by Carolina Mac
Saint David’s Hospital. ICU.
WHEN the boys arrived, Doctor Rodriguez stood at the nurses’ station outside the intensive care unit talking to Doctor Winters. Ginny appeared to be tired and distressed. Her dark eyes were glassy with dark smudges underneath. The conversation between the two doctors ceased as Blaine and Farrell edged closer.
“Did something happen with Travis?” asked Farrell.
Rodriguez turned around to face Farrell, her long black hair catching the light. “I’m afraid so, boys. A lot of internal bleeding occurred in the night and he had to go back to surgery. They just brought him out.”
Doctor Winters, still in his scrubs, chirped in, “He’s heavily sedated and will be for the next forty-eight. I don’t want him moving around at all until he’s at least partially healed.”
Blaine posed his question to Ginny, “I have to be out of the country for a couple of days. Would you keep an eye on him and send me updates?”
Her black eyes flashed… something. “You know I will.” The eyes welled up. “Travis saved my life and I owe him so much. I won’t leave the hospital until he’s out of danger.”
Powell and Associates. Downtown Austin.
BLAINE hopped out of Farrell’s truck in front of his building and pondered who out of the myriad of lawyers in the firm would be the best one to work on extradition.
He decided on Gus Toverell and headed inside.
“Morning, Chantal,” he said to the receptionist in passing. Not waiting for a reply, Blaine took the elevator to the second floor.
One of the oldest attorneys in the firm, Gus had always been one of Blaine’s favorites. He maintained a stable of elite clients, served them well and never made any waves. He hoped Gus never retired.
Blaine opened the outer door and stood in front of Gus’ secretary, Mandy Binks, a dark-haired woman exuding efficiency. She glanced up from her keyboard and inhaled quickly. “Mr. Blackmore-Powell, we weren’t expecting you.”
“Gus with anyone?”
She checked the time, “He has twenty minutes before his first client.” She got up, escorted Blaine to the inner office and announced him.
Gus stood up and offered his hand across the desk. “Morning, boss, good to see you.” He eyed the sling. “You have another injury?”
Blaine nodded. “Stab wound, and it became infected.”
Gus shook his gray head and pointed to the leather club chair in front of his desk. “You’d be a lot safer here with us, and Lord knows we could use the help. Coffee?”
“Yes, please, and the reason I’m here is to get your input on an in-house task.”
Gus ambled over to the sideboard, filled a cup for Blaine and set the coffee down on the desk in front of him. “I’m curious as to what an ‘in-house task’ entails.”
“I’m going to Panama to arrest a murder suspect and we’re going to need extradition.”
“Doesn’t the state have a legal staff that would take care of that?”
“Probably, I guess I’m looking for…”
Gus grinned. “Something you could control?”
Am I that transparent?
Blaine sipped his coffee. “Okay.”
After his conversation with Gus, during which he learned all kinds of useful details, Blaine dropped into Larry Appleton’s office on the main floor.
“Hey, boss, did you find Renee?” Larry wore a weird look on his face as he shuffled through papers on his desk.
Maybe he wasn’t expecting to see me.
“Pretty certain she’s in Panama and I’m going down there tomorrow with a warrant. If she sends another email, forward it to me, and tell her you’re working on all her requests.”
“Stall her?”
“Exactly.”
“This sleuth stuff interests me. I might look into it as a sideline,” said Larry. He was grinning now but giving off a vibe.
“By the way, how is Miss Lily? I miss seeing her around the office.”
“Lily is fine. Working hard as always. She has her P.I. license now and she’s enjoying the change.”
“I bet. She must be the world’s best looking black belt.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” said Blaine. “I’ll be in touch.”
Maybe Lily is right. Appleton might be a creep.
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
FARRELL sat in the Chief’s office drinking coffee while he waited for the warrant for Rene Endicott.
“Blacky have a read on where she is?” asked the Chief. “Panama is a whole country. Panama City is just the capital. She could be anywhere.”
“He tracked her to the internet café she’s using to send emails to her lawyer.”
Calhoun frowned. “How in hell did he do that?”
Farrell smirked. “Can’t say, Chief.”
“Jesus, does he ever sleep?”
“Not much. His big brain keeps him awake.”
“Another problem with this little quest Blacky is on,” said the Chief, “even if y’all find the woman, the DA’s office won’t waste taxpayers’ money on extradition unless they think they can convict her.” The Chief shrugged. “Just say’n.”
“Not much hard evidence against her,” said Farrell. “She borrowed her father’s gun—which we don’t have. The lab can’t tell if Endicott was even shot because there was next to nothing left of him. She might have started the fire at the cabin after she killed the dentist—or she might have been long gone. She rabbited and now she’s asking her lawyer to get her some money—that ain’t exactly illegal.”
“It’s all circumstantial,” said the Chief. “To me the most damning thing she’s done is abandoning her small children. What kind of a mother would do that?”
“Mine did,” said Farrell.
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
TIRED AND DIRTY, Jesse returned from a day in his own barn at the Quantrall ranch. He’d worked with three young Appaloosas in the exercise arena and it felt good—he felt good. Better than he’d been in months.
He kissed Annie in the kitchen and headed into the master suite to take a shower before dinner. When he stepped into the bedroom, toweling off his hair, Annie was waiting for him.
“What’s up, cowboy. I know something is.”
“Homesick is about all I can put it down to, Ace. Don’t know what to tell you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Annie held him in her arms and kissed him. “You’ve been through hell, sweetheart.” She pointed to the oak table by the window. “Sit down for a minute and listen.”
Jesse smiled. “I thought you might be pissed at me.”
“For missing your ranch? How could I? I know how much I’d miss mine.”
“You have thoughts?”
“Yep, I do. Blaine needs me for a couple of days in Panama to help him find his way around and arrest somebody. I was going to ask you to come, but it might be better if you took Charity and went home while I’m away. Put things into perspective and let you catch up with the ranch and with your brothers.”
Jesse nodded. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed behind?”
“No. From what Blaine said, we’ll be working.”
“Farrell going?”
“Uh huh.”
Jesse blew out a big breath. “I feel better already. I love you, Ace.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thursday, September 20th.
RENEE inhaled warm, salty air as she padded across the warm sand to her beach house after her morning swim in the ocean. After a quick shower to get the salt out of her hair, she threw on one of her new cotton dresses and added a swipe of lip gloss and a spray of perfume. Refreshed and invigorated, she was more than ready for another day in paradise.
She’d met a man the night before at the bar down the beach and there had been a strong attraction. He’d asked her to have dinner with him tonight and she’d accepted without giving it a second thought. Not like her, but this was the new Renee. Not the old Renee from Texas who had to clear everything with Max before
she made a move.
She started a pot of coffee in her tidy little kitchen and planned her day. She’d drive into town and get her hair done and while she was there, she’d buy groceries and pop into the internet café and check her email. Larry Appleton had probably sent her a message by now.
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE tossed a suitcase onto his bed and regretted it immediately. He had to be more careful with his left arm if he ever wanted it to heal. Using only his right, he opened drawers, grabbed underwear and t-shirts and heaved them onto the bed. His clothes would be a pile of shit by the time he got to Panama.
“Carm, mi Corazon, I need you.”
Carm came running up the steps fearing the worst, then smiled when she saw the mess on the bed. “Si.”
She folded the t-shirts, took a couple of cotton shirts off hangers in the closet and folded them, packed two pairs of jeans, socks and underwear while Blaine gathered toiletries from the ensuite.
She zipped up the case and smiled at him. “I better check on Farrell,” she said in Spanish.
“You’d better.”
By one o’clock, Blaine and Farrell had finished the burritos Carm had made to fortify them for their trip, and their luggage was neatly packed and waiting by the front door. Blaine worked his way down a check list Lily had printed, hollering things out and ticking them off with a red Sharpie.
“Farrell do you have your passport?”
“Yep. What kind of money do I need there?”
“Our dollar is good. We’re okay.”
“What time is our flight?”
“Three. Annie should be here any minute to pick us up.” Blaine finished the list, placed the warrant in his briefcase and closed it.
Austin-Bergstrom Airport.
FARRELL fidgeted in the departure’s lounge while they waited to board. “I think the flight’s gonna be too long for me.”
Blaine cast him a stink-eye. “How long is too long, bro?”
“Half an hour.”
“Yep, gonna be too long. Over four hours.”
“Fuck,” said Farrell.
Annie took his hand and whispered, “After we take off, we’ll order beer and have a party.”
“I’m glad you’re coming, Mom,” said Farrell. “I been missing you and Neil, and the kids and the ranch.”
“Maybe you should move home,” said Annie.
Blaine pulled a face. “Fuck that idea, Mom. I like him with me.”
Farrell smiled. “People fighting over me. That’s a first.”
After two beers Farrell forgot his anxiety and slept all the way to Panama.
Tocumen Airport. Panama City.
BLAINE left Annie at the rental counter while he and Farrell went in search of luggage carousel number eight.
“This is a nice airport,” said Farrell. “Don’t know what I was expecting.”
“Only other foreign ones I’ve been to is Pearson in Toronto and the one in Columbia,” said Blaine. “I haven’t travelled much.”
Farrell spied the luggage, pulled it all off the carousel and loaded it onto a cart. “We’ve got a shitload of stuff for only two days.”
“Mom has the smallest bag,” said Blaine. “Maybe you and I over-packed.”
Annie directed them to the pick-up point for the Helix and the moment they stepped outside the building, the heat enveloped them.
“Jeeze, it’s so fuckin hot I can’t breathe,” said Farrell.
“You’ll get used to it in a couple days,” said Annie.
“I’ll be dead by then,” mumbled Farrell.
Annie smiled at her boys. “Come on, the truck will have air.”
Radisson Hotel. Panama Canal.
“WHICH bed do you want, Mom?” asked Blaine.
“Don’t care, honey. We’re only here for one night.”
“Any food in this town?” asked Farrell.
Annie smiled at him. “I’ve stayed at this hotel before and I happen to know there’s a TGI Friday’s downstairs. Let’s go down have a couple of beers and order some dinner.”
“I’m for that.”
“Me too,” said Blaine. “The flight was long, and I’m beat.”
“Bring your meds,” said Annie, “You have to take them with food.”
THE FOLLOWING morning, Blaine was up with the sun. Six thirty and the day was as bright and as hot as noon in Texas. He smoked on the balcony, enjoying the lush tropical vegetation, the brightly colored birds, and staring at one of the wonders of the world—the Panama Canal.
Some of those cargo ships are huge.
He’d showered, ordered breakfast and coffee, and was anxiously awaiting the waiter’s knock on the door.
Annie was up and dressed by the time breakfast arrived. Farrell had gotten out of bed, never said a word, and trudged into the bathroom for a shower.
After his second coffee, Farrell was alive and talking. “We have a plan?”
“Find our way to San Carlos—that’s first on our list,” said Blaine. “Once we’re there, we can check into our hotel and search for the internet café Renee’s been using.”
“Is that how you found her?” asked Annie.
“She sent emails to her lawyer who happens to work for Powell and Associates.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “Lucky for you.”
“A stroke of luck,” said Blaine. “Doesn’t happen often, but she sent one to her father too, and I’m sure he would have given me access to his computer. He’s desperate to find his daughter.”
“I feel bad for the grandparents,” said Annie. “Coping with triplets at their age must be exhausting.”
San Carlos. Panama.
IT TOOK more than two hours to drive west across highway one—the only highway crossing the country—to San Carlos. Annie found the hotel she had booked online—Golfo de Panama Hotel, and true to its name it sat overlooking the Gulf of Panama. A prime location steps from the ocean.
“Fantastic view, Annie,” said Blaine pausing to catch a glimpse of the beach. “Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” He and Farrell followed her into the lobby with the luggage.
“Never seen you swim,” said Farrell.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t,” said Blaine.
“I can’t,” said Annie.
“Shit,” said Farrell, “Don’t remind me. You should learn, Mom. After your last tumble into the river I thought you’d take a lesson.”
“Thought of it, but it didn’t happen.”
Once they were checked into their gorgeous room on the fourth floor with a panoramic view of the Pacific, Farrell needed to eat. “Let’s have lunch before we start looking for the murdering bitch. I’m starving. I think it’s the heat.”
Annie giggled. “Some people lose their appetite if it’s too hot.”
A black-haired waitress showed them to a table on the patio and from where they sat they could see sailboats, windsurfers and brightly colored umbrellas dotted all along the beach.
Farrell pointed to a bohio with a thatched roof. “There’s a bar on the beach. I’m going there later to drink a dozen of those drinks they make in the coconuts.”
“I’m gonna pretend I don’t even know you,” said Blaine. “I’ll leave you there and let your dumb drunk ass pass out in the sand.”
“Don’t care,” said Farrell as he tipped up an Atlas. “I won’t need you. A couple of hot chicks will help me find my room.”
SAN CARLOS wasn’t a big town and the internet café wasn’t hard to find. Inside, Annie ordered coffee for all three of them while Blaine paid for computer time on one of the units. He picked a spot where he had a view of the door and sat down. Farrell and Annie sat at the next two spots and sipped their coffee.
Four other spots were taken, but the café was large enough to accommodate at least three dozen people at a time. Windows all across the front made the place bright and cheerful. The staff, dressed alike in khaki shorts and navy t-shirts, were friendly and helpful.
“I’m going to look up rea
l estate offices that handle rentals,” Blaine whispered, “then you two can get started.”
Annie nodded, leaned closer and watched Blaine’s screen. Each agency Blaine pointed to, she wrote down the address and the name of the owner. It was about two o’clock when Annie and Farrell left the café with the list. Blaine stayed behind hoping Renee would show up.
FARRELL and Annie drove around San Carlos stopping into all the real estate offices on the list and making inquiries. For a small place, there was a surprising number of them. Vacation rentals were big business in San Carlos.
“I’m surprised so many of the agents speak English,” said Farrell. “I thought we’d have more trouble.”
“They have to speak English, sugar pop. Most of the people coming to rent a property won’t be local. They’ll be from another country—one with bad weather.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Never thought about it.”
By the time they’d questioned the first four agents on the list it was three thirty and the temperature had rocketed to over a hundred degrees. The offices were cool, and riding in the Helix wasn’t bad, but walking on the street in between the truck and the agencies was brutal.
BLAINE glanced up when the bell dinged over the door of the café. He’d been sitting in the same spot for over an hour and had just returned from a trip to the counter to pay for more time, but here she was at last. Her hair was bottle blonde now and salon perfect. Maybe she had come straight from a hair place. If he wasn’t looking for her specifically, he doubted he would have recognized her.
She tried to change her looks.
She stood at the counter and paid for some computer time, then picked a machine a couple of rows over and sat down.
Blaine could see her face above the machine but that was about it. Thin and pale, Renee Endicott was far from pretty. Even worse when she smiled and displayed a mouthful of crooked teeth.
He pulled out his cell and texted.
“She’s here. Come back quick as you can.”
THE FIFTH agent Farrell and Annie questioned was an American from New Jersey. In his fifties, Martin Tull, was tanned and casually dressed in black slacks and a blue golf shirt with the name of his club embroidered on the pocket.
