by Kelly Irvin
“You know Lilly’s expecting? You two can compare notes and buy baby clothes together.” Baby clothes were so cute. A hard knot formed in Teagan’s throat. She would be Aunt T, the supercool single aunt to all her nieces and nephews. “You can exchange babysitting for date nights.”
“Justin told me, but I haven’t said anything yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Why not tell everyone at once and get it over with?”
“I don’t know.” Gracie stared at the sodden napkin in her hands. Her classic-cut solitaire diamond displayed on a simple silver band sparkled in the light. “You’re about to do something terribly dangerous to save our sister whose life hangs in the balance. All I can think about is this little nugget inside me. I want her to meet you both. Leyla said she would teach all the grandkids to dance. That would be her gift to us. A sort of IOU until she’s old enough.”
“Does she know about the nugget?”
“No. We have to get her back so I can tell her.”
“We’ll do our best.” Teagan knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. “When’s the due date?”
“October thirtieth.” She sighed. “I’m pulling myself off the streets.”
“You’re giving up patrol?”
“It’s time. Nothing’s more important than being a parent.” She stopped. Her face reddened. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I knew what you meant. Nothing is more important to you. What will you do?”
“I’m hoping to do white-collar crimes or maybe cybersecurity. I have to take the exam. You know how tough it is to move up. It depends on what’s open and who else is applying.”
“I think parenting is the most important job in the world.” Maybe Gracie didn’t mean to imply anything. Maybe paranoia gift-wrapped innocent words intended to celebrate a new life, not denigrate an old decision. “Which is why I’ve chosen not to go that route.”
“You would be a great parent.”
“Thank you.” No other response worked. It was a sterling compliment. “Let’s go tell the others.”
“Now?”
“Now. They need this. It’ll refuel them.”
Fill them up with a light that could overcome any dark.
Gracie slid an arm around Teagan. Together they walked into their father’s office. Teagan went to the murder board. All these young women were babies once. They were loved by mommies and daddies who cooed over them, played This Little Piggy Went to Market, made raspberries on their chubby bellies, and taught them to blow kisses.
It was too late for them. All the police could give them would be the much vaunted closure. They would not allow this to happen to Leyla.
The Triple S Murderer would never know what hit him.
34
I’m not sure this is going to work.” Teagan’s jaw hurt from gritting her teeth in impatience. She and Max had been waiting for the reading of Evelyn’s will for more than twenty minutes. “We should be out there following up on leads to Leyla’s whereabouts.”
Not in Robert Sandoval and his partners’ office in a nondescript five-story office building tucked among a plethora of hotels that surrounded downtown San Antonio.
“You threw down the gauntlet at the press conference.” Max fidgeted with the sleeves of his navy-blue sports jacket—the one he wore to any occasion that required more than his standard T-shirt and jeans. “He’s coming for you. He can’t get to you at the house. A slew of cops are watching over you, and even more are following up on these leads.”
“Do you think Leyla’s still alive?” It took supreme willpower to tame the tremor in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No, I think he’s keeping her alive to bait you, just like you baited him. It strategically serves him better than killing her. He’s too smart.”
“But he gets off on killing. He may not be able to control himself.”
“Or he may make her wish she were dead.” Max slid closer and took Teagan’s hand. “I’m sorry I said that out loud, but I know you’re thinking it. Let’s try not to use our imaginations too much right now. Leyla’s a smart, savvy woman with self-defense skills learned from your dad. Let’s give her some credit too.”
Max was right. Imagining the worst had kept Teagan awake most of the night. Every time she’d drifted off to sleep, the nightmares began again. “Do you think he’s watching us right now?” Teagan nodded toward the streets below. “Waiting for us?”
“I do. He’s watching and he’s waiting. He wants us to be on edge.” Max tapped on the double-paned glass. “But that’s what we want. Our guys are watching and waiting too. If he makes a move, they’ll be ready to follow.”
“Him who? We don’t even know who we’re looking for.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll follow us, and he’ll take us to Leyla. Boom.”
Teagan had dealt the hand. Max carried his Smith & Wesson in a holster hidden by his jacket. Cops in plain clothes dotted the landscape outside. A homeless man. A guy eating a raspa. A woman sitting on a bus bench reading the newspaper. They’d put a GPS tracker on Teagan’s car. She and Max both had their phones tucked in pockets within easy reach. Her father and company sat in the obligatory nondescript van on the other side of Arciniega Street, waiting.
Now they simply needed the killer to make his move.
“He’s not going to do it here. He knows they’re watching. He’s not stupid, anything but.”
This could go on forever. Teagan’s nerves stretched tighter and tighter until it seemed her head would explode.
A throat cleared. Teagan jumped. So did Max. They both turned. Mr. Sandoval stood in the doorway to the small waiting room. Today he wore an equally somber dark-gray suit, but his tie was a becoming pale pink. “Sorry to keep you waiting. The family had private matters to discuss.”
Having no other choice, they traipsed after him.
The days since the funeral had left their mark on Evelyn’s daughter, Robin. She managed a vague smile before patting her cheeks with a bedraggled tissue that held most of the pink lipstick that had been on her thin lips. “I saw you on TV last night. You’re either brave or foolhardy.”
“More the latter than the former.”
Sandoval made it as quick and painless as possible given the circumstances. The house and all real estate and proceeds would be split evenly between Evelyn’s two children. Most of the contents would be sold at an estate sale, with the exception of a series of bequests. College funds were set aside for her four grandchildren. To everyone’s surprise, Evelyn had substantial investment and savings. She bequeathed a staggering sum of money to the local city-run animal shelter “in support of its efforts to become a no-kill shelter.”
Robin’s husband grumbled a bit at that one but subsided upon a sharp frown from the attorney. “Ms. O’Rourke, to you Mrs. Conklin left her collection of vintage Fiesta dinnerware and the hickory curio cabinet in which they reside.”
“Those early pieces are worth thousands to the right collectors—”
Robin slapped her hand on her husband’s. “These are Mother’s wishes.”
“She’s responsible for your mother’s murder!”
“I’ll ask that you keep your comments to yourself.” Sandoval peered over his rimless reading glasses with a frown that would’ve quieted the most recalcitrant teenage boy. “These are Mrs. Conklin’s wishes as recorded in her last will and testament, duly witnessed and signed.”
In other words, sacrosanct.
Those beautiful art deco ceramic dishes in the original cobalt, red, light green, and ivory were a gift of great value—not because they were produced by the Homer Laughlin China Company in the early 1930s but because they’d belonged to Evelyn’s mother. A lovely gift, but Teagan agreed with Robin’s husband. “They should go to Robin. They were handed down from her grandmother.”
Sandoval removed his glasses and returned them to his nose. He sniffed
. “As I said, these are Mrs. Conklin’s wishes.” He applied himself to the papers in front of him. “To Mr. Maximilian Kennedy, Mrs. Conklin leaves the contents of her garage, to include a 1966 Ford F150 pickup truck—”
This time the gasp came from Doug Conklin, Evelyn’s son. “Wait a minute—”
“This will go a lot faster if we get through the reading before we discuss the contents.” The skin on Sandoval’s smoothly shaven face turned pink to match his tie. “As well as the Craftsman tools, Craftsman workbench, and any lawn and gardening implements Mr. Kennedy might wish to have for use in the church’s ministry assisting seniors with yard work and home repairs. The truck is a personal gift to Mr. Kennedy. However, it can be used as needed to transport materials from the church to the seniors’ homes.”
Who could argue with such lofty aspirations? Doug, apparently. “Mom didn’t even attend that church.”
“Your mother was very clear in her wishes.”
“It’s a very generous gift.” Max’s amber eyes swam with emotion. “The kids will be touched by it and so am I.”
“Mom told me about you. She had a soft spot for people in AA.” Robin snagged a fresh tissue and sopped up tears. “My dad went to meetings their entire marriage. It was the only way she would agree to marry him.”
Even in death, a person could be surprising.
Sandoval ran through the remaining bequests quickly. The glowering men left immediately thereafter while the women discussed arrangements for the estate sale. “Can you remove your items in the next few days?” Robin’s tone was apologetic. “I know it’s a lot to ask, given your situation, but we both need to get back to work as soon as possible.”
“I understand.” Leyla’s safety trumped everything else, but this grief-stricken woman couldn’t be asked to think clearly at a time such as this. “We’ll make arrangements. I just need to be able to get into the house with the movers.”
“We’re staying there.” Robin wrote her cell number on one of Sandoval’s business cards and handed it to Teagan. “Just let us know you’re coming.”
Teagan and Max thanked Mr. Sandoval, expressed their condolences yet again, and left. In the hallway they exhaled in unison. Max groaned. “That was brutal.”
“I love that she left those dishes to me, but all I can think about right now is Leyla.”
“Let’s go.”
They headed for the elevator. Two custodians dressed in forest-green uniforms pushed oversized trash bins and cleaning paraphernalia on a rolling cart to the doors, which opened just as Teagan approached. The trash and recycling bins on wheels were big and cumbersome, but the workers manhandled them with eased practice into the elevator.
The elevator’s twenty-two square feet of real estate suddenly seemed full.
“We’ll wait for the next one.”
“No need. No need. We have room.” The woman, a tall bleached blonde who wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail, smiled and motioned. “You look tired. Come on in.”
“We got room.” The man pulled the SA Cleaners cap down over curly black hair that matched an overgrown mustache and a scruffy beard. He shoved the recycling bin farther into the corner. “We’re all friends here.”
“That’s okay.” Something in the man’s voice seemed oddly familiar. Teagan waved with one finger. “We’ll take the next one.”
“We need to keep moving.” Max tugged her into the narrow confines of the elevator. “I have a feeling they’re getting close.”
Teagan faced front. Her heart did a weird hup-two-three-four. She glanced at the numbers. The elevator headed down at the plodding rate that came with an old building. The camera peered down at them. Good, a camera.
A camera with a lens spray-painted a dour shade of black.
She whirled. Bearded Man was on Max, a gun in one hand, a hypodermic needle in the other. “You’re right, buddy, we are close.”
Max’s hand went for the weapon concealed under his suit coat.
His abductor smacked him across the head with his gun. Max went down.
“Max!”
The gun swiveled in her direction. “Easy, my friend.”
Not my friend.
The needle plunged into Max’s neck.
“Max!”
“Shut up.” Bearded Man smacked the Stop button. The elevator ground to a halt. Max slumped against the wall, then slid down to the floor. The man opened the recycling bin. The woman did the same with the trash bin. “Time to take out the trash, smarty pants.”
Bleached Blonde shoved Teagan against the door. Teagan elbowed her in the gut. The woman grunted and doubled forward. Her eyes widened. Dark-charcoal eyes. Joanna Dean.
Joanna Dean with her hair dyed. Or a wig. Dean put her shoulder into Teagan’s back and rammed her against the elevator door a second time. Teagan’s nose banged against metal. Pain burst forth in a brutal symphony as warm blood flowed over her lip and into her mouth. Salty.
The pain mingled with unreality. God, not Max, please, God, save Max. Lead Dad to us. We need to find Leyla.
The needle pricked her neck. Thoughts rearranged themselves in a game of ring-around-the-rosy.
The face of Leo Slocum peered down at her. No. No. Too young. Bearded Man. Chase Slocum. Rough hands lifted her from the floor. Her body slid into the recycling bin.
All fall down.
All fall down.
All fall down.
35
What would perpetrators of horrific crimes do without duct tape? A wad of something rough and dry in his mouth kept Max from asking this purely rhetorical question that swam to the surface with him. He struggled to open his eyes. Nothing happened. Darkness prevailed.
Tape covered the wad. His head pounded. His throat ached. Desperate for oxygen, he inhaled through his nose. Regret immediately followed. Pain blossomed in his swollen nostrils.
Teagan, where are you?
The unintelligible sounds in his ears indicated he tried to speak, but no one answered. He took inventory. No moving his hands or feet. More tape. More around his ankles.
Bound, blindfolded, and gagged.
Teagan? Teagan!
He inhaled again. The stench of burnt motor oil and gas penetrated his aching nose.
His body rocked. His head banged on the floor. An engine raced.
A vehicle.
Vague memories of janitors with bins appeared. He’d hit the elevator wall and slid to the floor. Teagan shouted his name. No time to go for his weapon. No time to fight.
He’d let her down.
Again.
Fury boiled and spilled over. He yanked at his hands, flailed. Or attempted to flail. He was trussed like a chicken.
I’m not a chicken, Lord. Give me the strength of Samson. Overcome this evil, please, Lord.
The vehicle heaved to the right, then to the left. It slowed, then sped up. A winding road? Hill Country? Or south to the Valley and Slocum’s old stomping grounds?
Who were these people? What did they have to do with Slocum?
A cleaning service. How easy it must’ve been to steal a few uniforms and slip onto the floor. Better to imagine that scenario than the one where two innocent people had been hurt or worse in order to make this plan work.
Janitors were invisible. No one gave them a second thought.
The vehicle rocked so hard it slung Max’s body to the right, then left. He smacked into something warm and soft that smelled of spoiled tuna, burnt popcorn, and moldy bread. The odors of trash. Someone’s lunch.
An incoherent grunt followed.
Teagan?
The vehicle stopped moving. The engine died. Doors closed. Then opened. Sweet, fresh air that smelled of lake, juniper, and barbecue swept over Max. It smelled like his favorite place to clear his head—the Hill Country.
At least if he died now, it would be in a place close to God.
No dying now, bud! Not with Leyla and Teagan’s lives hanging in the balance. Now might be his chance to break free.
&nbs
p; Sure, if he were the Hulk. Or Samson.
Hands touched him. They pulled and prodded and pushed.
For a second nothing held him up. Then he hit solid ground. Air whooshed from his body. His head smacked against a rock.
Do not pass out. Do not. He sucked in air through his nose.
Another thud, then one to his right.
Teagan?
The tape ripped from his eyes. “Urgghh!” So much for being the tough guy. A little duct tape and he couldn’t help himself. The mouth came next. “Hey, take it easy!”
“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” Brandishing a Glock, the woman bent over him. Her Mexican peasant blouse hung loose from her body. Max had a view of everything from her neck to her navel. He should close his eyes, but he needed to see where they were. He needed a plan of attack. The dark-rimmed glasses were gone. Uniforms and disguises. She grinned at him. “Consider it like a free wax job.”
“Who are you? Where’s Teagan? Where’s Leyla?”
“She said shut up.” The man’s appearance had changed as well. Glasses, mustache, and beard all gone. This guy was clean-cut with dark-blue eyes and brown hair. Very all-American. “Do it.”
Fine. Max raised his head and peered around. Teagan lay on the ground to his right. Beyond her, thickets of juniper, live oak, elegant Spanish Dagger yuccas, and more dowdy prickly pear cacti as far as he could see on undulating ground along a dirt road. To his left, a log cabin featuring a front porch swing missing some of its seat slats, a brick chimney, and a carport filled with firewood. Weeds invaded cracks in the wood planks of the porch.
Hill Country covered a lot of territory. But the smell of fish suggested they were close to water. Hill Country and a lake. If only he knew how long he’d been out, he could estimate how far they’d traveled.
No sense in crying over spilled blood.
Teagan raised her head.
God, thank You.
Her expression glassy, she struggled against her bindings. The woman ripped off the tape. “Hey, chickadee, welcome back.”
“You. You!” She gasped and coughed. “Why? Why would you do this?”
She was talking to the man who bent over and ripped the tape from her ankles. He grabbed her arm and jerked her upright. “Let’s go.”