by V. B. Tenery
“Charles Jarreau,” the bartender said, “But the customers call me Frenchy.”
Davis reached into his coat pocket and withdrew photos of Trujillo and McKinnon. Davis spread the mug shots out on the bar facing Jarreau. “Have you seen any of these men here in the past couple of weeks?”
“What did they do? There is a reward, yes?”
“No reward,” Davis said, “and I can’t tell you anything about them. Just look at the pictures and tell me if they’ve been in here recently.”
While Jarreau studied the lineup, the old guy slipped off the bar stool, weaved behind the counter, and peered over the bartender’s shoulder.
Jarreau tapped Trujillo’s photo with his index finger. “This one, he comes in pretty often, but I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. The other one, no.”
The old guy picked up Jack’s picture and handed it to Lucy Turner with a lopsided grin. “I seen this one a while back.”
“You’re sure? Maybe someone who looked like him?” Turner asked.
“Nope,” he said. “It were him. Not many of his kind come in here.”
“What do you mean by his kind?” Davis asked.
“You know, shaved, haircut, clean clothes. Preppy like, good lookin’ kid.”
Turner leaned on the bar and gave the old guy a bright smile. “Can you tell me the date or day of the week you saw him? That would really be helpful to us.”
He stared into space for a minute then gave his head a sad little shake. “Nope, I don’t keep up with the days anymore since I was let go from my job last year.”
She gave him her card. “If you remember, give me a call.”
The autumn wind had a nip to it as they returned to the car, the sky a soggy gray. He glanced over at Turner. “So what do you think?”
“It only proves that maybe they were both in the club, not when or that they exchanged a gun.”
Davis pulled onto the freeway and glanced over at his partner. “You’re right, but I don’t like the coincidence of it. I think it adds credence to McKinnon’s story. Why else would he be there? That’s not the kind of place a high roller like Jack McKinnon would hang out.” He grinned. “I think you have a new admirer. Don’t be surprised if he calls you.”
She snorted. “Yeah, that’s the type I always attract.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Turner. I see you getting the eye from a lot of high rollers at Élan.”
Back in the detective bureau, Davis checked his messages then strode toward the door. “Since I’m king of the castle while Matt’s gone, guess I’ll go check on the troops before I head home. See you in the morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Chance Crawford’s Home
Gulf Coast, Mexico
After Sara entered the bedroom, Tom locked the door behind her. Heart pounding, she sat on the side of the bed. They were in more trouble than she wanted to acknowledge. She waited for Emily’s sad gaze to settle on her.
“You should have made that first shot count.”
Sara groaned. “I know. I’m sorry. I hoped not to have to shoot him. Now the opportunity’s gone, and it’s my fault.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. I’m not sure I would have done anything differently.” She reached out and touched Sara’s hand. “Don’t provoke him, Sara. I thought he was going to kill you.”
“Me, too. I know I shouldn’t antagonize him. But he makes me so angry. How can anyone be that uncaring, so devoid of honor and human decency?”
Emily shook her head. “You’re asking the wrong person. He seems intelligent. What makes a person with all that going for him, turn to kidnapping and murder?”
Sara shrugged. “Satan was the most beautiful of God’s angels so good looks and intelligence can mask a lot of evil.”
Emily lay across the bed, her face pale and shaken. “I’ve been consumed with finding my mother’s killer. Looks like he found me first. Unless things take a drastic change for the better, you and I will become his next victims.”
The rest of the day dragged on. Tom seemed to be over his anger by noon and made lunch and dinner. He was soulless, but he really was an excellent cook.
Over dinner he cautioned them. “When the contractor arrives tomorrow, you must stay in the bedroom. Don’t make a sound. If he discovers you’re alive, he’ll kill you himself. As long as you’re living there’s hope you can get out of this.”
“Why do you call him the contractor?”
“In this business, names are a liability. Most people use a go-between and fake names. The last thing they want is for the shooter to know who they are.”
Sara took Tom’s warning to heart. Not because of any altruistic motives on his part. Alive they were still valuable. However, she wouldn’t go docilely into the night like a good little victim. She’d die before she let him drag them to the destiny he had planned.
After dinner, Tom regarded Sara for a long moment then jerked his head toward the door. “Want to take a walk?”
She considered the offer before answering. Getting the lay of the land would be important if she and Emily could escape. Regardless of his warning, if the opportunity to escape became available, she and Emily would grab it.
Sara nodded her acceptance.
Tom locked Emily in the bedroom, unbolted the front door, and then followed Sara onto the front patio.
As they stepped into the darkness, security lighting flicked on and they moved into the chilled, salty breeze that blew in from the sea. Waves lapped against the shore and a full moon painted a golden road on the water’s undulating surface.
Tom pointed to the dock, and she fell into step beside him. A cabin cruiser, named Last Chance, sat in a slip next to the dock.
He ran a finger under the boat’s name. “The story of my life.”
The setting would have been peaceful were it not for her dire circumstances. A fine mist rose up from the water, leaving dew on her skin and the smell of brine and fish in the air.
He rubbed his hand along the boat’s hull. “I built the dock and the slip, and I’ve done all the repairs to the house on my own. I like working with my hands.” He pointed to the boat. “Want to see the inside?”
He offered his hand and helped her aboard, then led her below deck. “Are you married, Sara?”
She considered whether to answer, not wanting to let this man into her private life. She hadn’t thought about Josh Bradford for a while. She’d buried the ache a long time ago. This wasn’t the time to resurrect it while her own life was in the balance. But she needed this man to get to know her. “Not now. My husband was murdered. You?”
“Never had the time or the right woman. What happened to your husband?”
“A deliberate hit-and-run. Josh knew something the killer didn’t want known.” The old guilt came roaring back. Had she done everything she could to save the marriage before his death? They were barely speaking the day he died. That terrible morning she’d felt him reach out to her, and she hadn’t responded. That was the last time she’d seen him alive. “It was a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Moving to the galley, he put on a pot of coffee. “Is Super Cop the significant other in your life now?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity. You’re a beautiful woman. I figure it has to be Super Cop or someone else. Is he?”
What was with this inquisition into her life? Was he just making conversation, or was there a deeper purpose? She gritted her teeth. “I think so. The relationship is new. Besides being attracted to him, I like him. He’s a good man. An honorable man. That’s rare.”
The coffee finished its cycle, and he filled two mugs. “You’ll have to take it black. There’s no milk aboard.”
“That’s fine. I prefer it black.”
Tom sat down and looked at her over the cup’s rim. “He’s a lucky man.”
He waved a hand around the room. “I refinished the inside down here. Updated the appliances, refitted the head, a
nd made the cabinets, just about everything you see.”
Sara gazed around the tight, but efficient space. The cabinetry was beautiful, every detail expertly carved. “If you can make all these wonderful things with your hands, why do you hire out for murder?”
“The pay grade. Assassins are paid better than carpenters.”
He shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you? If we’re going to have this conversation, you’d better take a seat.” He pointed to the settee along the hull. She sat in the corner, as far away from him as possible.
He sat at a stool at the small bar. “You might as well know. This was my first murder-for-hire gig. Oh I’ve killed before in the armed forces, and as a mercenary. But that was self-defense. A friend heard about this job and asked if I was interested. I couldn’t turn down that much cash. It would set me up for life. Now I’m beginning to wish I’d taken a pass.”
Sara stayed focused on his face as he spoke. Was he telling the truth? Or was he a pathological liar? If so, for what reason?
Tom continued. “When I abducted you and Emily, loaded the two of you into my vehicle, drove halfway across Texas, I knew I couldn’t kill either of you. That’s when I came up with the Garza scheme. I’d get the money and no blood on my hands.”
Heat burned Sara’s cheeks, and she rose to her feet. “No blood on your hands? Are you kidding me? You think selling us into white slavery is no blood on your hands? Death would be kinder.”
His dark gaze searched her face. He stood and stepped forward, his voice husky. “Sara, I could never hurt you.” He moved in closer and pulled her to him. “I couldn’t convince you to stay here...with me?”
She placed both hands on his chest and pushed away. “There’s not enough tea in China.”
Had this whole thing been some grand seduction scene?
Tom stepped away from her and raised both hands. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll never come closer than you want me to.”
“Well now ain’t that sweet,” said a heavily accented voice from the deck.
They both looked up as Julio appeared at the top of the hatch and entered the cabin with a smirk on his face, and an automatic weapon pointed at Tom.
“What’s up, Julio?” Tom asked. He palmed a ceramic coaster off the bar then moved away from Sara.
“I came to take possession of the property. For free.”
“So, Garza doesn’t know you’re here? Where is he?” Tom asked.
“He don’t know I’m here. Gonna be here tomorrow to his place on the beach. I’m an entrepreneur, that’s how you say it, right? Gonna give the girls to him and ask him to cut me in for half of the deal, since they won’t cost him nothing.”
Tom shook his head. “You’re not taking anybody, anywhere, Julio, because I’m going to kill you.”
Julio licked his lips. “How you gonna kill me, gringo? I’ve got the gun. You got nothing.”
Tom leaned against the bar. “There are more ways to kill with your hands than with a gun. And I know them all. Give it up, Julio. Turn around and go, and I’ll let you leave with your life.”
Cold fingers of fear made their way up Sara’s spine. Tom wasn’t bluffing. She moved back into the corner.
The Hispanic man laughed, but it wasn’t a confident laugh. He raised the gun. “You’re scaring me.”
The coaster flew from Tom’s hand so fast it was a blur, smashing into Julio’s nose, sending blood splatter onto his shirt. The gun clattered to the floor as he grabbed for his busted nose. Tom launched across the space between them, sending a vicious kick under Julio’s chin. The loud crack that followed signaled the man’s neck had snapped. He slumped to the floor. She didn’t need to be a medical examiner to know Julio was dead before his head smacked the polished wood floor.
Tom wiped a fine film of sweat from his upper lip, stepped back and picked up the gun.
Sara eased to the edge of the settee. Voice quivering she asked. “Now what?”
“We get rid of the body. He’s Garza’s cousin. If Garza knows he came here, he’ll come looking for him. An intercessory prayer to your God that Julio was telling the truth would be good right now.”
“How do we ...you...get rid of him?”
Tom grabbed Julio’s shirt collar, hefted the man onto his shoulder, and started up the stairwell. “Take the boat out about a mile and dump him overboard.”
When they returned, Tom removed all signs of blood and Julio’s presence on the boat, and they walked in silence back to the house. What was there to say? She’d watched a man die, and witnessed, no she’d been a party to dumping his body in the ocean.
Tom guided her straight back to the bedroom door. “I’ll lock you in. I put some pajamas in there earlier for you both to wear after you shower. They’re too big but they’ll suffice until morning. Knock on the door when you’re finished and hand out your dirty things. I’ll wash them tonight.”
Sara felt an urge to thank him. He had saved her life and now offered to do her laundry. Must be the Stockholm syndrome. Was she beginning to depend on this very disturbed man? “What time will your money arrive tomorrow?”
“I think around noon.”
Not much time to develop an escape plan. She was halfway through the door then turned and faced him. “You need to rethink this Garza deal, Tom. I have two children. It’s a long story, but I don’t know that they could survive another loss in their lives.”
He leaned against the lintel. “I know about the children. I followed Emily for four days, hoping to catch her alone. Until yesterday, she was always with the children or some man. I never wanted to involve the kids, or you.”
Sara closed her eyes. Dear Heaven, she’d never considered Poppy and Danny might have been in danger.
Tom pulled the door closed, and the lock clicked in place.
Emily waited for Sara just inside. “What happened? Why were you gone so long? I was so frightened for you. I heard the boat leave.”
Sara nodded and pulled her away from the door. “That man...Julio...came back. He was going to take us at gun point.” A shudder ran through her body. “Tom killed him then drove out to deep water and tossed him overboard.”
“You’re okay?”
“Physically, yes.” She noticed Emily’s change of clothing for the first time. “I see you’ve had a shower. I’m going to do the same.” She picked up the pajamas and went into the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later she handed him their clothes through the door.
She sat on the bunk. “Em, if this man is telling the truth, we are his first kidnap victims. That may be a plus.” Sara knelt beside her bed. “Come pray with me. We may need a legion of angels to get us through tomorrow.”
After prayers, Sara lay on her bunk and stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t much wiggle room as far as time was concerned. After Tom received his money, Garza would show up. After that, she didn’t even want to think about what might happen.
She mulled over Tom’s offer to let her stay here, with him. She would consider staying if he would let Emily go. Sara turned over and punched her pillow. Tom would never go for that. If he let Emily go, the authorities would come for him. And Matt would come for her. Thoughts of Matt squeezed her heart until it hurt. He was looking for her. That knowledge kept her going. But how would he ever find her here?
She turned on her side, and tears rolled down her cheek onto the pillow. If anything happened to her, Matt would take care of Poppy and Danny. She found comfort in that. Whatever happened tomorrow would be in God’s hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FBI War Room
McAllen, Texas
Matt and Joe Wilson deplaned in McAllen and hired a taxi to where the FBI team had set up a war room in the hotel’s conference facilities.
McAllen was a city in turmoil. Only five miles from the U.S./Mexico border it was overrun by illegals and drug cartels. They moved across the border freely, at the peril of border guards and American citizens.
Allen Forbes, t
he agent he’d met at the Graysons’ wake, was in charge. Forbes shook hands and offered them coffee from a nearby carafe. The FBI agent wore the uniform, dark suit and white shirt, but he had removed his jacket and loosened his tie.
“Found anything credible so far?” Matt asked.
Forbes turned his palm upside down a couple of times. “It’s iffy. Crawford’s friends here haven’t seen him for almost a year. One guy says he thinks Crawford bought a place on the Mexican side of the Gulf, but he doesn’t know where. We’re checking that out. It’s slow going. The Mexican authorities are being their usual uncooperative selves at the moment, so we’re relying on foot work. Anything from your end?”
Matt shook his head. “Mind if we join in the search tomorrow?”
The Agent in Charge swept his arm around the room and grinned. “Mi casa es su casa. We’ll do a pizza run soon. It’ll be late before the foot soldiers report in.”
The pizza guy arrived about ten o’clock, but the agents didn’t start drifting in until almost eleven. A stocky Hispanic agent entered and came straight to Forbes. “We showed Crawford’s photo around. The consensus is the guy lives on the waterfront near a town called Ciudad Mesa, but nobody knows exactly where.
“We can hit the area tomorrow and go door-to-door or shack-to-shack as the case may be. We covered a quarter of the shorefront before nightfall. Some of our guys are still out there. If nothing breaks, we’ll hit the balance tomorrow morning early. That should be fun. The weather forecast is miserable, high winds and lots of rain. Maybe we can work it from the ocean side as well as the shore if the weather holds off.”
Forbes slapped his back. “Good work, Ruiz. Grab some pizza then go get some rest.”
Matt stood up and nodded toward Joe. “We’d like to tag along tomorrow with the search party.”
The agent handed Matt a box of pepperoni pizza. “That can be arranged.”
Chance Crawford Home
Gulf Coastline, Mexico
Gray clouds hung low and dense in the sky. Wind whistled around the corners of the house, and waves pounded violently against the shore. In the uncertainty of what lay ahead, Sara watched as Emily withdrew into herself, her beautiful eyes wide with fear, but her fighting spirit was intact. “Sara, I’ve heard of people carving their toothbrushes into weapons. Do we have anything sharp enough to do that?”