by Kit Frazier
Cantu edged forward almost infinitesimally. “See?” He spread his hands, showing he meant no harm. “Now I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He crept closer. “Things just got out of hand.”
He moved as he spoke, his voice calm and soothing.
“I understand. You and your girl just want to be alone…”
His voice was hypnotic; without seeming to move, Cantu was within five feet of him. Tres’s breathing slowed but he still had Faith in a death grip, the pistol against her cheek.
At the sound of Cantu’s voice, Faith’s sobs receded to small, hopeless tears. Even Keates was quiet, clinging to the cage, yellow head cocking back and forth.
I cradled Ethan’s head in my arms, Marlowe protecting E’s belly.
From behind the sofa, I saw the muscles beneath Cantu’s black tee shirt tighten, and despite his peaceful voice, I knew he was about to blitz Tres like rolling black thunder.
My own muscles tensed as he advanced, and I leaned toward Ethan. “Just hold on,” I whispered.
Slam!
The door by the mirror banged open, and the large body of Junior Hollis burst into the room. “Nobody move!” he shouted.
Tres jerked toward the noise, and Hollis shot him.
The sound of the shot echoed in the silence, and we all froze in stunned silence.
Blood bloomed bright in the middle of Tres’s chest, spattering on Faith’s pale cheek.
Faith screamed.
Tres blinked and stared at Hollis, confusion shimmering in his dark eyes. His grip went tighter on Faith. She sobbed, terror bright in her eyes. The fingers of his right hand loosened, and his gun clattered to the floor.
“Faith,” he whispered. “Faith…”
And then he slid slowly to the floor, taking Faith with him. Hollis shook his head, his big .44 still ringing from the shot.
Cantu rushed toward Tres, glaring at Hollis. He tucked Tres’s pistol into his pocket and checked for a pulse. He shook his head.
I hovered closer to Marlowe and Ethan, not quite believing what I’d just seen.
Grim-faced, Cantu slid his arms under a sobbing Faith and lifted her up and away from Tres.
As he lifted, her leg caught on something.
Faith wailed as Tres’s lifeless arm entangled her bare ankle. From his pocket slipped a red bandanna.
Cantu reached down to free her, but Faith shook her head. Reaching down, she slipped her small hand beneath Tres’s. She held it for a moment, then let it drop back to his motionless body.
My breath caught, and a tear slid down my cheek. I rocked Ethan against me, and Marlowe looked at me, his eyes large and warm. I reached over and stroked his head.
In the silence, Hollis shook his head and clicked his teeth.
“Always figured I’d have to shoot that son of a bitch someday,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-five
Red and blue lights flooded the darkness around the studio and Team Six cheered as Cantu carried Faith from the underground bunker.
The crowd parted, going quiet as Cantu passed, Faith’s dark head buried in Cantu’s shoulder.
I followed him out. The team circled me and Marlowe, and warmth surged through me like a whole-body hug. As they surrounded Marlowe and me, tears stung the backs of my eyes, and it felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted off my chest.
Marlowe pranced through the team and practically took a bow.
I accepted hugs and pats on the back, but I watched, my throat closing, as Cantu carried Faith to one of the waiting ambulances.
Behind me, two medics emerged, bearing Ethan out on a stretcher. He was conscious but confused.
“What do you mean my bullet ricocheted? You think I shot myself and passed out at the sight of my own blood?” he said, trying to wriggle off the stretcher. “Where’s Faith? Is she okay?”
The taller medic shook his head. “Just try to relax, bud. You’re in shock.”
“He going to be okay?” I said as they passed through the crowd. The tall medic shook his head. “Question is, are we going to be okay.”
“Put your body in a prone position, or we’re going to sedate you,” he told Ethan, and E laid down.
“Faith’s fine, Ethan,” I said, walking next to the stretcher. “Let the docs check you, and I’ll be there in a bit.”
The medics lugged him into an idling ambulance and hit the lights. Behind us, a battalion of armed officers stormed into the building, headed by a tall, bearded man I didn’t recognize.
Team Six had closed ranks around me, giving each other high fives, chattering warp speed, asking questions that rang in the warm night air in a chorus of chaos.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. “Thank you all. We wouldn’t have made it without you.”
Olivia bustled through the crowd, a handler and dog in tow. “Cantu had your basic location, but Tahoe and Moreno are the ones that found you,” Olivia said. Until she’d wrapped the thermal blanket around me, I hadn’t realized I was shivering.
“Tahoe, you hero, you,” I said, kneeling to hug the black and brown Shiloh close to me. Marlowe shoved his pointy white nose between us. “You’re a hero, too, Marlowe. But we always knew that.”
Tahoe yipped at Marlowe, and the two of them pranced like puppies, tails wagging. I smiled and rose.
“Thanks, Moreno,” I said to Tahoe “s handler. I reached in to shake his hand, but he grabbed me and hugged me hard.
I kissed him on the cheek.
“You’d do the same for me,” he said, but he blushed right up to his dark brown hairline.
“You okay?” Dan Soliz, the gang guy, said, stepping out of the crowd.
I grinned and fell into his hug. “I think so. What are you doing here?”
“Heard El Patron might be making a comeback. Your visit got me wondering, so I’ve been talking to Cantu.”
I nodded. “Figure anything out?”
“Getting evidence. I’d like to talk to your buddies Tres and Chino.” I shook my head, and Soliz hesitated, then nodded.
“What?” he said.
“Tres just shot Chino in cold blood,” I said, “and Hollis shot Tres.”
Soliz frowned.
Like bloodhounds, Miranda and her media minions began showing up. Too late, several young cops began cordoning off the area with crime scene tape.
There was a commotion, and I turned to see the tall, bearded guy leading his cops out of the building. Among them, Junior Hollis was talking fast, his hands moving as he demonstrated his heroism in the face of danger.
My eyes narrowed.
If anyone was a hero in this scenario, it was Cantu. While Ethan and I were in that bunker trying to free Faith from Tres and his armed cholos, Cantu was calm and cool. He had the situation under control. He had been within reaching distance of Tres’s gun and the whole thing would have been over. And then Hollis burst in with a hasty bullet.
A flash of blond hair caught my eye Miranda making her way through the crowd, cameraman and producer in tow.
Then Miranda found Hollis, and he found an audience.
“Well, great,” I muttered. The Journal would get the scoop on finding Faith. And Tanner was going to shoot me.
I sighed. Oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Behind me, the team of cops I didn’t know came out of the building with three bodies on stretchers. My stomach pitched.
The tall, handsome bearded guy headed toward my small crowd, where he sought out Cantu, who met him halfway.
The man’s hair and beard were a stunning salt and pepper. Beneath a blue western shirt, his shoulders were wide, and his faded blue jeans fit him well. He walked with a swagger that made me think of Logan. As the two of them came closer to me, I saw the silver star of a Texas Ranger badge.
I stared at Cantu.
“Cauley,” he said. “This is David Wilkes. I’ve been talking to him about Dawes County.”
I blinked. “You called in a Ranger?”
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“Just one,” Wilkes said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Jurisdiction and all.”
“Oh,” I said, and I could feel my face flush. Wilkes chuckled; he was probably used to striking women speechless.
“Um,” I said, blinking as he gazed down at me with summer blue eyes. Brilliant. Cauley MacKinnon, rapier wit. Shaking myself out of my stupor, I placed my hand on Soliz’s arm. “And this is Dan Soliz. He does the gang stuff with APD.”
“Glad to meet you,” Wilkes said, reaching in to shake Soliz’s hand. “You got a big job these days.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Miranda toss her blond mane. “So,” I said. “What’s going to happen to Junior Hollis? He didn’t have to shoot Tres. Cantu had it under control.”
What I wanted to say was that I thought Hollis shot his buddy to shut him up. Honor among thieves until someone goes canary.
Wilkes nodded. “Officially he’ll be on administrative leave.”
“But doesn’t that always happen when there’s an officer-involved shooting?” I said, wanting Hollis fired or browbeaten or whatever should happen to cat-killing, bigoted, bad sheriffs.
“Yeah, it’s a bureaucracy thing. But Cantu here says we got a thing or two to look into.”
I smiled at Cantu, and my heart felt that familiar pull toward him. He reached forward and wiped a smudge of dirt off my cheek. “We can’t arrest him just because you don’t like him,” Cantu said.
“Too bad. I got a list of guys that need arresting,” I grumbled.
A loud, familiar barking caught my attention, and I turned. Marlowe and Tahoe had capered toward the search vehicles parked to the left, and a dog in one of the cop cars barked wildly.
Napalm. He was locked in the cop car. Again.
“Excuse me,” I said to Soliz, rushing toward the dog, but Olivia beat me to it.
Alarmed, Soliz, Cantu, and Wilkes trotted along behind me.
“Damn it,” Olivia growled. Napalm was tied to the adjustable bar of the headrest. His collar and leash were tight as he strained toward the window, barking for all he was worth. The leash was so tight he couldn’t sit, and I swear I saw little puffs of steam coming out of Olivia’s ears.
“Back up,” she said.
“What?” I looked around at Cantu, Wilkes, and Soliz. They shrugged, and we did as she said.
Marlowe and Tahoe sat shifting on their paws, staring up at Napalm trapped in the back seat.
Olivia took a step back, pivoted, grunted, and then kicked up and out, hard, the weight of her short, stocky frame compacted into pure force.
The front passenger window shattered. Though the dog knew her, he snarled and snapped, choking against his short leash, his sharp white teeth flashing in the dark.
“Hey, boy, you settle down. We’re just gonna get you outta here…” Olivia cooed. She reached through the broken window and unlocked the door, her voice low and soothing as she spoke to the dog.
“Settle,” she said sharply and blew in the dog’s face.
Napalm blinked and went quiet, watching as she untied his leash and opened the back passenger door, letting the dog out of the stuffy car and into the fresh air.
Napalm flinched a little, looking around like he just remembered where he was. Marlowe and Tahoe pranced and bowed around him, nipping at Napalm to play.
“I’ll be damned,” Soliz said. “You know Hollis is going to have a cow.”
“I dare Junior Hollis to have a cow with Olivia,” I said, and
Olivia cocked her head, looking Soliz over.
“You her friend?” she said to Soliz, nodding at me. Soliz blinked. “Um, yes, ma’am.”
“You got a dog?” she said. Soliz shook his head.
“Happy birthday,” she said, and handed him Napalm’s short leash. “We got a website tells you everything you need to know ‘bout takin’ care of dogs. We meet on Thursdays for search and rescue.”
She shuffled off with a sense of purpose. Soliz and I watched her go.
“But I don’t know anything about search and rescue,” Soliz said. “None of us did before we started,” Moreno cut in. “Hell, I’m an orthodontist during the day.”
Cantu nodded, still watching Olivia as she barked orders into the Team Six crowd.
“I heard she poured hot grits on her ex-husband,” Cantu said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I heard that, too.”
Wilkes reached down to pet Napalm’s big, brown, anvil-shaped head. “Well, buddy,” Wilkes said to Soliz. “Looks like you got yourself a dog.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Tres, Chino, and Jitters were dead. I knew it I’d seen them killed with my own eyes. But something inside me couldn’t quash the urge to look around every corner, peek under every piece of furniture, throw open every shower curtain.
Ethan was out of the hospital and on the mend.
The bullet nicked his left lung. Forensics established that the paramedics were right it was his own bullet that downed him.
Despite that embarrassing detail, Ethan was determined to get back to geekdom.
The District Attorney’s office had reviewed Ethan’s shooting of Jitters Gomez and declared it self-defense, but Ethan’s gaming community had branded him a hero.
Thanks to his geek buddies, he’d become a YouTube sensation from the outtakes of Miranda’s news clip describing how he’d shot Jitters, sparking the chain of events that had freed Faith from Tres’s psychological cage.
Though Ethan protested, I thought he protesteth a little too much, he seemed to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.
He had his nose to the digital grindstone, saying he had a game to finish designing and an Internet conference and, deep in his little geek heart, there was Faith. He would wait for her and would accept her decision; proof positive that life does indeed go on.
Junior Hollis was on paid administrative leave, which didn’t seem fair to me.
Hollis also had a lawsuit pending. Josh Lambert’s parents slapped a civil suit on him and were suing the county to boot.
I knew this because Tanner assigned me the article front page of the Metro section, just below the fold. Shiner and the rest of the News Boys were still stewing about it.
The Rangers were investigating Faith’s disappearance and the way that Dawes County handled it, including the shooting of Chino, Jitters, and Tres.
The Rangers seemed particularly interested in Tres’s death. Hollis was taking it all in stride. He’d been holding nonstop press conferences with anyone who had a microphone and a camera. Who needed a bunch of schoolgirls stuffing reelection envelopes when you were a hero with worldwide media coverage?
I suppose if I were a better person I’d have felt sorry for him. He lost his dog to Olivia and her new compadre, Soliz, and he’d lost Tres, his biggest campaign contributor. Of course, he shot Tres, so that was probably a draw. And he had the Texas Rangers breathing down his big neck. Junior Hollis would slip up sooner or later, and the law would catch up with him. Ranger Wilkes would see to it, and so would I. Patience is not my strong suit, but the payoff would be worth it.
October winds cooled the summer heat down to a balmy eighty-five degrees, and life was getting back to normal, whatever that was.
And just when I had thought things had settled down, Mia threw me a birthday party at the office the day before my birthday. I had hoped she wouldn’t, because I knew Merrily would extort money from everyone from the CEO to the stock boys. I figured I had enough enemies roaming around the planet I didn’t need to grow my own.
Colorful balloons erupted from my cubicle like a crazed clown had been let loose on the office, and someone had changed my screen saver to proclaim: “28 two years ‘til the Big 3-0! G-r-r-r-e-e-a-a-t!’
It didn’t feel great. It felt empty.
Sure, the chocolate-covered birthday cake was delicious. Larry the heavyset guard cut a big chunk out of the corner that spelled out “Cauley” in a funky antique typewriter font and was devouring it with gusto on his
way back to the security desk. Mia and Ethan pulled their rollie chairs up to my desk and were digging into the rest of the cake. Remie, our big-haired receptionist, was still out on bedrest, the latest of her pack of rugrats due any time now.
On my desk, a small stack of presents were grouped into a pile and topped with a sachet of something smelly obviously the work of Mia. My friends had spent some thought on their gifts, and it made me smile.
Tanner gave me a week of extra vacation time, most of which I’d already burned on the search for Faith. Merrily presented me with the office gift a Post-It dispenser with a pad of Post-Its that weren’t subject to my Post-It quota.
God bless her right down to her pencil-sharpening, pointy little heart.
Brynn arrived at the office, running late from her downtown PR office. She slid into the small clutch of friends and coworkers, catching her breath to join in the truly awful rendition of “Today’s Your Birthday.”
At the end of the song and all the imaginary electric guitar playing, she brandished an unwrapped urn inscribed with the phrase “Ashes of My Ex-Husband.”
My coworkers roared with laughter. I rolled my eyes as I accepted the urn and kissed Brynn’s cheek. But I smiled an inside smile as I placed the urn in a prominent place near the corner of my desk, closest to the aisle.
Mia and Ethan gave me a softball-sized something wrapped in Ninja Kitty paper. Giddy, I tore off the paper and found a Magic 8 Ball much like the one in my home office.
I turned it over in my hands. Mia and Ethan had pried the little round window out of the 8 Ball and replaced the oracle’s multifaceted triangle with a digital piece that spouted wisdom gleaned from Humphrey Bogart.
A big streak of sentimentality wrapped around my heart. Mia had decoupaged an image of Bogey from Casablanca and included a tag that spelled out “What Would Bogey Do?” over the “8” on the top of the black ball.
“You hear from Faith?” Ethan asked hopefully. He’d lost weight and was downright skinny. He delved into the cake, and I hoped he’d eat it all.
“Sort of,” I said. “She’s seeing Dr. T. Doc won’t tell me much patient confidentiality and all that but she says Faith’s coming along better than she’d hoped. She’s living in a hotel right now, working part-time at the girl’s ranch, and making small forward progress with her mother.”