Over the Line

by Kelly Irvin

  “It’s broad daylight. I won’t go near the sporting goods store. I’m in your mom’s car. No one will even know.”

  The drive-by had occurred in broad daylight. “Like that makes any difference.”

  “I’m going.”

  Definitive statement. End of discussion. She loved to remind him that he wasn’t the boss of her. “In and out. If anything looks the least bit wonky, don’t get out of the car.”

  “I’ve got this.”

  “Call me as soon as you’re done. We’ll meet back at the house after I stop at the hospital.”

  She disconnected.

  The desire for another cigarette inundated him. He tugged the lighter from his pocket and played with it for a second. A quick trip to a convenience store and then he would head to the hospital.

  A tap struck the passenger-side window. Startled, he reached for his weapon. Deacon’s head popped into view. “Open up.”

  “Are you following me? That’s a good way to get shot.”

  He unlocked the doors and Deacon slid in. He didn’t look happy. “That was a waste of time. They’re placating the media with little dribbles of information, most of which we already have.”

  “I talked to Jensen. He says if Rincon isn’t in on it, another cop is. He’s not ready to concede that Donovan isn’t a player.”

  “With all their resources—”

  The ringtone for unknown callers filled the car. The number didn’t ring a bell. “Cavazos.”

  “We need to talk.” The urgent whisper made Sunny’s voice almost unrecognizable. “I have some information I think might help find Jake.”

  “If you know something, you need to tell me right now.”

  Deacon edged closer. His eyebrows rose and fell. Who is it? he mouthed.

  Eli held up his index finger.

  “Not over the phone. You told me I could call you if I thought of anything.”

  Deacon leaned in as if trying to hear both ends of the conversation. Eli swiveled toward his door. “Why are you whispering?”

  “My dad doesn’t want me to get involved.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Not here. I’ll meet you in a safe place.”

  “Where?”

  She reeled off an address. “It’s southwest of town, in the county. I told my dad I was going to get a pedicure, so I don’t have a lot of time. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Why call me? Why not LPD?”

  “You said to call you. I did. I’m trusting you to keep your mouth shut. Nobody can know. They’ll kill me if they find out I called you.”

  “Who’ll kill you?”

  She disconnected.

  Eli swallowed a string of expletives. He dropped the phone on the seat and pounded on the wheel. It could be something or nothing. Sunny was a big, fat question mark. She could be a little girl who wanted attention, or she might actually have something useful. The only way to find out was to be at her beck and call.

  “What is it?” Deacon’s exasperated tone penetrated Eli’s irritation. “Stop hyperventilating and tell me what she said.”

  “Can you get on the internet here?”

  “I can if I make my phone a hot spot.”

  “Do it.” Eli shared the gist of the conversation and repeated the directions she’d spewed at him. “See what you can find out about this address.”

  Deacon applied himself to his laptop. The car filled with the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the AC.

  “The property is owned by a company called STAR Trucking of South Texas.”

  “Does that help us?”

  “The paper trail is crazy. It’s ridiculous. From there it goes to Texas Trails Company, which has a headquarters in Houston. None of the names of the principals ring a bell. This will take some time to unravel.”

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out of the car.”

  His phone rang again. Gabs. Eli ignored it.

  “No way, Jose. This is the biggest story of my career.” Deacon hugged the laptop to his chest. “You’re a big guy, but not big enough to haul my carcass out of this car, and that’s what it will take. You’re not getting rid of me.”

  “It may be absolutely nothing. This girl has too much time on her hands, and she’s itching to get out from under her dad’s thumb. Get out.”

  “Make me.”

  “Are you still in high school?”

  “I’m not getting out of this car.”

  “Respect” interrupted a conversation spiraling out of control. Gabs again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  Eli shook his head. “I’m definitely not taking her.”

  “She’ll kill you.” The portrait of a rebellious teenager, Deacon rolled his eyes. Next he would stick out his tongue. “Besides you need me to keep working the real estate records. I’ll deep dive while you drive. I can call some folks, redeem some favors.”

  “Fine.”

  “Whatever.”

  Eli pulled away from the curb and headed for Saunders Road. Despite the shimmering August heat, hell had frozen over. The fact that he was in a car with a reporter whom he’d despised with great passion for the better part of three years provided all the evidence he needed that the world had turned inside out.

  Deacon spent the next ten minutes on the phone, apparently talking to Chris Matthews. Like a good boy, he didn’t tell Chris what he was up to, just asked him to do some record checking at his end. From the sound of Deacon’s voice, Chris wasn’t too happy about not being given all the details. Twenty minutes later, they pulled through the gate of an industrial park that looked as decrepit as the one owned by Luke Donovan.

  Deacon glanced up from his computer screen. “Do you see her?”

  “Shut up and keep working.”

  “It looks like Texas Trails Company is a subsidiary of a holding company called Purple Heart Express.”

  “That’s a strange name.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t stop there.” Deacon’s rapid-fire keystrokes were impressive in that he only used two fingers and his thumbs. “This is ridiculous. I need more time.”

  “We don’t have more time. We’re here, but I don’t see Sunny.” He let his gaze rake the dozen or more long, rectangular, ramshackle warehouses. They were mostly tin structures with flat roofs and wooden loading docks. The place seemed deserted. “Come on, Sunny. Where are you?”

  Deacon looked up. “Maybe she decided to go with the pedicure instead.”

  Maybe. What did she know about Jake’s disappearance? Who was threatening her?

  “I’ll take a look around.” Eli put the Charger in Park and turned off the engine. “You stay here.”

  “No way, dude.” Deacon’s phone rang. He snagged it and thrust it to his ear. “I gotta call you back.”

  Eli shoved open his door and got out. Deacon did the same. They reached the front of the car at the same time.

  The jolt that knocked him from his feet came out of nowhere.

  Chapter 35

  The tiny pocket of trees and grass in the middle of a city founded by Don Tómas Sanchez in 1755 had the grandiose title of San Agustín Plaza. The minutes stretched as Gabriella sat in Virginia’s ancient Ford Explorer. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just people enjoying a stroll through the outlet stores a few blocks away stopped in the plaza to buy raspas, roasted corn, or a cold soda.

  She adjusted the sun visor, then fiddled with her sunglasses. Now or never. With one last glance toward the sporting goods store, closed this Sunday afternoon, she slipped from the SUV and trotted across the uneven red brick street. Like most of the plazas, this one had four sidewalks situated like spokes from the four corners of the park. A statue of Mexican General Ignacio Zaragoza stood guard on one spoke, the plaque proclaiming they would preserve freedom or die trying, while a statue of San Agustín welcomed all who entered from the other side. In the center stood a small gazebo of concrete blocks and wrought-iron rail
ings surrounded by a circle of well-manicured bushes.

  A young couple snuggled on one bench while a turista with a backpack used his camera to snap photos of his wife on the gazebo. Letting her fingers trail across the bushes, Gabriella ignored the signs that read No Pisar El Cesped and walked across the grass to a filthy water fountain on the right. Not in a million years would she drink from its spigot. Still, she bent over and let the water run. Nothing on the ground behind it.

  The turistas vacated the gazebo. Phone in hand as if she intended to take a selfie, Gabriella bounded up the steps with all the enthusiasm of a visitor. The floor appeared newly swept. The Laredo Parks and Recreation folks were far too efficient.

  “¿Qué haces?”

  Startled, she turned. A bearded man in dirty overalls and holey sneakers stared up at her. He was missing his two front teeth. She forced a smile. “No hablo español muy bien.”

  “Where are you going? Lost?” He held out one dirty hand. “I be guide?”

  “I don’t need a guide.” She contemplated his attempt at an ingratiating smile. “Do you live around here, señor?”

  “Juan Garcia. I live around.” He grasped the railing and hauled himself up the remaining steps. His gait wobbled. “I show you where shops are?”

  The Spanish equivalent of John Smith.

  The rank odor of unwashed body, tobacco, and urine wafted over Gabriella. Given temperatures hovered near one hundred and the man obviously didn’t have access to facilities, she couldn’t blame him. “Do you spend a lot of time here at the plaza?”

  He nodded.

  “Were you here Thursday afternoon?”

  “I here every day.”

  And likely every night. “A friend of mine was here.” She described Beto Garza. “He lost his phone. He asked me to try to find it for him.”

  A satisfied look on his face, Juan nodded. “I seen him. He see me.”

  “Did you see his phone?”

  Juan shrugged and held out his hand.

  Gabriella dug a ten-dollar bill from her bag and held it out.

  Juan reached for it. She snatched it back. “What did you see?”

  “He give me twenty to leave it. Said someone would come for it and if it not here, someone would die.”

  Gabriella pawed through her wallet for another ten. “Where?”

  Juan stuffed the bills into his pocket and pointed a greasy finger toward the ground. He grinned.

  “Show me.”

  Stifling the urge to pinch her nose, she followed him down the steps. He took a sharp right and pointed once again. The dirt at the base of the gazebo had been disturbed. She glanced around.

  “I look out.”

  Trusting a homeless man with her safety called into question her sanity, but what choice was there at this moment? She dropped to her knees and dug around. Sweat rolled down her forehead and dripped into her eyes. Her heart pounded as if she’d just run the fifty-yard dash. If someone caught her doing this, Eli would never let her forget it.

  Her fingers touched plastic. She groped in the dirt. A Ziploc baggie.

  A smartphone.

  She scooped it up, dragged her Reebok across the dirt, and turned.

  Her homeless man had disappeared. Chuy Figueroa and a man she hadn’t seen before sauntered across the street from the pawn shop. Closed didn’t mean they weren’t in the store.

  She tucked the phone in her back pocket and hopped over the four steps in one jump.

  Chuy’s pace picked up. So did his companion’s.

  Gabriella whirled and picked the sidewalk spoke that would take her to Virginia’s SUV. An elderly woman hobbled along using a rollator. She had a sack of groceries sitting on the pad in the middle. A chubby lady in an embroidered Mexican dress pushed a stroller and held hands with a toddler.

  This was not the place for a shoot-out. Not that Gabriella had a weapon.

  She dodged the rollator woman and picked up her pace. Unable to help herself, she glanced back. They were gaining on her.

  She broke into a trot, passed stroller family, and dashed to the SUV.

  Thank You, God, for remote entry. Two seconds later, she was in the car, key in the ignition.

  Start, start, start.

  Whining engine. She twisted the wheel and peeled out of the parking space.

  Chuy, who had stopped at the end of the spoke, waved and blew her a kiss. See you soon was written all over the gangbanger’s face.

  Chapter 36

  Eli lurched. Fiery pain ripped through his muscles from head to foot.

  Tick-tick-tick resounded in his ears. A vaguely familiar sound. His mind searched while his body jerked and flailed. Police academy. Taser. Fifty thousand volts.

  A heavyweight boxer punched him in the back over and over again. His arms and legs jerked and then stiffened. Control of his body belonged to someone else.

  He resented that fact deeply.

  That somebody would pay.

  He fell flat on his face. He opened his mouth to scream obscenities and inhaled a mouthful of dirt. The smell of earth stuck in his nose. His pulse pounded.

  His spine crunched. Air whooshed from his lungs. Yellow-and-purple lights danced in the periphery of his vision.

  The attacker jerked Eli’s arms back so hard they left their sockets. His mind screamed at his body. Move. Move. Nothing. Something hard tightened around his wrists. Too tight. More pain, but tolerable. Two sharp pricks. The removal of the metal prongs.

  The guy—considering the weight, surely it was a guy—grabbed his legs. The same deal. Legs tied together. Zip ties?

  Think. Think. He raised his head and peered behind him. More shiny black boots. Camouflage pants tucked in neatly.

  His gun.

  His captor ripped it from the holster. The click-click meant he checked to see if the magazine was loaded. Of course it was. Pressure on the back of his head could only be the barrel.

  Eli closed his eyes. Sweet Gabriella, te amo. Forgive me. Te amo.

  “You’ll be fine, mi amigo.”

  A melodic voice, deep, rich. He opened his eyes and peered up. Army boots polished to a high sheen. The stock of a semiautomatic of some kind. A big hand touched his shoulder. “Don’t fight it. Struggling will only make it worse.”

  “Where’s Sunny Mendez? What did you do to her?”

  At least his voice worked again.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t hurt young girls.” Chuckling, Camouflage Man leaned past him and tugged at his pocket. His phone appeared in the periphery of Eli’s vision, then disappeared again. A jingling sound followed. His keys went the way of his phone. “Especially that one.”

  What did that mean?

  “Cooperate, m’ijo, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I’m not your son—”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  A black hood appeared in front of him.

  “No, don’t—”

  Darkness prevailed.

  Feeling returned to his arms and legs. More pain. Pure anger followed. He struggled. The elephant on his back didn’t move. His lungs couldn’t suck in air. No air, no oxygen. He would suffocate. Gabs, I’m sorry. Mamá, Pops, I’m sorry.

  The weight released. He gasped.

  His arms jerked back. He stifled a scream of pain. His body lifted.

  His feet were on the ground. Two people, one on each side, dragged him.

  “Deacon? Deacon!”

  The hood muffled the words. One of his captors jabbed him in the back. “Save your breath. He’s fine.”

  Eli’s feet lifted from the ground again. He was airborne. This time, he slammed facedown on hard metal.

  A second later, something thudded next to him. A warm body brushed against him. A shoulder or a hip. “Deacon?”

  A muffled moan.

  Deacon. Still alive. At least they were in this together. That thought provided additional evidence that hell had frozen over. Deacon was a pain in the behind, but he had a decent mind. He wouldn’t keel over
at the first sign of trouble. He’d proven that.

  Together, they would figure this out. They would heap a world of hurt on these guys.

  A slamming sound. Doors closing.

  An engine growled. Shifting gears grumbled. An SUV or a van. He sucked in air through his nose. The only smell was his own sour breath and the mustiness of the hood itself. Think, think.

  Eli shimmied onto his side and began to work the zip ties that held his hands clasped behind his back. They didn’t budge.

  The vehicle bounced. His head banged on the floor. He swore. Sorry, God. I could use some help here.

  Be still and know that I am God.

  Really, God? I never doubted that.

  He relaxed against the warm metal and closed his eyes. Sweat rolled down his face and wet his upper lip. Heat shimmered around him. Locked inside a metal box with no AC. His throat ached for water.

  The truck stopped.

  Short ride.

  Breathe in and out, in and out. If their captors intended to kill them, why not do it at the industrial park? “Deacon. Come on, Deacon. I need to know you’re okay.”

  The words reverberated inside the hood. How much could Deacon hear through the one he likely wore?

  “This is all your fault.” Muffled but intelligible.

  “Why is that? You insisted on coming.”

  “What did they hit us with?”

  “Tasers.”

  “Remind me to stay home next time.”

  There wouldn’t be a next time. “You got it.”

  “Can you see anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  Squeaking. A rush of air cooled his damp body. Doors opened.

  Someone grabbed his ankles. His head banged on the floor as they pulled his body out. Feet swinging in the air. Then on the ground.

  “Up and at ’em, mi amigo.”

  Camouflage Man’s voice.

  “Easy, guys, easy.” Wry amusement laced Deacon’s words. The guy had guts. “Treat me well and you’ll receive an excellent tip. I promise.”

  “There’s a wiseacre in every crowd.”

  An oomph by a gasp suggested Deacon might now regret his little joke.

  More dragging by the arms. This routine would get old fast. “What do you want?”