Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  “Yeah.” He gave them the facts and dropped in his chair. The dang thing squealed as if protesting. Running a hand over his tired eyes, he actually considered going home for a nap, but he spotted the file in front of him. There had to be a reason why Star mentioned the case.

  He went and snagged a cup of coffee, opened the file, and vowed to stay awake to read it.

  After only five minutes, he hadn’t found an answer, but he had confirmation that Star was the car thief. “It has to be her,” Connor announced.

  Mark stretched his hands over his head. “What did you find?”

  “Guess where Alma Ronan worked a month before she went missing? The Black Diamond,” he answered. “And look at this.” He held up a picture of the missing woman. “She’s blond with blue eyes. Looks a little like Star, doesn’t she?”

  “You think they’re sisters?” Juan asked.

  “That’s what I thought, but according to this file, Alma didn’t have any siblings. Maybe a cousin?”

  “Does it say where she was from?” Mark asked.

  “Dallas.”

  “Didn’t Star say she was from Alabama?” Juan asked.

  “But the resemblance is so close. It’s suspicious.”

  “What’s suspicious?” Sergeant Brown walked into their closet of an office. They looked at him then at one another with the same unspoken question. Who’d done it this time? Nine times out of ten, when Brown showed up, he was here to call one of them out for some infraction. And yeah, they bent the rules a little, but they’d also solved more cold cases in the last two years than had been solved in the previous fifteen.

  “Just a case.” Connor grew an inch in height. Brown always had his spine tightening as if he were back on the football field playing defense.

  “What’s up?” Mark asked, probably wanting to get the reaming over with.

  “Can you push those cases to the back burner? I’d like you three to help out with something else.”

  “Define ‘something else.’” Connor picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk. Chances were Brown was trying to stick them with some grungy, unsolvable case no one else wanted. Connor was allergic to grunge.

  Brown tugged at his belt. Between the man’s gut and stained tie, he wasn’t what you’d call a good face for the department. But his seniority kept him on the job, or at least at a desk. Connor really hoped he wasn’t looking at himself in thirty years.

  “An FBI agent, Carlos Olvera, was attacked and shot this morning. He’s alive but in bad shape.”

  “Was he on the job?” Mark asked.

  “I hear he was confirming a lead in a case,” Brown said.

  “What kind of case?”

  “Human trafficking was brought up, but we don’t have anything official yet. The agent was found under the bridge at Fifth Street and Chestnut. We aren’t sure if the assault happened there, or if he was moved. We have the crime scene preserved and guarded. Someone needs to get over there.”

  Connor rolled the pen in his hands. “Won’t the FBI be working this, considering it’s one of their own?”

  “They’re sending someone, but they’ve asked for assistance.”

  “Isn’t that odd?” Connor asked.

  Brown frowned. “Not when you consider they’ll kick us off the case and take the credit after we solve it.”

  “And if the Feds are going to make the department look bad, you figure to let the shit fall on us three. Is that what this is?” Connor asked.

  Before Brown answered, Mark added, “If the guy’s in bad shape, why not give it to Homicide?”

  “Homicide got four new cases last month. And haven’t closed one.” Brown looked at Connor. “I’m not looking for a fall guy, or fall guys, on this case. If we could solve this before they even show up, or do it so they couldn’t take credit, it’d be a feather in the department’s cap. I need someone on this who isn’t afraid to stand up to them or piss them off if need be.”

  “Well, we’re really good at pissing people off,” Connor said, “but I don’t know if—”

  “You want it or not?” Brown spit out. “I’m not begging.”

  Connor knew he was pushing it, but after the department had hung him out to dry, he deserved to push. “Really—”

  “We’ll do it,” Mark said.

  Brown strolled over to Mark’s desk and dropped a Post-it note. “Here’s the crime scene address. The vic is at Westside Hospital. I was told there’s an on-leave FBI agent there looking into the case as well. Someone needs to shake him up and see what we can get before his cronies get here. And let me know what you need to get this one done. The quicker the better.”

  No one spoke until Brown was out of earshot.

  “You could have let him beg a little,” Connor said to Mark.

  “I agree.” Juan laughed.

  Mark picked up the Post-it note. “That was already as close as he gets to begging. Two of us should take the scene and one go to the hospital.” He motioned to the file on Connor’s desk. “I know you wanted to dig into that, but let’s get this started first.”

  “Yeah.” Connor stood. “I’ll go to the hospital. I’m in a bad enough mood that interrogating an arrogant, know-it-all FBI agent sounds fun.”

  * * *

  On the drive, Connor got a text from Billy reporting that the Mustang had been found, and he wanted to know why Connor hadn’t figured out who the woman was who’d humiliated him.

  Connor called Star…again. It went to voice mail…again.

  He left another message. “Call me. I’m not going to drop this.” He hung up and got out of his car.

  Crossing the parking lot to the hospital, his mind pulled up an image of the car thief. Blond, blue eyes, and hot. Thankfully, her young appearance had saved him. If he’d slept with her that would’ve made this awkward.

  Getting to the front desk, he learned Carlos Olvera was in the ICU. On the elevator ride up, his phone dinged with a text. He recognized the number. Star.

  He swiped his screen to read what the little ballbuster had to say.

  Sorry. On vacation in Florida. Will call when I get back.

  “Fuck.” He hit her number again. She didn’t answer. “Look, Ms. Colton, you’re in trouble. I know you stole the Mustang. Don’t make it worse for yourself! Call me.”

  The elevator doors opened. Properly pissed to face down a high-and-mighty FBI agent, he walked to the family waiting room. Five people waited in the somber, church-like atmosphere. While he wasn’t a churchgoer himself, his mom had been. She’d dragged his sinful soul to church every chance she’d had, but the quiet reverence of the room reminded him of the last time he’d sat in a pew. His mom’s funeral six years ago.

  He continued to look around. No one fit his mental profile of a black-suited FBI agent with a rod up his ass. Then he saw the patrol officer sleeping in a chair.

  He walked over and read the name on the uniform. “Officer Heyes, I’m Detective Pierce.”

  The man’s chin lifted quickly, no doubt embarrassed for sleeping on the job. Connor couldn’t blame him. He fell asleep in church every dang time he went and got elbowed for doing so. Then again, if Heyes had let the FBI agent slip away…

  “Sorry,” he said. “I work a second job and I’m already into overtime on this shift.”

  “Where’s the FBI agent?”

  He looked around, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think she’s in with the victim.”

  “She?” Had Sergeant Brown just assumed the agent’s gender?

  “Yeah. Agent Ryan. Brie Ryan.”

  “You verify her identity?”

  “Yes. She showed me her driver’s license and I spoke with her boss at the FBI. He identified her.”

  “Okay,” he said, already tamping down his attitude. Oh, he believed in gender equality, but his upbringing by his southern churchgoing mom assured he’d go in soft, until she earned his indignation.

  “Were you the first one on the scene when the victim was found?”
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  “No, that’d be Officer Monroe. He stayed at the scene and asked me to follow the ambulance here and locate next of kin. I contacted Ryan through the victim’s phone. Ryan’s boss said other agents are on their way.”

  “Fine, you can head out. I’ll take it from here.”

  He handed Connor a hospital bag. “The victim’s things.”

  Connor glanced at the bag. “Wallet?”

  “No. It’s missing. Only thing the guy had on him was his phone. But there’s a nice ring and a gold necklace in there. So it doesn’t look like a robbery.”

  Connor took the bag and headed to the ICU. As soon as he pushed through the double doors, he was met with a chorus of heart monitors keeping pace. He’d left the church atmosphere only to enter one that was cold and morgue-like. He approached the nurses’ station. “Carlos Olvera’s room?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “Room three.” She motioned to the left. “You family?”

  He pulled out his badge.

  She nodded. “He’s unconscious, but his wife is there.”

  Wife? This wasn’t adding up. He moved toward room three.

  Chapter Four

  Brie forced herself to touch Carlos’s swollen hand. He’d obviously put up one heck of a fight. The knot in her chest doubled, knowing that if Carlos could talk, she’d bet he’d say something like “You ought to see the other guy.” And she wished she could see him. The need to find the son-of-a-beach who did this bit hard.

  “Carlos.” Swallowing, she contemplated her words. The nurse had told her that sometimes comatose patients said they had heard people talking to them while they’d been unconscious. If so, Carlos deserved to know he wasn’t alone.

  Brie had met Carlos the day she started at the FBI. He’d been one of the few who hadn’t gotten pissy because she’d been brought into the agency in an unorthodox way. Hadn’t judged her for her size and gender.

  “I’m here. I got your back. And Eliot and Sam are coming.” Her throat tightened. “And Tory should be here soon. Don’t you want to wake up?” A few hot tears fell to her cheek. “I’m going to find who did this. I swear.”

  She heard the door swish open behind her. She batted away her tears before turning around.

  “How’s the weather in Florida?”

  Standing six foot plus, wearing a frown, a pair of dark gray khakis, and a sage button-down, Detective Pierce loomed in the doorway. Inanely, she noticed the shirt brought out the green in his eyes.

  Eyes filled with a crapload of suspicion.

  “I can explain,” she said.

  “Really? This is going to be good.”

  She started out of the room. But he blocked the door. She half expected him to start Mirandizing her.

  “Do I need to handcuff you, or are you going to be civil?”

  “I’m not going to run.” Her chest tightened.

  “But not be civil?” His voice deepened.

  “I’m not in a civil mood.” Honesty came out, while she held close to the vulnerability quaking inside her.

  He stared down at her, as if cuffing her was still an option.

  “Get your head out of your ass.” She forced her chin up. “If I’d planned on running, would I have given the officer your card?”

  “But you lied about who you were two months ago, and there’s the text about Florida. So we haven’t built up a good foundation of trust, now have we?”

  Yeah, there was that. “I needed a little time.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  She glanced at Carlos. “Let’s talk somewhere else.” She spoke as if she owned this conversation.

  His disgruntled expression said she didn’t own crap.

  She breathed in through her nose, fighting the sting in her eyes. “They say he might be able to hear.” She waved the detective aside.

  He stepped away from the door, even let her lead the way. But she didn’t fool herself, his heavy footsteps told her he was less than an arm’s reach away.

  She pushed open the double doors, exiting the ICU unit, and saw the small seating area in the hall was now empty. Dropping down in one of the chairs, she debated over where to start. He claimed the seat beside her. His knee bumped against hers; the human contact sparked an ache, and she jerked away.

  He noticed her quick movement and frowned. “Start explaining.”

  “I’m with the FBI.”

  “But on leave, right? Officer Heyes said—”

  “Yes, I took a leave of absence to investigate my sister’s murder.”

  His brow arched. “Alma Ronan?”

  She nodded.

  He held up a couple of fingers and wiggled them. “Two problems.” His dead-serious tone seemed to come from deep in his chest. And considering the size of his chest, there was a lot of depth there. “First, from what I read, Alma doesn’t have a sister. Second, we don’t know she’s dead.”

  “Her body was found in Guatemala five months ago. I didn’t want to report it to the local police until I had a chance to look into it. But her parents have been notified.”

  “You can prove that?”

  She nodded. “I have the report.”

  “On you?” he asked.

  “I can get it on my phone if you think it’s necessary.”

  “I do.”

  Frowning, she pulled her phone out and went to her email where she’d forwarded a copy. She passed him her phone.

  He skimmed the email, then glanced up.

  “I’ll need you to forward that to me. Now, back to the other issue. The records state that Alma didn’t have any siblings. And you just said ‘her parents,’ not ‘our parents.’”

  “We’re half sisters. Our father was married to two women at the same time. I haven’t seen her since I was six. Dad’s a bigamist isn’t something you put on your paperwork. And I don’t consider him my parent.”

  He studied her as if he’d heard the emotion behind that truth. “How did Agent Olvera get involved?”

  “I contacted him.”

  “About?”

  “The manager at the Black Diamond started talking about a foreign investor, Dillon Armand, being in the States. He was listed as a person of interest in my sister’s murder by Guatemalan police. I called Carlos. When he looked into this, Homeland Security didn’t show he was here. Oddly enough his cousin Marcus was listed as entering the States. Part of the reason the FBI didn’t feel the need to investigate Armand was because he wasn’t listed as being in the States when my sister went missing. We did some checking and found they look enough alike to be twins. That made us suspicious that Dillon Armand may have traveled here using his cousin’s passport.”

  “And you think he was who shot your agent?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Or do you think this was random? A robbery?”

  Her mind raced. Could she, should she—confide in him about the possible mole? Every inch of her FBI training said no, to leave it to Agent Calvin to look into this internally. But he hadn’t believed her, so how hard would he investigate? And one of the two agents coming here could be the leak Carlos had found. The real question: Could she risk not telling him? Her loyalty was with Carlos. Not the FBI.

  “Maybe not random,” she said. “It’s possible that the person responsible for shooting Agent Olvera is connected to the FBI.”

  Detective Pierce’s eyes rounded.

  “I’ve just been informed that Carlos, Agent Olvera, suspected there was a dirty agent.”

  “Informed by who?”

  “Tory Vale.”

  “Another agent?” he asked.

  “No, he’s Agent Olvera’s husband. I trust Tory, and I trust Carlos even more. Have you ever heard of the Sala family?”

  “Just that they have a connection to the cartel out of Mexico.”

  “They are a Guatemalan crime family as big, if not bigger, than the cartel. Nine months ago, the FBI, along with the ATF, worked a gun trafficking case. It went awry. We were certain then that someone with ATF had leaked somethi
ng, but we couldn’t prove it.”

  He held up a hand. “I’m confused. What does a gun trafficking case have to do with your sister’s murder and Agent Olvera getting shot?”

  “You really aren’t very patient, are you?”

  He frowned. She continued, “According to Tory, before he left, Carlos was going through the Sala case and came across something that made him believe the leak from that case was internal.”

  “So you think someone from your agency shot Agent Olvera? That would mean his attack is connected to an old gunrunning case and not your sister’s murder.”

  “Except Dillon Armand is a cousin to the Sala family and he just happens to be part owner of the Black Diamond where my sister worked.”

  “Then maybe Armand did shoot Olvera?”

  “No, I had him in my sights most of the night.”

  Silence fell, as if he was gathering his questions. “Something was mentioned about human trafficking. Is that what you think happened with your sister?”

  Guilt resettled in her chest. “Yes. It’s rumored the Sala family are also into human trafficking, but we have no proof.”

  “What I don’t understand is if Armand’s name is connected with the police report and the club, why didn’t the FBI or the Guatemalan police investigate it?”

  “The Sala family has deep pockets and practically owns the authorities down there.” She sighed. “Armand denied knowing my sister, and the witness who put him with her recanted his story. And because Armand hadn’t been to the States in several years, there was nothing to tie him to her.”

  “So are the FBI opening an investigation now?”

  “Not yet. Carlos was here to get his prints. If we could prove he’s been entering the country all this time as his cousin, then it might be enough to open the investigation.”

  He nodded. “And stealing the Mustang?”

  “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. It’s in a grocery store parking lot on—”

  “It’s been found,” he said. “Why did you…borrow it?”

  “Armand came into the club. I heard him on the phone setting up a meeting. I decided to follow him, hoping he might lead me to the bastards he’s doing business with. But when I went to the parking lot, I realized he’d parked beside my car. Afraid he’d recognize it, I ran back into the club and snagged a customer’s, Mr. Dunn’s, keys. He’s careless with them. Leaves them on the table so they’re not in his pocket, in case he gets a lap dance. And since he’s sleeping with one of the dancers, he always closes the place down. I thought I’d have time to follow Armand and bring the car back without him knowing.”