by Kelly Irvin
The GPS lady announced their arrival at Piper and George Seville’s house in a voice far too chipper for so early in the morning.
“Nice.” Gabby unbuckled her seat belt but made no attempt to get out. “I wonder what his uncle does for a living.”
“I always thought Alder was from up north.” When he gave it much thought, which wasn’t often. “He sounds like it when he talks.”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about himself much. He graduated from UT Austin. Parents are dead. That’s about all I know.” She clutched her purse to her chest and pushed the door open. Then she leaned back as if she’d changed her mind. “All the conversations we’ve had are always about politics or religion or something happening at the courthouse. It’s never personal, at least on his side. He always asks about Natalie and the kids, but when I venture into his territory, he changes the subject.”
Talking about a man who so obviously planned to take his spot in Gabby’s life did nothing for Eli’s frame of mind. “Maybe he has something to hide.”
“Or maybe he’s a private person.” She shot him a dark look. “You should relate to that.”
He did. Talking about his problems was as much fun as a prostate exam. But not talking about them had served to cause even more pain. He closed his eyes. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Would his revelation cement the cavernous break in their relationship, or bring them back together? It was a terrible chance to take.
He breathed and eighty-sixed the thought. “I don’t relate to anything about a reporter who does nothing but snoop around and try to make the PD look bad in his blogs.”
“Sometimes the PD doesn’t need any help in that department.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Jake’s side.” She slid from the car, turned, and stared back at him. “Can you call a truce with Deacon until this is over, please? He’s taking care of Nat and the kids. I owe him for that. So give him a break, okay? Let’s get their stories and then get to the gun store as soon as it opens.”
“Okay.”
Frowning, she tucked her windblown hair behind her ear. “Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
And his honor had been called into question. Mercifully, she didn’t point out that salient fact. “You take Natalie and the kids. I’ll interview Alder.”
“He has a first name.” She didn’t seem convinced.
“I’ll take Deacon.”
“I’ll be listening with one ear.”
“You can trust me.”
She didn’t deign to respond to that laughable comment.
Deacon and Artemis met them at the door. Gabby scooped up the bulldog, who covered her with slippery kisses in response to her steady stream of doggy-love. They followed Deacon into a breakfast nook with lemon walls and white curtains that covered a bay window. It was bigger than Eli’s dining room. Nat and the kids sat eating enormous plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit.
Deacon introduced them to his aunt as Pip. She was a tiny lady dressed in a turquoise embroidered Mexican dress like the ones Eli’s mom favored. Her feet were bare. Her gray hair hung to her waist. Silver bangle bracelets adorned her age-spot-marked arms and turquoise-and-silver hoops hung from her earlobes. Not the look he expected from someone living in a half-a-million-dollar home.
“Deacon’s the only one who calls me Pip as in pipsqueak. It’s Piper. You look hungry.” Her words were hard to hear over a steady stream of chatter from two gray parrots in matching roomy cages that took up one wall of the nook. Instead of shaking their hands, she hugged them both and planted kisses on their cheeks as if greeting family. “George is cleaning the pool. It doesn’t need it, but he’s like that. The children are going swimming in a bit. I have fresh oatmeal, eggs, turkey bacon, pineapple, mango, cantaloupe, strawberries, and papaya. Coffee, iced tea, fresh-squeezed orange juice, or chocolate milk.”
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
“I’ll have coffee, please.” Gabby swooped down on the kids and covered them in kisses. Ava returned the favor while Cullen pretended to slide under his chair to escape her “girl cooties.”
Ava then hurled herself at Eli and landed a hug around his knees. He lifted her up by the waist until she looked down at him, giggling and breathless. “Hey, beautiful. Are you doing okay?”
“Bad men shot at us.”
“I know, but you’re safe now, and I’m going to catch the bad guys and put them in jail.”
He deposited her on the chair next to her brother and leaned close to both kids. “You understand that, right? Everything will be fine.”
“They have parrots. They’re African Grays. They talk.” Cullen popped up and scooted to the cages. “This is Fidencio. And the other one is Fidencio Two. George says it’s easier if they all have the same names. Say hello!”
Eli obliged. The birds’ gray plumage had a gorgeous scalloped pattern. Their tails were maroon and their intelligent eyes a sharp orange. They responded by repeating their names and then his. Cullen clapped. “George says they’re very smart. They know what they’re saying.”
“Obviously, Cullen is smitten.” Natalie smiled and motioned for her son to sit. “Give Uncle Eli and Aunt Gabriella a chance to breathe, son.”
“They have a cat named Cleopatra, the Queen of Cats, but she’s hiding from Artemis.”
“Enough, son.”
“Are you gonna find Uncle Jake?” Ava slipped her small hand into Eli’s and leaned against his side, a small, light, fragile weight. “I miss him.”
“Me too.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s the plan.”
The clock was ticking. He turned to Deacon, who remained standing in the doorway, his expression distant. “Can we sit somewhere and talk about yesterday?”
Deacon jerked his head toward the sliding glass doors. “It’s still cool enough that we can sit by the pool.”
Cool was a relative term in Laredo. At eight o’clock in the morning, humid air billowed on a southerly breeze that did nothing to dry sweat. Eli followed him out to a patio that encircled a beautiful tile-edged, peanut-shaped pool with a stone waterfall at one end. The lush landscaping suggested a gardener with a green thumb and an irrigation system. A tall, muscular man clad in a baggy neon-orange swimsuit and flip-flops dropped a net into the well-watered grass and padded toward them. He had a full head of silver hair. The hair on his chest matched. After the introductions that included a warm, firm handshake and a sharp head-to-toe appraisal, George left them to their discussion.
“What does your uncle do for a living?” Eli settled into a patio chair more comfortable than anything in his living room. “He’s done all right for himself.”
“Import-export. Something to do with sunglasses.” Deacon set his coffee on the glass table that separated them. “He’s mostly retired now. Two of my cousins took over the business.”
“You’re sure Natalie and the kids are safe here?”
“I wouldn’t have brought them here if I weren’t.” He ran his hand through already messy black hair. The guy needed a comb. A wrinkled shirt and dark circles under his eyes suggested he, too, had spent a sleepless night thinking about topics like this one. “George had the best possible security system installed when they built the house. It’s monitored.”
“Gabby and Natalie have a security system.”
“But they only turn it on at night.”
“If something were to happen to them—any of them—it would break her.”
“I know.”
Deacon said it as if he knew Gabby intimately, better than Eli. That wasn’t possible. No one knew her better than he did. He gritted his teeth and stared at the lapping, crystal-clear water in the pool. The clean scent of chlorine filtered through the air. To be that clean. The water would feel good, but it couldn’t wash away his mistakes.
“She deserves better than you.”
The gauntlet thrown down. “You don’t think I know th
at.”
“So let her go.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You’re so full of yourself you can’t see what you’re doing to her. If you really cared about Gabriella, you’d let go. You’ve been haunting her for six months. If you were anyone but a cop, it’d be called stalking.”
“Let’s stick to the subject at hand. What happened yesterday?”
“Her mother cheated on her father with a mediocre poet and they divorced. Her understanding of love and faithfulness was destroyed. But she decided to trust you. You cheated on her and threw her love away. How do you think she’ll ever trust again?”
He hurled the stones with unerring accuracy. This reporter thought he had all his facts, and he knew how to string them together in a succinct story. Fake news. Still, the bruises hurt. Eli groped for self-control, never his strong point. He’d promised Gabby. “What happened yesterday?”
Deacon’s recitation was equally succinct. If the sequence of events affected him, it didn’t show.
“Polite, huh?”
“In a murderous sort of way.”
Bees buzzed the yellow rosebushes that crowded the stone fence that surrounded the backyard, giving the Sevilles some semblance of privacy for their swims.
“One other thing. We think they followed us to Laredo.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Deacon related the details regarding the last leg of their trip. “We stayed in the PD parking lot for about forty-five minutes. No one followed us here.”
“You didn’t notice someone was following you before? Do you have canned peas for brains?”
“I get that I’m not a cop like you. I don’t have catlike reflexes and carry cannon-sized guns, but I care about these women.” Deacon stopped. He gritted his teeth. His jaw throbbed. “I don’t have any experience with this stuff, but I got them here, and they’re safe, so back off.”
He was right. As much as it pained Eli to admit it. “Sorry.”
“I worked at the paper here after I graduated from UT. It’s been a few years, but I still have friends in the media and contacts in law enforcement.” Deacon’s tone shifted from fierce self-defender to a reporter on the hunt. “I’ll start hitting them up.”
“For your story?” Eli poured sarcasm over his words like kerosene on a fire. “You claim to care about them, but all you care about is the story.”
“I can help find Jake. And end up with a good story when it’s all said and done.” Deacon’s scowl pinned Eli to the chair. “I can multitask by doing my job and making sure my friends don’t get hurt.”
Unlike some people hung in the air between them.
“I don’t need another civilian meddling in this investigation.”
“And you don’t tell me what to do. I only told you out of courtesy. This is between Gabriella and me.”
“There’s nothing between you and Gabriella.”
“You’re right. I’m glad you can finally concede that. But now that I’ve met her sister and the kids, I have more skin in the game.”
Sudden heat crept across Deacon’s face. Natalie was a smart, beautiful lady. They were caught up in a volatile situation. His reaction wasn’t surprising. But still dangerous. “You’re a reporter, not a cop, just remember that.”
“Believe me, ten minutes with thugs armed with assault rifles taught me my place.”
“So these sources you have. Tell me about them.”
“Chris Matthews is a reporter at the Laredo Morning-Times. His house has been firebombed. That’s how close to the truth he’s traveled. Everyone knows there’s widespread corruption in law enforcement here. His fiancée works at one of the TV stations. He can tell me what the latest word is and tap their sources.”
“What about law enforcement? Do you know homicide detective Carlos Rincon?”
Deacon shook his head. “But I can put out some feelers with my folks. If he’s dirty, it’s likely somebody knows.”
“But nobody does anything about it?” It was a rhetorical question. Laredo was a different world. A border town that was more Mexico than it was United States. Cartel violence had nearly destroyed it. Tourism disappeared in the late nineties. Businesses went belly-up. Poverty, always rampant, grew incrementally. It was the Wild West all over again. “See what you can find out, but be careful.”
“Worried about me?”
“Not particularly. But for some reason Gabby cares about you and Natalie chose to come here with you.” The words stuck in his throat. He might as well accept this fact now. “So don’t give them something else to worry about, or worse, grieve.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
The question that haunted Eli every second of every minute. “It seems unlikely.”
Deacon glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Don’t tell her that.”
“She was a lawyer and prosecutor in the DA’s office. She’s no stranger to these scenarios.”
“She’s hanging on to hope.”
“Which means so will you and me.”
On that, at least, they could agree.
* * *
Surveillance equipment would be nice at that moment. Gabriella eyed the sliding glass doors. Nothing about Eli’s and Deacon’s body language told her how the conversation was going.
“We can always shove them into the pool if they get into a fistfight over you.” Natalie sipped her iced tea and smiled. She seemed more relaxed now that she had poured out the story of yesterday’s home invasion to Gabriella. “That would wash some of that testosterone off.”
“May the best man win.” George stuck a pod in the Keurig and made himself a cup of coffee. The aroma wafted through the breakfast nook, its medicinal effect immediate. “The pen may be mightier than the sword, but I’m still concerned that the gentleman with the gun has the upper hand over my nephew.”
“There will be no fistfights.” Gabriella offered the mandate with a sliver of hope. “Or guns. They’re grown men.”
Piper, who was clearing dishes from the table, snorted.
Natalie’s grin widened.
It was good to see her smile, if only for a second.
“If they have any sense at all, they’ll keep the conversation on what happened yesterday and how to find Jake.” Gabriella picked up her coffee cup and then returned it to the table. Her stomach already burned from too much caffeine. “Which is what we need to do. Is there anything else you can tell me about the men who broke in? You didn’t see any faces? No identifying marks?”
“They were covered head to toe.” Natalie’s smile disappeared. “The man in charge was older. His ski mask shifted once, and I saw a gray beard. Other than that, they were almost . . . well behaved, if you can say that about people holding you at gunpoint in your own house.”
“We need to find that phone.”
“Did Eli talk to the CSU folks?”
“Yes. Nothing. Dunbar is working on the warrant for the phone records. We may be able to find out something that way. At least what phone calls he made and to whom.” Her gaze went to the patio doors again. Eli stood and walked to the pool. He seemed to be contemplating the water. “But it takes time, and we don’t have time. We need to get going.”
She went to Natalie and bent over for a hug. Her sister smelled of Estée Lauder. She inhaled and closed her eyes, reassured by the familiar scent, then she straightened. “We’ll get him back.”
“I know. Where are you going now?”
“To the gun store owned by Alberto Garza’s uncle.”
“Please stay here with us.” Natalie grabbed her hand. “They’re after you.”
“All the more reason to find Jake and put an end to this.”
“Let the cops do it. Let Eli do it.”
“You know I can’t do that, Sis.”
Eli came through the door first. Neither the look on his face or Deacon’s told her anything about how the conversation had fared. “Are you ready?”
She nodded.
> “I’ll call you later with whatever I find out.” Deacon directed the statement to Eli, who nodded. “You do the same?”
“You got it.”
Wonders would never cease. The tone of cooperation bordered on something from the peace talks in times of war. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll explain later.” Eli bolted past her. “The gun store probably opens at nine. Let’s head out.”
“I have contacts at City Hall.” George trotted into the breakfast nook. He’d changed into a pale-green guayabera, loose-fitting white linen pants, and boat shoes. “I’ll snoop around there and take some of my buddies out for coffee.”
“Thank you.” Gabriella shook her finger at Eli. He sighed. “We can use your help. All of you. But the most important thing is that you be careful. We don’t know who we can trust. We don’t know who has Jake.”
“Well then, let’s find out.” Deacon led the charge to the door. “We’ll rendezvous back here tonight.”
It was quite the ragtag team of investigators. Somehow, it seemed hopeful.
Chapter 18
Eli hummed “Streets of Laredo” as he perused Zaragoza Street. The National Sporting Goods store was sandwiched between a duty-free establishment and a pawn shop at the corner of Flores and Zaragoza in the heart of downtown Laredo. The old Spanish land grant grid of streets hugged the Texas-Mexico border not far from where I-35 South ended in the old international bridge. A black pickup truck sat in front of the pawn shop. Across the way was San Agustín Plaza. Beyond the patch of green stood the front door to stately white San Augustine Church, which held court with a graceful bell tower and clock.
For a Saturday morning, downtown Laredo wasn’t exactly teeming with shoppers. Violence in its sister city of Nuevo Laredo, only three blocks from Eli’s current location, had seen to that. Still, cars were parked at meters on the plaza. Folks shared cement park benches under live oak trees that provided scant shade. Trash swirled in the hot wind in front of the drab storefronts with faded signs in Spanish painted on aging brick. An elderly couple exited the duty-free store, their arms loaded with brown paper bags. The air smelled of dead fish and cigarettes. Both made Eli’s gut burn. He dug into his pocket for his roll of Tums and came up empty. He’d eaten them all the previous day.
