I remember it. I saw it in his bag along with his tequila and other stuff. “Yes,” Cecily said, swallowing around a hard lump in her throat and pulling the words out of the tight concrete of her chest. “I do. But what do I do with it?”
“You’ll know when it’s time,” Luz said.
“But you know now?” It didn’t seem fair if she did.
Luz’s dark bun moved as she shook her head. “No, I don’t but they do.”
Almost afraid to ask, she did anyway. “Who are they?”
Daniel’s mom shrugged. “The spirits,” she said. “The ancestors or the dead, whatever you want to call them—it’s the same no matter what name you use.”
Their eyes met and held in silent communication. The unmistakable sound of a truck’s engine spoiled the quiet. “Go get whatever you need to take with you,” Luz told Cecily. “Michael’s back and I’ll have him drive you to the airport in just a minute.”
Uncertain what to take, what to leave, she changed clothes and grabbed her purse. Cecily tucked her phone into the bag and returned to the living room.
Luz shooed her out the door and just as she climbed into the truck, the woman called her name.
Cecily turned back. “What is it?”
“When Daniel calls, don’t tell him you’re on the way. He mustn’t know or he’ll lose focus. And, chica?”
“Yeah?”
“My son loves you very much and he can’t afford a broken heart if he lives so be careful.”
She nodded, unable to say anything and held back the knot of tears balled up in her throat until her plane ascended into the bright, clear skies above El Paso. Cecily didn’t look down or back as she wept and saw nothing but sunshine through her tears.
Chapter Eighteen
Walking away from Cecily proved to be difficult, one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but Daniel did so with cold, steel in his step. He didn’t look back at her—if he had, he would’ve been tempted to take one more kiss or hold her again and he couldn’t. His head throbbed with a tension headache and he felt like shit warmed over. Although Daniel refused to acknowledge to anyone and to himself only in extreme circumstances, he possessed a faint inkling of his mother’s intuition. Dark, dire possibilities tormented his consciousness, but he refused to consider any other action. No matter what happened to him, he had to take Johnson Hamilton out of the equation to protect Cecily. As long as he could accomplish that task, he would accept any fate.
Once in the air, he started to call her and then stopped dialing. So much to say but he’d said it all and repeating it might cause heartaches. Instead, he dug out some ibuprofen and washed them down. I’ll call her when I get to Dallas.
Between, he needed to form a plan and as much as he hated it, he needed to call Martin. When the tablets eased some of his headache, he pulled out the cell he’d bought in Branson. From memory he dialed Special Agent In Charge Martin’s number and waited.
“It’s about god damn I heard from you,” Andrew Martin growled into the phone without bothering with a greeting. “I thought you went fucking AWOL. Where in the hell are you and please tell me you’re bringing the woman in.”
He’d expected the harsh response so it didn’t sting much. In a calm, deliberate voice Daniel replied, “Which question do you want me to answer first?”
“I don’t care as long as I get answers.”
“Okay,” Daniel said. “I’m not AWOL, I’m on my way back into Branson, and Cecily isn’t with me. Good enough?”
“Hell no!” The irritation in Martin’s voice came through with clarity. “If you want to keep your career with the bureau, you’d better stop dancing around and tell me what the hell’s going on with you.”
Holy shit, time to tell the truth and shame the devil, he thought as he inhaled a few slow, deep breaths. “Cecily Brown’s innocent,” he told his boss. “She didn’t kill her ex-husband or have anything to do with the crime. And she didn’t take anything out of the safe.”
“Let me guess,” Martin said, voice thick with sarcasm. “I suppose she told you so?”
Anger almost won but Daniel checked his tongue until he could answer without heat. “Listen, you don’t have reason to believe me or Cecily, but it’s not what you think.”
“Uh-huh.”
This time, he couldn’t contain some rage. “Look, asshole, Cecily’s cousin’s been taken hostage by the son-of-a-bitch who iced Bradford and robbed the safe. He took jewels and cash. He came hunting Cecily because she’s the one person who could point a finger in his direction. I’m headed for Branson hoping to nail him before he kills Nia.”
After a long pause, time enough to count past ten, Martin said, his tone much different. “Wait, you’re telling me there’s a suspect? A viable one? Who is he?”
“His name’s Johnson Hamilton. He was Bradford’s personal assistant with access and knowledge to the safe, to the house, all of it. And he had a vendetta going against Cecily,” Daniel said. He kept what he knew as concise as possible. “Hamilton tracked Cecily to Branson and found her cousin instead. He called this morning, wanted Cecily to show up or he kills Nia.”
“Wait a minute—you heard this call yourself?”
“Damned straight I did,” Daniel said. “And he admitted to killing Bradford.”
“So why in hell isn’t this Brown woman with you? Isn’t she supposed to be the bait to draw the un-sub out?”
“If he gets to her, he’ll kill her.”
“Aren’t you there to stop it?”
In a voice as low as a bass rumble, Daniel said, “I’m not taking the chance, Martin. I called you so maybe you could put a team together. Maybe send me some agents out of Springfield or at least some local cops so I won’t go in with my balls in one hand, my gun in the other.”
“You assume a lot for a rogue agent,” Martin said but without heat. Daniel knew the man well enough he thought he heard a little admiration. “You’re risking it, without the woman, but I suppose you know that, Padilla?”
“Yeah, I know.”
A bitter-flavored chuckle came over the airwaves. “Just tell me one thing. Is she worth it?”
“Yes,” Daniel said without hesitation. “She is.”
“Damn,” Martin barked. “All right, then. So, get to Branson, but don’t go in without back-up. I’ll need to know time, place, and all the details, but I’ll get something set up. You’re going to need proof to nail the bastard, Padilla.”
“I’ll get it,” Daniel said. “I’ll call when I hit Branson.”
He ended the call and leaned back in the seat. Now he needed to hear Cecily’s voice, but he wanted to talk to his mama, too. He dialed her number and Luz answered almost before it rang.
“Mi hijo,” she said. “Are you in Dallas yet?”
“No, I’m still in the air. Everything okay there?”
“So far, it’s good,” Luz replied.
“Let me talk to Cecily.”
“She’s not here,” his mother said. “I sent her somewhere with Michael. Call her cell phone if you can’t wait.”
Something’s not right. He felt it, deep in his bones like the ache of arthritis. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Luz said, just a little too quickly.
“Is she sick?”
“No, she’s not. Cecily’s fine,” his mother said. “Are you all right?”
Not by a long damn shot, but he didn’t care to share at the moment. “Si, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You sound strange. Vaya con Dios, mi hijo. Be careful and call me when it’s over.”
“Mama?”
“I’ll talk to you later, Daniel.”
Disconcerted by the call, he called Cecily. Her phone rang several times and he expected to reach voice mail. Nervous and more than a little worried, he fidgeted, but she picked up at the last moment, breathless. “Hello?”
“Querida, it’s me.”
“Oh, sugar,” she said with warmth. “I’m glad to hear your voice. Wh
ere are you?”
“Almost to Dallas, I think,” he said. “How are you?”
Her soft laughter eased some of his concerns. “I’m good, better than I was early this morning.”
“I’m glad,” he said and meant it. “So where are you?”
“What?”
“I asked where you are. Mama said she sent you somewhere with Michael.”
Static rattled between them and her voice faded. “Yeah, she did, sugar.”
“Where did you go?”
“With Michael,” Cecily said. “Sugar, I love you.”
Damn, he was about to be dismissed like a grade school student. “You know I love you, too. Cecily, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said, her tone the same as his mom’s had been, too fast and a little too smooth. “Don’t worry. I’ve gotta go. Call me later, okay?”
His temper spiked and his voice sharpened. “Damn it, Cecily, talk to me! I know you’re not telling me something. What is it? Are you sick?”
“My tummy’s calmed down, almost,” she said. “I can’t hear you very well. Hugs and kisses till I see you again and be careful.”
With that, she hung up. Silence replaced her voice and he missed it. And somewhere within he suspected things just went awry, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. I’d like to know what in the hell is going down. ‘Bout the last thing I need is to worry what’s shaking back at home, but something’s up. I’ll call her again in Dallas and she’d better have answers or I’ll be tempted to head back to El Paso with speed. But even as he thought it, Daniel knew he couldn’t, not when Nia’s life hung in the balance, Cecily’s too. He had no choice but to take care of business—at any cost.
****
Lies weren’t something she did well and she knew it. Telling Daniel anything but the truth stung, but she didn’t have a choice. If he had any idea I was on a plane, destination Branson, he’d hunt me down and tie me to a chair. Then he’d send me home. Guilt rippled across her midsection coupled with some lingering nausea. If she ate anything, she’d puke so she didn’t. Instead, Cecily sipped a Sprite and sighed. All she wanted was to get it over with and go home, back to El Paso or to her house, anywhere with Daniel. She sought closure and to keep her lover safe. If she had both, she might be able to breathe again. And live and love.
Unable to relax with her nerves jazzed up, the flight stretched out long and tedious. Daniel phoned again and they talked in a brief, but garbled conversation because this time the interference was genuine. By the time her plane circled above Chicago, above the familiar sights of her hometown, Cecily couldn’t decide if her body revved up for fight or flight. Fear gnawed at her, but she also experienced a restless desire to kick ass. Below, her hometown stretched out, still the brawling giant Carl Sandburg wrote about but grown even larger. Although she’d been a lifelong resident until she headed for Branson to start over, Chicago seemed strange and unfamiliar. Feeling more like a tourist than a homie, Cecily stared down with an odd sense of finality. This is the past, the future’s straight ahead.
She lacked any desire to leave O’Hare, not to see the old neighborhood or cruise by the Canal Street house or any other sites and lacked time if she had. Cecily raced through the airport to catch the connecting flight to Branson and made it. Unlike Daniel down in Texas, she didn’t have a long layover. Before she had time to acclimate to earth, Cecily found herself hurtling through the sky once again, this time toward her destination. En route she didn’t gaze out into the clouds or nap or read. She focused on what she would do when she reached Branson. Cecily mapped out each step, each action right up until she showed up at Pink Neon. Right now, she had no clue what to do or what would happen, but she would wing it. She rehearsed what she’d do in her mind until she had it down. Then she indulged in a memory, one to help her draw on her inner strength and remember what she possessed, strength, courage, and sass.
When she was ten, she got her first watch, a character Timex designed for kids. Cecily adored it and wore it everywhere. She checked the time every five minutes and managed to show it off to anyone who glanced her way. It wasn’t like she didn’t know some of the other kids at the elementary school envied it—she knew but she didn’t care. Truth was, she’d gone out of her way to rub their noses in her pretty timepiece.
After morning recess, the teachers herded all the girls in the fifth grade into the restroom to use the facility and wash their hands before coming back to class. The operation always took a while and everyone had to wait in line. Cecily happened to be one of the last stragglers and when she came out of the stall, Tawni Davis got in her way.
“Move,” Cecily said.
“Not until you give me your watch,” Tawni returned. “I want it.”
“No.” Cecily wasn’t handing it over to anyone, especially not Tawni. She and the other girl didn’t get along and they’d fussed before. “Get out of my way.”
Cecily started toward the sinks to wash her hands, but Tawni blocked her. “Give me the fuckin’ watch.”
“No, bitch.”
Tawni tried to snatch it from Cecily’s wrist, so she slapped the little bitch. Tawni responded by grabbing Cecily’s hair and yanking hard enough to hurt. They wrestled and tussled, but Cecily didn’t yield. They ended up the last two in the restroom and headed off to class, panting, clothes awry, cheeks marked with pink slap marks.
“Don’t be tardy, girls,” the teacher said as they entered. Cecily stared. Didn’t she notice they’d been fighting?
In the afternoon, after last recess, Tawni tried again. This time she brought six other girls and they all made a circle around Cecily. They chanted and jeered at her. “Now give me the watch, little bitch,” Tawni said.
Cornered, another kid would’ve surrendered and handed it over, but not Cecily. She slapped Tawni hard enough to make her screech. When Suzy Perry mouthed off, Cecily delighted in whirling around to smack her fat cheek with force. She never liked the snotty thing anyway. Gasping for breath, Cecily glared at them all. “Anyone else want a piece of me?” she said. “I’ll fight anyone who thinks they can take my watch—or me.”
No one spoke up. Heads down, they went away one at a time, quiet and almost sad. And from then on, none of the young bullies or smart mouths messed with Cecily Brown.
She’d fought hard for a watch—she’d do much more to keep Daniel from ending up in a puddle of blood. Bring it on, Johnson, just bring it on.
Cecily called ahead and reserved a rental car at the Branson Airport so when the plane landed, she had wheels. She hurried through all the checkpoints and claimed it. Within minutes, she headed through the evening traffic toward her place to retrieve the heirloom knife. At six forty-five half the tourists in town were en route to dinner or a show, but she worked her way through the congestion with more daring than usual.
With the window rolled down, a hundred different aromas floated into the car, some aromatic and appetizing. Her stomach ached now, this time with hunger not nausea. Cecily couldn’t recall eating anything since dinner the previous evening, but she wasn’t stopping now. Food could wait.
By her reckoning, Daniel should’ve landed in Springfield around four-thirty, then spent another hour or so driving to Branson. Whatever he needed to do before he confronted Johnson Hamilton would take some time so Cecily hoped to be right on schedule. The sick bastard said twelve hours, but she figured he’d wait a little. Killing Nia without an audience wouldn’t be any fun or provide any shock effect. Besides, he wants me and I’m going to give him what he asked for.
At her house, she dashed up, unlocked the door, and rushed inside. She located the knife Luz described within moments and stuck it into her purse. Cecily checked for any sign Daniel might’ve been there, but when she saw nothing to indicate he had been by, she left. Mental images of an hourglass running out of sand haunted her as she approached Pink Neon along the traffic-clogged Strip. As the line of vehicles inched ahead, she caught a clear view and saw the Ford Daniel drove parked in fron
t of her shop. Although it wasn’t dark or even dusk, the bright pink letters glowed neon and stood out. Other dark sedans were parked next door in the ice cream parlor’s lot and in other discreet places. Maybe he’s called reinforcements.
As far as Cecily could tell, Pink Neon wasn’t open for business and she strained to see if the lights were on but couldn’t tell. Some cagey instinct suggested she park in a lot two businesses north of her shop and advance on foot.
Cecily moved with a shadow’s stealth, handbag slung over her shoulder, to the back of her shop. The rear door had been propped open with a cardboard box of unopened merchandise so she crept close but kept to the side, out of sight.
Her heart pounded so hard she swore she could hear the uneven beats. With trepidation Cecily peered into the room and saw Nia. Duct tape bound her cousin’s legs to the old straight leg chair she’d found in the storeroom when she took possession. Clothesline rope tied Nia’s upper body to the chair to reinforce the idea she wasn’t leaving. A knotted blue bandana had been tied in her mouth, but Nia emitted angry noises despite the gag. Beside her, Johnson faced Daniel with a pistol gripped in his right fist. “Where is she?” he demanded as Cecily listened. “Where’s the bitch?”
“Cecily’s running late,” Daniel said in a voice so low and gravelly she hardly recognized it. His grim expression could’ve been carved into stone. “I thought we could talk while we wait.”
“She’d better show up.”
“She will,” Daniel said. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe him, but as far as he knew, she remained in El Paso. He bluffed well, but if Johnson figured it out, he’d be pissed. “So tell me why you took out Bradford.”
Johnson’s bitter laugh rattled like dry bones. “Who says I did what?”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Daniel’s voice cut through the noise with the sharp finesse of a bull whip. “I heard you admit to it when you called Cecily. We might as well talk about it.”
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