in her hand. And when the bastard ducked around a corner without hesitating, she saw that he was taking her through a deserted part of La Pointe, a place she didn’t know at all.
The guy knew where he was going. It was his town. He had an advantage. And with him out of sight, she had to be careful. Jessie slowed up, bracing her body in case he reached out and grabbed her. With her chest heaving, she tucked her newspaper articles in the waistband of her jeans before she pulled out her Colt. She gripped the weapon in her sweaty hand as she neared the street corner.
Jessie slowed her breathing and stepped lightly so he wouldn’t know exactly where she was, but once she made her move, that was the end of her game of finesse. When she swung around the corner, with both hands on her Colt, she saw that the street was empty. An abandoned old gas station was positioned on her right and an auto repair place stood on her left, secured by a cyclone fence that was locked.
Jessie walked slowly down the street, keeping her gun aimed into every shadow. And after she’d checked both sides of the street, she lowered her weapon.
“Damn,” she cursed under her breath.
The bastard had found a place to hide, like the cockroach he was.
Pérez Compound
Outside Guadalajara, Mexico
10:20 P.M.
On day two of surveillance, Alexa had changed her clothes to more practical attire—camo BDUs. Garrett always came prepared and had brought extra gear. She was hunkered down in the foothills outside the Pérez estate, with her elbows propped on a boulder, using high-tech night-vision binoculars to monitor the security patrols inside the compound. On instinct, she timed and tracked the intervals at which the armed guards patrolled the grounds and how many men made the rounds.
She felt dirt on her skin, but she kept perfectly still and didn’t fidget. And when something crawled up her ankle, she didn’t panic. She brushed the scorpion away by moving with slow deliberation to avoid any sudden moves, a practice honed from years of training and discipline. Hasty moves and unexpected noise in the stillness could make her a target.
She’d picked an isolated spot away from Hank’s ground team and kept to herself. She melded into the terrain as the moon cast a bluish haze that looked like a dusting of fine blue powder over the rugged landscape outside the estate, covering trees, boulders, agave plants, and yuccas. And she listened to the sounds of the night, the forlorn hoot of an owl in the trees and the baleful cries of a pack of coyotes.
Most people might have been tense, hiding in the dark, but Alexa got off on the isolation, a complete departure from New York City. Yet despite the serene setting, she couldn’t forget why they were there. Jackson Kinkaid had crossed her path once again. And she hoped, given the situation, that it wouldn’t be for the last time.
Rapt in her thoughts of Kinkaid, she hardly noticed that Garrett had joined her. He hadn’t said a word, and neither of them felt uncomfortable with the silence between them. He’d only slipped next to her and didn’t feel the need to say anything at all. The reason for his secrecy had vanished, so he joined Hank and his men, and Alexa had become part of the team. Having Garrett with her felt comfortable, and it reminded her how close she’d come to losing him. But swapping her fears from Garrett Wheeler to Jackson Kinkaid wasn’t exactly making progress.
It wasn’t until she heard a steady thump in the distance that she’d realized the intruding noise was man-made and mechanical, and stood out from the sounds of nature.
“What’s that?” she whispered, only loud enough for Garrett to hear.
“Helicopter.”
As if on cue, lights in the distance cut through the darkness. She lowered her night-vision binoculars—not wanting to be blinded by the onset of the bright lights on the horizon—and watched as a helicopter rose over the mountains. The aircraft circled the estate below and hovered behind the hacienda, kicking up dust as it landed.
“Pérez,” she said under her breath and edged closer to Garrett, feeling the warmth of his arm against hers.
Without responding to her, Garrett spoke into his com unit to Hank and his men.
“Anyone with confirmation, speak up. If the big man is there, I want to know it.”
“Copy that.”
Alexa watched as Hank’s team shifted positions to utilize long-range surveillance gear. Even with her night-vision binoculars, she couldn’t see well enough to ID a face. Not even the full moon helped. All she could do was sit back and let Hank’s men do their jobs.
“What now?” she asked Garrett. “How do we know when to move in?”
“If we can’t make an ID, then Jackson has to confirm that Pérez is on-site. He said he’d give us a signal.”
“What kind of signal?” she asked.
“He said we’d know it when we saw it, but until then, we’re to stay put on the ridge outside the estate.” Garrett gave her a sideways glance and didn’t say anything more.
Even in the murky shadows, she saw Garrett tighten his jaw as he watched the estate below. He didn’t like this either.
An hour later
No one on Hank’s team had confirmed that Manolo Quintanilla Pérez had been one of the people who’d flown via helicopter to the estate outside Guadalajara. Too many men had rushed to the helicopter to usher the new arrivals inside. And so far they hadn’t seen any sign from Jackson Kinkaid, if he was even still alive, that is.
“I can’t believe you went along with Kinkaid’s self-destructive idea of a plan.” The words were out of her mouth before she could rein them back in. The instant she’d said them, she knew she’d done the wrong thing. It wasn’t Garrett’s fault that Kinkaid had a vendetta against a drug kingpin in Mexico and that he was being held by Pérez and his vicious pack of dogs. Jackson had done that on his own.
“It’s not like he gave me a choice, Alexa,” Garrett said, unable to hide his annoyance. “If we don’t see anything soon, I’ll make the call to go in. Understood?”
“Yeah, understood.” Alexa took a deep breath. She only had to understand, she didn’t have to like it. “So what now? We wait?”
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “We wait.”
She knew that waiting was a big part of surveillance, but she didn’t have to like that either. While the team watched the activity below—with some of Hank’s men closer to the action, so they could confirm any sighting of P�
�rez—Alexa took advantage of having Garrett next to her.
And she wanted to get her mind off Kinkaid’s suicide mission.
“Was it you who followed me from the Guadalajara airport? At first, I thought it was Hank, but later he told me it hadn’t been him.”
She hated admitting she didn’t know who had tailed her, but if it had been Garrett, that would explain why she only felt him and never saw him. Garrett was an experienced agent who could make himself a ghost if he wanted to.
“No, wasn’t me.” He shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Someone followed you? Did you see ’em?”
“No, only felt them. If it wasn’t you, I have a pretty good idea who ordered it.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Donovan Cross.” She fixed her gaze on him, waiting to see if the name meant anything. “So what’s up with that guy? What’s his part in all this?”
“Donovan Cross? I know who he is, but what’s he got to do with it?”
She stared at him for a long minute, trying to read if he was lying again. Since he’d clued her in and made her part of his team, now he had no motive for keeping her in the dark when it came to the mission with Kinkaid, but she had no idea if that extended to his past with Donovan Cross.
“He took over your job and told me you were dead, killed in a classified mission. He made up a story about how you got caught in an explosion, and your body would never be recovered. Ring any bells?” When he didn’t say anything, she stared at him in disbelief. “You mean he wasn’t part of your disappearing act?”
“No, he wasn’t.” Garrett narrowed his eyes and got strangely quiet.
When he finally glanced at her, he must have seen the worried look on her face, because he said, “I’ll put out some feelers, figure out what’s going on. It’s probably nothing.”
He tried for nonchalance, but she wasn’t buying it.
“Yeah, right. It’s probably just a coincidence. And you know how I feel about those.” She sighed. “You better watch your back with Cross. He’s got to have support within the Sentinels if he stepped into your job so quickly. Who would do that?”