by Kelly Irvin
“Fine, but I’m not eating a Dilly Bar.”
“You’ve become a food snob.”
“Have not.”
Once the hamburgers and fries were in the car, the aroma was almost more than Gabriella could bear. Not only because she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours, but because it smelled of road trips she’d taken with Eli. He had a thing about Dairy Queens. He wanted to stop at one in every little town between San Antonio and Corpus or San Antonio and Laredo. She was a chef and the man she loved preferred fast food.
Used to love.
Many of those trips had been to see Jake.
“Remember that last trip to Port A?” Eli had read her mind. His voice was gravelly with contained emotion. “That time on the beach when he wanted us to bury him in the sand.”
Gabriella smiled, remembering. “Then some hot babe in a bikini walked by and he felt like an idiot because we’d buried him so deep he couldn’t get up.”
Eli laughed, the sound brittle, like ice cracking on weighted tree branches in the winter. “We left him there for two hours. Brought him cherry limeades and half a dozen of the double-chocolate brownies you brought with you. And put sunblock on his nose so he looked like a total dork.”
“He was a goofball.”
“He is a goofball. Except when he’s working, and then he’s a consummate professional.” Eli shook his head, his expression bewildered. “Where is he? He wouldn’t drop out of sight without making contact with his superiors—not willingly.”
“Somebody he knew, somebody he trusted, got a hold of him.” Gabriella let her gaze sideswipe Eli. He seemed lost in thought. “Somebody he shouldn’t have trusted.”
His gaze shuttered and returned to the windshield. He’d retreated to cop world, a place where he could think about catching the bad guy. “What do you know about his partner? Bob somebody?”
“I think he might have retired, but I’m not sure. I don’t know who it is now. He didn’t like to talk about work.” Instead, he liked to joke and pick her brain for recipes. The guy liked to cook. “He was like you in that respect.”
“You left that world behind when you left the DA’s office. Why would you want me to talk about work?”
“Because your work was important to you, which made it important to me.” All the broken dates, the missed holidays, the sudden departures in the middle of an evening out—she understood them. She understood the nature of his work better than most. All she wanted in return was for him to open up to her. “Maybe I thought talking to me would help you deal with some of the things you saw and did. I guess we’ll never know.”
The words floated in the air between them.
Eli’s jaw worked. His pulse jumped.
But he didn’t speak.
Par for the course.
She’d been so afraid of losing Eli, she’d never really contemplated what it would be like without Jake. She stared out the window. He’s not dead. He’s missing.
“We’ll find him.”
Again Eli read her mind.
“I know.”
“So what’s going on between you and Alder?”
“None of your business.” The response came automatically. Deacon was a friend. As much as a reporter and a former assistant district attorney could be friends. Sure, he saw her as a conduit to information shared by her former associates in law enforcement and often wanted to capitalize on those relationships. That was his nature. She rarely gave him anything, but he still kept coming back. He continued to eat her peach pie and engage her in heated arguments over everything from immigration to stem-cell research.
She liked sparring with him. He was uncomplicated.
People called Eli a lot of names, but uncomplicated didn’t number among them.
They were both silent for the next fifty miles. Eli turned the radio off after ranchera and country music began to alternate with static. A horn blared. Eli swerved into the left lane. The seat belt snapped against Gabriella’s chest in a painful hug. Eli muttered to himself and swerved back. “Sorry, the closer we get to Laredo, the more semis there are trying to run each other off the highway. It’s probably stop and go from here to the international bridges.”
He sounded exhausted. Gabriella risked a quick look at him through half-open eyelids. He needed a shave and a comb. He caught her gaze. She swiveled and pretended to be interested in the passing scenery.
It had been at least a year since she’d been to Laredo. Every time she came back to this town it looked a lot more like an industrial-manufacturing sprawl and a lot less like a lazy border town. One thing hadn’t changed: the brown cloud that hovered over the city. It reminded Gabriella to smile with her mouth closed. Otherwise she’d be grinding grit between her teeth when the wind blew.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. The hot sun in the window reminded her of the smell of cabrito grilling and vendors hawking corn on the cob and paletas on the street in Nuevo Laredo. Eli’s mom’s smiling face crowded her memories. She loved paletas. No wonder Eli was an ice cream man.
“Will you visit your parents while we’re here?”
No answer.
Gabriella cocked her head and studied Eli’s profile. The pulse in his jaw suggested he was gritting his teeth. “Eli?”
“This isn’t a social visit. We’ll check into a hotel first and then go to Jake’s town house. I’d like to get to the Garza family tonight, if possible. I’ll hit the local ATF office tomorrow morning, early.”
And she would be with him, whether he liked it or not. She could always call a cab or rent a car. “Are you checking in with local law enforcement?”
“Sarge made a call to advise Laredo PD I’d be in their jurisdiction. He said they weren’t too thrilled to have me here. The response was generally along the lines that they would be willing to share information regarding their investigation. I can ride along as an observer but not conduct my own inquiries.”
They didn’t know Eli, that was obvious.
Gabriella watched the urban landscape whiz by. Suddenly, she got it. A half laugh escaped her open mouth. “You haven’t told your parents about us, have you?”
He glanced her way, then back at the windshield. “Actually, I did.”
“How did they take it?”
“My father has been a minister for more than fifty-five years. How do you think he took it?”
The naked misery in the words almost made her forget she was the wronged party. Her hand crept out of its own volition. His gaze swung toward her, his expression bitter. “My dad claims forgiveness is there for the taking. All I have to do is ask. He doesn’t seem to get that I already tried that route.”
That sounded so like Pastor Xavier Emmanuel Cavazos. “You could’ve told him it was my fault. You didn’t have to tell him the whole story.”
He studied the windshield. “I could’ve, but it didn’t seem—”
“Honorable.” The sarcasm seeped out of its own accord. She studied her side of the windshield. “Sorry.”
“Dunbar had some other news while you were dozing.” Eli reverted to his business-as-usual tone. “Alberto Garza’s roommate claims not to know anything about Alberto being involved in any gun smuggling. He had issues making rent, then suddenly was flush with money, but the roommate said he’d gotten a job working for an uncle who just happens to have a sporting goods store in Laredo. The girlfriend is apparently en route to Laredo as we speak. They didn’t get a chance to interview her before she split. So the interview is mine, as well as the family and the uncle at the store.”
“So we just check in and drop off our bags?”
“Yep. We’ll hit Jake’s place first after the hotel—see if there’s any sign of him.” Eli pulled into a hotel on San Bernardo Avenue about two blocks from the old international bridge. “I’ll get the bags. You check in.”
Eli set the parking brake without looking at her. “The rooms are reserved,” he added, an odd note in the simple statement. “And paid for.”
Sh
e stopped, one leg out of the car. “I can pay my own way.”
The wheel under his hands seemed to greatly interest him. “Forget it. It’s on me.”
“Why?”
“Because if I hadn’t messed up, we’d be married by now and sharing the room and the cost.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Your paying is just you being penalized once again for my mess up.”
His reasoning was flawless. She slid from her seat.
Eli’s voice floated after her. “Besides, it’s only until I convince you to take the ring back and set a date.”
The words were weighted with shared memories more than a year old. The first time he popped the question had been over a meal he cooked at his apartment—grilled orange roughy served with baked potatoes, asparagus, and rocky road ice cream. He swore the choice of ice cream wasn’t a Freudian slip. He went the candlelight and flowers route, complete with getting down on one knee. The ring, a vintage European-cut diamond with three sapphires on each side, belonged to his grandmother. Gabriella said yes.
A month later he started reneging on dates. He stopped picking up when she called. He waffled about setting a wedding date.
In short, despite all his protestations to the contrary, something changed.
Then came the shooting.
“Good luck with that.” She grabbed her bag and took off. “You’ll need it.”
Chapter 9
Silence stretched for several seconds, then snapped.
Both hands in the air, Deacon inched forward. The semiautomatic assault rifle between him and the little girl with ginger hair and gorgeous gray eyes didn’t give him much wiggle room. She struggled in Camouflage Man’s grip. “Mommy!”
He swung her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a five-pound sack of potatoes. His ski mask rode up enough to reveal wiry gray whiskers on his chin. “No llores, m’hijita. I like little girls. There’s no reason to cry.”
“No!” Natalie shrieked. She shot forward until she was even with Deacon. “Give me my daughter back. She has nothing to do with this. What are you? Some kind of monster?”
Deacon grabbed her shoulders, afraid she’d topple forward on the living room floor, and hurled himself in front of her. “Don’t hurt her. Isn’t there something else you want—money maybe?”
Ava whimpered.
“Leave her alone. She’s a little girl!”
One of the other intruders stomped down the stairs, dragging by his T-shirt a young boy who looked like a taller version of Ava, except for the dark, curly hair. “Found this chiquito at the top of the stairs.”
Camouflage Man didn’t even seem to register the second child. “Find it?”
“N’ombre. Nada.”
“Let the boy go to his mother.” Camouflage Man sighed. “This isn’t going well, señora.”
Deacon stepped in front of her. “Because there’s nothing to find, dude. Just let them go, please.”
The boy darted toward Deacon. He scrambled to help him, but the look of horror on the kid’s face underlined the fact that the boy had no idea who Deacon was or if he was one of the bad guys. “It’s okay, go to your mom.”
“To answer your question, señora, I’m not a monster.” The man patted Ava’s backside with a gun-laden hand. “I don’t hit ladies or kill children. So, I will make you a deal.”
“We don’t make deals with home invaders—”
“Deacon, let him talk, please.”
Natalie’s imploring tone made Deacon set aside the desire to smash this guy’s face. “What kind of deal?”
“Tell us where your sister is.” The man dropped a kiss on Ava’s head. “Now.”
“Please, I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“Mommy!”
“She’s on her way to Houston to the ATF offices. She thinks they know more than they’re saying about Jake’s disappearance.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“You have my daughter.”
He deposited Ava gently on her feet. “Go to your mama.”
Icicles pierced Deacon’s spine at the sight of the man’s smile. “For your brother’s sake, you better talk to your sister soon. Tell her we’re on our way. We want that phone.”
His unspoken words reverberated through the room. They wanted Gabriella.
Natalie threw her arms around her children and squeezed them to her body. She glared up at the intruder, anger making her cheeks dark in her pale face. “Gabriella doesn’t know anything.”
Camouflage Man backed away, the semiautomatic pointed at Deacon’s face. “Vámanos!” At the door he squeezed the trigger.
Deacon whirled and threw himself over the children huddled on Natalie’s lap. Bullets sprayed the bookshelves that lined the far wall. The ping, ping tap-danced a bizarre tune in his ears.
“Just a little motivation. You can pass that on to your sister.”
They left as quietly as they’d come.
Chapter 10
The door to Jake’s two-story town house on Laredo’s near north side stood ajar.
Eli’s hand gripped Gabriella’s elbow and tugged her back on the narrow porch. She stumbled over a ceramic chiminea filled with half-burned logs. “Maybe he’s—”
His jaw clenched, lips tight, Eli shook his head, held a finger to his lips, and then pulled his S&W from the holster on his hip. “Stay put,” he whispered.
Why did he always say that? He knew she wouldn’t. “Maybe Jake’s home.”
She’d called her brother’s number five times in the last four hours. One last time in the hotel lobby before they drove the ten minutes to the town house. And connected with voicemail five times.
Eli glared and cocked his head toward the driveway. No vehicle other than the Charger. She returned the glare and tugged her phone from her pocket. At the very least, she’d be ready to call for help.
Eli squeezed through the door, his S&W leading the way. Gabriella watched his broad back disappear from sight. Her mouth went dry. Her legs felt detached from the rest of her body. Sweat soaked the underarms of her T-shirt. She moved into the shade of a barren trellis, trying to escape a sun seeking the horizon.
He’d been shot once. Maybe the odds said it couldn’t happen again. Not this soon. The uncertainty of that thought assailed her. Her experience as an attorney told her bad stuff happened to people. Repeatedly. Maybe he wouldn’t survive this time. While she stood on a small, rectangular cement porch next to a broken chiminea, doing nothing but sweating.
Forget that.
Gabriella slipped through the door. In the foyer she glanced around, looking for a weapon of some kind—anything. Jake loved baseball. A bat would be good about now. Or a fireplace poker. She found nothing but a pair of navy running shoes and a coatrack weighted down by a UT sweatshirt, a faded Windbreaker, and half a dozen ball caps.
Gabriella inched forward until she could see the living room. The air whooshed from her lungs, leaving her light-headed. She bent over and stuck her hands on her knees. Purple spots pinged from side to side in her vision. Somebody appeared to have used the room as the site of a WWE championship match.
A glass coffee table had crash-landed on its side and shattered. Books and magazines were strewn across the carpet. A big-screen TV lay toppled across the couch. She forced herself to move forward. “What happened to you, Jake?” she whispered. She held her breath, somehow thinking it would help. No answer.
Hands shaking, she turned over a broken picture frame lying facedown on the typical tan apartment carpet. Her own face smiling like an idiot greeted her. She had one hand on Jake’s arm. He stood next to Natalie’s chair. Natalie held an oversized pair of ceremonial scissors. They were cutting the ribbon in front of the restaurant. Below the caption, the headline screamed Former ADA opens Courtside Restaurant. Jake had framed the article and hung it in his living room. Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, she propped the photo up on the only chair still upright. “Oh, Jake!”
&nb
sp; A shriek from a nearby room echoed in seeming response. Trying to control legs that threatened to sprawl in all directions, Gabriella bolted down the hallway.
“Stay back, Gabs.” Eli pointed his weapon at a woman who had both hands in the air, her back against the refrigerator. “Who are you?”
With her chestnut hair floating in feathered wisps around her face, her tawny skin, huge brown eyes, white sundress, and her silver sandals, the young woman looked like an angel in distress. Her mouth opened, closed. She nodded toward the key she held between one thumb and forefinger with nails painted a sparkly pink. “I didn’t break in.” Her delicate voice quivered. “I promise you I have a right to be here.”
“What gives you the right?” Gabriella slipped into the room. “Tell us who you are. Where’s Jake?”
“Who are you?” The woman started to lower her hands and then seemed to think better of it. “What gives you the right?”
Eli flashed his badge. “This gives me the right, and she’s Jake’s sister. That gives her the right. Your turn.”
“Mirasol Mendez. My friends call me Sunny. Jake calls me Sunshine.” She started to cry. “He’s my fiancé, and I don’t know where he is. He’s just gone.”
Gabriella exchanged glances with Eli. Her first thought was no way. Followed by: How well did she really know her brother? She knew his type. He usually went for crazy-smart, tall, sand volleyball, athletic women with nice tans and lots of running shoes and jobs that paid well. This woman—girl really—made any woman over thirty feel like an old heifer. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here in his house when he isn’t home. You don’t . . . live here, do you?”
“Of course not, my dad . . .” She licked lips slick with pink gloss, her cheeks suddenly rosy. “I’m doing the same thing you are—looking for him.”
“Have a seat.” Eli eased his weapon back and nodded toward a chair at the Formica table for two wedged against the wall in the miniature kitchen. Hands still half in the air, Sunny sat. “When was the last time you saw Jake?”
