The man disappeared around the passenger side, then reappeared moments later empty handed, climbed into the driver’s seat, and drove off.
“Stop!” I said.
Miguel paused the feed.
“There!” I pointed at the screen with a hazy glimpse of the inside of the minivan. A shadow was visible in the front passenger seat. “That’s got to be her. She must have gotten out of the suitcase. Can we get a license plate on that vehicle?”
“Not from this angle.” Miguel pulled up another camera feed and queued it up to the minivan pulling out of the parking lot.
Once the footage was enhanced, I managed to get the plate number and put it in my phone. “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.”
“Come on, love.” Conor put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s pack it in. You need to rest and recuperate.”
I hated to admit defeat, but he was right. I was hanging on with little more than adrenaline and spite. “Okay, Miguel, put the footage on the drive, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
30
I was feeling no pain, thanks to the codeine, when I climbed back into the Gray Ghost. Conor followed me back to his place. I would’ve preferred my own bed, but Conor insisted on keeping an eye on me in case my condition worsened.
In his bedroom, I pulled off my clothes. I thought about taking a shower but was too tired. I didn’t want to risk passing out and giving myself another concussion. So I stashed my gear next to his nightstand and crawled into bed. “Good night, babe,” I said.
“Hey, I know you’re tired, but aren’t ya supposed to stay awake? You having a concussion and all?”
“Doctor said as long as I don’t start puking again or go into a coma, I’ll be fine.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “You’re not having me on, are ya?”
“Jake fell off a roof a couple years ago. The doctors told him the same thing. It’s cool. Now let me go to sleep.”
He didn’t argue, and I drifted off.
Around two in the morning, I felt myself being shaken awake. “Jinxie, love, wake up.”
“Huh? What’s wrong?” My head was throbbing again.
“Wanted to make sure ya weren’t in a coma.”
“A coma? For fuck’s sake. Let me sleep, or I’ll put you in a coma.”
“Couldn’t see ya breathing. I got worried.” His eyes glinted in the dim light. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts.”
“Ya don’t feel sick?”
“Sick of these damned questions.” I put a hand to my temple. “I’m not going to puke, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Okay. G’night, love.”
I huffed and turned my back to him. “Thanks for checking on me,” I mumbled before falling back into a troubled sleep.
I woke to the sound of water running. Light filtered through the vertical blinds, and it took me a moment to realize where I was. Conor’s side of the bed was empty. I sighed and took inventory of my injuries.
My head felt as if someone had been using it for a soccer ball. I thought about getting the codeine prescription filled. Damned good stuff once it kicked in. But I needed a clear head to track down Holly.
Conor emerged from the bathroom, his lower half wrapped in a towel. The sight of his ripped chest took my breath away. “Goddamn, I want you inside me.”
He laughed and sat next to me on the bed. His hair was a wild mess of wet ginger curls. Beads of water on his chest glistened in the morning sunlight. “Much as I’d love a ride, I think we should take it easy till ya heal up a bit.” He kissed me deep, and I felt it all the way to my groin.
I held his head in my hands, his green eyes shining like emeralds flecked with gold. “I’m fine. Really.”
He stood up and pulled on a shirt. “Aren’t ya supposed to be at your folks’ place for brunch?”
“What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Ten? Oh shit! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” I bolted upright and fell into a wild ride of room spins, unsettling my stomach. I nearly fell over.
“Easy there, love. This is a strict no-floor-diving zone.” He held me until the vertigo passed.
“I’m all right. Shit. I gotta get to my parents’ place.”
“I thought you were hell-bent on finding Holly Schwartz?”
“Oh, trust me, I am. But I could use a decent meal to get my head working right. Besides, if I miss Sunday brunch, losing out on this bounty will be the least of my worries. My mother will guilt me to death.”
As if on cue, my phone rang. I answered it.
“Sweetie, where are you?”
“Sorry, Mom, I overslept. Late night.”
“Food’s getting cold,” she said. “I was worried you weren’t coming.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
I hung up and grabbed a quick shower, careful to avoid wetting the bandage around my head. From my drawer in Conor’s dresser, I pulled out a white peasant blouse and jeans to wear with a pair of dressy sandals. I tossed a T-shirt, boots, and my gear in a bag for later.
“After brunch,” I said as I attempted to cover the abrasions on my face with makeup, “I’ll see if Becca can get a current location for that phone again or the burners she’d called with it.”
“Ya think they’re still using it? If it were me, I’d’ve ditched it soon as I learned it was compromised.”
“It’s possible. But Holly’s just a girl, not a brilliant criminal tactician.”
“Aside from them staying somewhere while using her mother’s SIM card and her aunt’s stolen Visa. And this guy she’s with smuggled her out of the hotel in a suitcase.”
“Allegedly stolen Visa. I’m still not convinced Morton’s not in on it.” I sighed and tried to recall anything useful Holly and the guy had said. “What was it she called him?” I couldn’t remember.
I gingerly placed my Sub Barn ball cap over my bandaged head. “Okay, let’s go have some brunch.”
31
The neighborhood in Mesa, where I grew up, was a mishmash of Mexican, Native American, and Anglo cultures. Brightly colored murals, old redbrick buildings, panaderias next to New York–style delis next to stores selling Navajo and Hopi artwork. The Usery Mountains rose up in the east, where my father would take my brother and me on hikes.
The place had a smell all its own, a mixture of chiles and sweat and hope. Mexican pop music and American classic rock echoed from passing pickup trucks in equal measure. Most everyone spoke at least some Spanish. Even my dad, a Cajun from Lake Charles, Louisiana.
Things had deteriorated since I was a kid. Street gangs had moved in, bringing with them graffiti, drugs, and violence. The sheriff’s department frequently rounded up innocent residents in its relentless hunt for the undocumented. Even my mother had been picked up twice for the crime of having tan skin and black hair, despite being a second-generation Italian-American.
Nevertheless, my folks’ neighborhood held a sacred place in my heart. It felt safe in a way that defied explanation. As I drove the Gray Ghost down East Broadway Road, the sights, sounds, and aromas of my childhood flooded my mind. I was home.
My parents’ house was easy to spot. It was the only pink one on the block. My mother always insisted it was Mediterranean rose, not pink. But everyone in the neighborhood called it the pink house on the street.
When I stepped into the kitchen, rich aromas caused my saliva glands to kick into overdrive. The table was filled with bagels with lox and cream cheese, French toast, stacks of bacon, Cajun-style eggs Benedict, and a bowlful of shrimp and grits.
Around this mouthwatering feast sat my family. My petite mother, Gianna, was clearing empty plates while my lanky father, Edward, chatted animatedly with my brother, Jake, about football.
“Morning, everyone!” I called as we walked in. “Something smells good.”
My father caught one look at my bruised face and gasped. “Jenna! What in heavens happened to you?”
My mother nearly dropp
ed the dishes she was carrying. She rushed over and peeled off my cap to reveal the bandage around my head. “Oh, my baby girl! Who did this to you?”
Jake gave me a concerned look. “Damn, sis, you lose a fight with a bulldozer?”
“Relax, people. I’m fine.”
“Is this from you chasing after criminals?” my mother asked.
I shook my head. “No, just slipped in the shower.” I didn’t need another lecture from my mother about my chosen profession. I took a seat next to my brother while Conor sat on my other side.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jake asked with a concerned look on his face.
“I’m fine.” I loaded my plate with French toast and bacon. “Just starving is all.”
“I don’t think you slipped in the shower,” my mother said. “You’ve used that line too many times before.”
“Just don’t want you to worry, Mom. I’m okay.”
She didn’t look convinced. “By the way, I have some new dresses I want you to try on.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe after breakfast.”
“Hey, Jinx, think you could give me a hand this afternoon? I’m replacing an RO system on a house in Glendale, but I need someone with small hands to reach the unit.”
My brother had a thriving business restoring and flipping houses. I helped out on the renovations when my schedule allowed it.
“Sorry, I got plans.” I made a sympathetic face. “What about Bosco? He’s a little guy.”
“Unfortunately, he threw his back out last week. And Torres and his husband are at Disneyland for their honeymoon. Everyone else on my crew has big hands.”
“Wish I could help, but I’m on a tight deadline.”
“Lemme guess. Chasing criminals.”
“A girl’s got to make a living.”
“You know, Jake,” my mother said, “Virginia Gottlieb has long, slender fingers. Bet she could help you with your problem.”
“Mom, please.” Jake cast a wary glance at her. “Is this another one of your setups?”
“What setup?” She shrugged, trying to look innocent. “She’s a concert pianist. Very talented. Good strong fingers. I think she could help, all I’m saying.”
I laughed so hard I almost choked on my food. Our mother was always trying to set him up with girls. Problem was, Jake was gay, though he was afraid to tell our folks. Despite my urging him to come out to them, he refused, afraid of dashing their hopes for grandkids. It was a bullshit reason, and I’d told him so on numerous occasions.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “But I’m sure she’s got better things to do.”
“Plus she’d probably want to get paid,” I added as a playful jab.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I’d pay her!” Jake insisted.
“Oh good.” My mother’s face split into a grin. “I’ll call her mother.”
“Wait a minute, I’ve been snookered.” Jake turned to Conor. “Help me out here, man.”
Conor held up his hands in surrender. “Oh no, you’re not pulling me into this.”
“She’s a nice girl, son,” my father chimed in. “Smart, beautiful, and a laugh sweet as bread pudding. You could do worse.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Call her.”
My mother finished clearing dishes with a satisfied grin on her face. “Good. ’Cause I need some grandbabies running around this house.”
My father, Conor, and I guffawed, while Jake hung his head over his plate.
When I was bursting at the seams from way too much food, I got up to help clear the last of the dishes.
“Jenna,” my father said. He and Mom preferred my chosen first name over the moniker Juanita had given me. “Let the others clear the table. I’ve got something to show you.”
I gave Conor a curious look, and he said, “Go with your da. We got it handled here.”
I shrugged and followed my father down the hall to my old bedroom, now used for visiting family members. Only a few framed photos on the wall and an abstract floral mural remained from my childhood.
“What’s up, Dad?”
He sat on the bed and patted the quilt beside him. “Just wanted to talk is all.”
Uh-oh, one of those father-daughter talks. “What about?”
He put a hand on my shoulder and met my gaze. “I know you love what you do, Jenna.”
“Dad, please don’t start on this again.”
“Just hear me out. I’ve always encouraged you to follow your heart. I supported you when you came out as trans. Cheered when you graduated from the police academy. And I still want you to enjoy your current line of work.”
“But . . .”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But it’s killing your mother. Every time there’s a violent story on the news, she frets. She wakes up with panic attacks. A few nights ago, there was a report about several people shot in a raid on a human trafficking operation.”
“What’s that have to do with me?” I asked, trying to act innocent. “I’m not a cop.”
“The reporter mentioned a couple of bounty hunters were involved.”
“Oh.” Busted.
“You still going to tell me this fist-shaped bruise on your face was from a slip in the shower?” He touched my cheek, and I winced.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Dad. What I do is important.”
“This is because of what happened with Barclay Dietz, isn’t it?”
“No!” I insisted without conviction.
He gave me a don’t-bullshit-me look.
“Okay, maybe a little. But it’s more than that. I love what I do. It’s hard and even scary sometimes, but it makes me happy. I was miserable as a cop.”
“But there’s so many things you could do with your education and experience. You could still go to law school. Your mother and I would pay for it.”
“I have zero interest in being a lawyer. So not a part of the suit-and-tie crowd.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve got that Lafitte blood in you. You’re a rebellious soul just like Grandma Marie.”
Marie Lafitte, my paternal grandmother, was the great-great-great-granddaughter of Captain Jean Lafitte, a pirate who helped the American army defeat the Brits in the Battle of New Orleans. When I was a kid, Grandma Lafitte delighted me with tales of her own mischief and rebellion, which included being a rumrunner and gun smuggler during Prohibition.
“Dad, you always told me to follow my own star, not to let anyone else get in the way. I’m sorry Mom worries. But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“This is taking care of yourself?” he asked. “Bandaged head and bruised jaw?”
“When Jake fell off a roof, I didn’t hear anyone demand he stop renovating houses and become an architect.”
“What can I say? You’re my baby girl.” My father shrugged. “Maybe it’s sexist to hold you to a different standard or worry about you more than Jake. But it’s only because we love you.”
“Yes, it is sexist.” I kissed him on the forehead. “But I love you too.”
“Any trouble from that article in Phoenix Living?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Just be careful out there. People can be so mean and ugly. And I’m here, if you ever need to talk.”
“I know, Dad.”
32
After spending more time with my family, I stepped back into my old bedroom to change into my work clothes and call Becca. The phone rang five times before she answered.
“Hey, Jinx. Wondered when you’d call back.” She sounded as though she was having a rough day.
“Sorry, things got a little complicated yesterday. Listen, I need an updated location on Bonnie’s phone. Also was wondering if any of those burners popped back up on the radar.”
She huffed. “Okay, give me half an hour, all right? Did you not find her at that motel?”
“I did. She and some guy. Unfortunately, they got the jump on me. Get this. She’s not disabled. At least
not as far as I could tell.”
“Some disabilities aren’t as obvious as others, Jinx.”
“All I know is that the ‘mentally disabled girl in a wheelchair’ bit was all an act. Presumably as a way to make money.”
“Are you serious? I hate people who do that. Makes those of us with real issues look bad.”
“I hear you. I got a plate number I need you to look up and some surveillance footage from the motel I need facial recognition run on. You at the Hub?”
“Working from home, actually. Not up for the Hub’s craziness today.” Members of the Hub could be found working there around the clock. On weekends, the music and noise were often cranked up from the usual business routine.
“You mind if I drop off this thumb drive? I need to identify this dude Holly’s with.”
She groaned. “Yeah, I guess. The place is a mess.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is finding this bitch and taking her back to lockup.”
“Damn, girl. What exactly happened at that motel?”
“I’ll fill you in later.”
I hung up and checked my email and found another email from Volkov.
My dearest Jinx,
It saddens me I have not heard back from you. I’m not used to being ignored. Perhaps you mistook my previous correspondence as the confessions of a lovesick schoolboy. But let me assure you that my feelings for you are quite genuine. And I have an urgent need for someone like you. I am determined to make this a solid partnership. Perhaps a demonstration of my feelings will convince you.
Most sincerely,
Milo
There was an anonymized hyperlink at the bottom. I knew I shouldn’t click on it. Most likely it led to some malware or porn site. But I couldn’t stop myself from hitting the link. My YouTube app opened and began playing an old rock song from the 1980s—“I’ll Be Watching You” by The Police. What a creepy fucking fuck!
I took a deep breath and focused on my mantra—WWWWD. What Would Wonder Woman Do? I wasn’t going to let this sick bastard get to me. So he knew my email address. Big whoop. I was always careful to keep my home address and other personal information off the web. So he could pine away to his heart’s content. I wasn’t going to let him live rent free in my head any longer. And if he dared cross my path in person, I’d put him in the ground the same as I did his men at the warehouse.
Chaser (Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter Book 1) Page 16