Deadly Intent (I-Team Book 8)

by Pamela Clare

  Mia withdrew her hand. “Joaquin was right. The chile verde is incredible.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Mateo chuckled, his gaze shifting to Joaquin. “This is on me tonight, primo.”

  “What? No.” Joaquin reached for his wallet. “I’ve got it.”

  Mateo rested a hand on Joaquin’s shoulder. “This is my house, and you’re family. You don’t pay. Come see me more often, Quino, and bring Ms. Starr with you.”

  Snow was falling when Joaquin drove out of the restaurant’s parking lot a half hour later, small, icy flakes melting on his windshield.

  “Your cousin is something else. It must be wonderful to have a big family.”

  “No family is perfect.” Joaquin told her about his cousin Jesús, who’d gotten into gangs and ended up in prison on drug charges. There was also his Uncle Teddy, who’d let alcohol destroy his life, and his niece Rachel, who’d gotten pregnant and dropped out of high school. “We have our good days and bad days, but we always pull together. How about your family?”

  “I’m an only child. My parents moved to Florida last year. I don’t really know my cousins. I’ve met them, but we don’t get together. Most of them live in New Jersey. My father was born there.”

  That sounded lonely to Joaquin, but he didn’t say so. “New Jersey? How did you end up in Colorado?”

  “My dad got a job at Ball Aerospace. He’s an engineer. He met my mom here. She left her job as a teacher to be a homemaker. I was born in Golden.” She gave a little laugh. “My family hasn’t been here nearly as long as yours. We—”

  The buzzing of her cell phone cut her off.

  Joaquin had his eyes on the road, so he only knew something was wrong when he heard her tone of voice.

  “What the...?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s a bizarre text from someone I knew in the Army—a medic. It says, ‘Mia, you are scaring me. Stop, or I’ll call the cops.’ But I haven’t talked to him or seen him in more than a year.”

  Joaquin didn’t like this. “Who is this guy?”

  “Jason Garcia. He’s a medic. He’s still active duty. I’m calling him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  But Mia had already dialed the guy’s number. “He’s not answering. The call is going straight to voicemail.”

  “I don’t like this, Mia.”

  “Neither do I. God, I hope he’s okay.” She left a quick message, then tried to reach him four more times between Colfax and the parking lot at the Botanic Gardens, each time with no luck. She pointed to a black Mazda 3. “That’s my car.”

  “You can stay here where it’s warm.” Joaquin’s heater was finally blasting hot air. He reached under the seat, grabbed his snow brush. “I’ll scrape off your windshield. I don’t mind the cold.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do—”

  He was outside before she could finish her objection and made quick work of the light dusting of snow and frost on her windshield and rear window.

  She climbed out of his truck. “Thanks for everything. I had a good time—which is surprising under the circumstances.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Joaquin felt the impulse to kiss her, but it was too soon for that. She’d given him her cell number, and that was good enough for now. “You go home, rest, try not to worry. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I’m going to Garcia’s place. I have to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Mia, that’s a really bad idea. What if this guy has gone off his rocker and calls the cops on you? That won’t look good in the middle of all this stuff with Andy. Call Wu. Tell him what’s going on. Maybe he can send some uniforms to do a welfare check.”

  “What would I say to him? ‘Help me. I got a weird text from a friend’?”

  Well, she had a point there.

  She opened her car door.

  Joaquin shut it. “I’ll drive you there. You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Besides, as long as you’re with me, you’ve got an alibi.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Right. Shit. Okay.”

  They climbed back into his truck.

  He stopped at the parking lot exit. “Where to?”

  “Jason lives near the VA. I’ve got his address here.” She tapped on her phone’s screen, then read out the address. “Should I ask Siri for directions?”

  “Nah. I know that area. When you’re a news photographer, you have to learn your way around, or you miss assignments and lose your job.”

  It took them less than ten minutes to reach the address. It was an old tri-level, its windows dark.

  Joaquin parked. “Are you armed?”

  “Armed?” Mia shook her head. “You?”

  “Yes.” He touched a hand to his front jeans pocket. “A Glock twenty-seven.”

  They climbed out and walked up to the house, snow crunching beneath their feet, the neighborhood quiet apart from the distant peal of police sirens and the murmur of traffic. They’d reached the porch before Joaquin saw.

  The front door was ajar.

  “Mia, stop!” He caught her arm, drew her back. “You have no idea who’s in there or what’s going on.”

  She took a step backward. “Garcia! It’s Starr. Are you all right?”

  “Let’s get back in my truck.” Joaquin’s gaze moved from the front door to the darkened windows, watching for movement. They were sitting ducks here. “We need to call the police and wait.”

  “You’re right.” She walked backward, her gaze shifting from the door to the windows to the dark side of the house. “I’m glad you’ve got a weapon.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” It wouldn’t do him any good in its holster.

  Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it took a moment for Joaquin to notice that the sirens were growing nearer. They’d just reached his truck when a police cruiser tore around the corner and came to a stop behind them, its sirens dying. The vehicle’s takedown light flashed on, blinding Joaquin.

  “Hands in the air! I want to see those hands!”

  ¡Carajo! Damn it.

  This was going to be fun.

  Mia sat in handcuffs in the back of the police cruiser, Joaquin cuffed beside her, the two of them watching as the officer and two others walked through Jason’s front door, weapons drawn.

  Please let him be safe. Let him be safe.

  “How well do you know this guy?”

  “We aren’t BFFs, but I like him. He’s a good man. We served together.” Mia glanced over at Joaquin, guilt and regret twisting inside her. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. If I had listened to you…”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. If I had listened to me, we wouldn’t be here. They’ll let us go when they get control of the situation.”

  “They took your pistol.”

  “I’ll get it back. Besides, I have others.”

  A burst of static came over the radio, followed by an officer’s voice. His words were muffled and mixed with police jargon, so that Mia only understood the last part. “We need a body bag and a DBT.”

  “A body bag?” God. “What’s a DBT?”

  Joaquin’s brow furrowed. “It means ‘dead body transfer.’ I’m sorry.”

  Mia’s mind reeled, her pulse ratcheting. “I can’t believe this. This can’t be real. Who would want to hurt Jason? All he ever did was save lives and help people. He would never hurt anyone. This doesn’t make sense. He made it through Iraq. I can’t believe he could be killed like this. Damn it!”

  “Breathe, Mia. It’s going to be okay.”

  Mia shook her head, swallowed the lump in her throat. “Not for Jason it won’t.”

  Lights went on inside Jason’s house, and the three officers who’d cleared the place stepped outside again, the one who’d detained them heading their way. Joaquin had called him Petersen, and the two seemed to know each other. That hadn’t stopped the officer from patting them down, confiscating Joaquin’s firearm, cuffing them—and stuffing them in the back of his vehicle
.

  “We had reports of gunshots from this address,” Petersen had said.

  “We just got here and saw the door open,” Joaquin had explained. “We didn’t even go inside. We were about to call the police.”

  Petersen hadn’t said a word in response.

  A blast of cold air hit Mia in the face as Petersen opened the car door and took hold of her arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Mia looked at Joaquin, alarm trilling through her.

  Joaquin gave her a nod. “It’s okay. He’s a good cop.”

  Officer Petersen hauled her out the door.

  “Is Jason dead? He’s my friend. We served together in the Army. I got a strange text from him, so we came to check on him and found the door open.”

  “You’ll have time to tell your story down at the station.” Petersen turned her over to another officer, who led her to his vehicle and shut her inside.

  She knew what they were doing. They had separated her from Joaquin to make sure the two of them didn’t make up a story before they were questioned. Well, it didn’t matter because they didn’t have to make up anything.

  Then it hit Mia, breath leaving her lungs in a slow exhale. If she hadn’t gone to dinner with Joaquin, she would have been home alone with no one to confirm her whereabouts. And if she’d come here by herself…

  You’d be knee deep in shit right now.

  The minutes ticked by. A van pulled up—the crime scene investigation unit. Then an ambulance arrived. Two EMS guys climbed out and drew an empty gurney out of the back. The sight of it made Mia’s stomach knot.

  They disappeared inside, only to reappear about ten minutes later, a body closed in dark plastic and strapped to the gurney.

  Jason.

  How could his life have ended like this?

  Mia let rage push her grief aside. Someone was killing her soldiers.

  But why?

  A man appeared beside her window, and the door opened.

  Detective Wu leaned down. “Why am I not surprised to find you here, Ms. Starr? Let’s head downtown.”

  6

  What time did you get to the restaurant?”

  “It was just after six.” Joaquin had been through this once already with a different detective. He knew Wu was just being thorough. A human life had been taken, after all, and a man was still missing. Even so, the questions were getting old. At least Joaquin was no longer in handcuffs. They’d taken those off when they’d brought him in here.

  “What did you order?”

  “I had the tamales with tomatillo salsa.” Joaquin knew what Wu’s next question would be. “Ms. Starr had a smothered burrito. We both ordered palomas.”

  Details like these enabled detectives to shake suspects apart, exposing their lies. In this case, it was the truth.

  “You told the other detective that you didn’t have a receipt. Why is that?”

  “My cousin, Mateo Ramirez, owns the place. He wouldn’t let me pay. You can call him. He’ll confirm everything I’ve told you.”

  “Would your cousin lie for you?”

  “Of course—but not about something like this.” Mateo would kick Joaquin’s ass if he thought Joaquin had been involved in a homicide. “He’s got surveillance cameras in the parking lot and on the front door. They won’t lie.”

  Wu nodded. “We’re checking on that.”

  “How long do you plan to detain us?”

  Wu didn’t give him a straight answer. “I’ve got a few more questions.”

  But Wu’s definition of “a few” was different from Joaquin’s. The man was relentless, pelting Joaquin with one question after another.

  What time had they left the restaurant? Why had they gone to the victim’s house? How long had Joaquin known Mia? Did he know the victim? Why had Joaquin come to the police station earlier today? Why had he waited for Mia? What had she told him about her relationship with the victim? How long had he had a concealed carry permit? Why had he been armed?

  It was that last question that finally got the better of Joaquin’s temper.

  “Why was I armed? I’ve seen too much bad shit happen to good people. That’s why. I was at the Palace Hotel last month. I watched while terrorists hurt and threatened to kill my friends. I will never be helpless again.”

  He all but shouted those last words.

  Wu seemed to study him, then opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a knock at the door. “Come.”

  Darcangelo stuck his head inside. “Wu, let’s talk.”

  Wu didn’t look happy. “I know this guy is a friend of yours, but—”

  Police Chief Irving appeared in the hallway just outside the door, white dress shirt stretched over his big belly. “Wu. Now.”

  Wu got to his feet, walked out into the hallway.

  “I’ll be back to talk with you in a moment,” Darcangelo said to Joaquin before closing the door.

  Well, shit.

  Joaquin waited a good ten minutes before Wu returned. This time the detective left the door open.

  “Mr. Ramirez, you are free to go.”

  Thank you, Darcangelo.

  Joaquin stood. “What about Mia?”

  “She’s free to go, too.”

  “And my firearm?”

  “You can collect it at the front counter.” Wu turned and was gone.

  Joaquin stood and would have followed him through the doorway but found himself face to face with Darcangelo.

  “Not so fast, cabrón.” Darcangelo forced him to back up, stepped into the interrogation room, and shut the door behind him. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “We didn’t know we were walking into a murder scene. She got a strange text message. That’s it. It’s not like we heard gunshots and ran through the door.”

  Darcangelo glared at him. “You were all of five minutes behind the real killer. Five minutes, Ramirez. What if he’d still been there?”

  “I was armed.”

  “You hadn’t drawn your weapon. If he’d been inside, he’d have heard and seen you coming. He could’ve opened that door and lit the two of you up before you cleared your holster.”

  It was the truth.

  Darcangelo drew a breath, some of his anger fading. “You did the right thing to stop Ms. Starr from entering the house.”

  Then it hit Joaquin. “Wait—how do you know this?”

  “You cannot repeat what I’m about to tell you. If the killer heard about this, a woman’s life might be at stake.”

  “Okay.”

  “The eighty-year-old lady across the street reported the gunshots to police and saw a man in a black hoodie run out of the house. She tried to record him with her phone but had technical difficulties and ended up making a very fine video of her own face.”

  “Nice.”

  “She had the phone figured out by the time you two got there. She has a video showing when you pulled up and everything you did until Petersen arrived. The time stamps of the two videos—the one of her face while she’s watching the killer leave and the one of you and Ms. Starr—show that only five minutes had gone by.”

  “Mierda.”

  “Yeah. The killer stayed behind to ransack the place. He took the guy’s wallet and credit cards. He went through his medical kits, too, maybe looking for drugs.”

  “This video—that’s how you got Wu to let us go, isn’t it?”

  “I made sure he heard about the evidence sooner rather than later. I figured you have better things to do than hang out here.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  “Pay me back by keeping your ass out of trouble. What’s going on between you and Ms. Starr anyway?”

  “Nothing.” Not yet.

  “She’s still a person of interest in the other case. You don’t want to get caught up in that, too.”

  Joaquin was tired of this shit. “She had nothing to do with it. Someone is trying to set her up, attacking Andrew Meyer right after she left, dumping evidence at her place of work. I’ll b
et the killer sent that text message tonight, too. Maybe he wanted to make Mia look bad. Or maybe he knew she’d come and hoped to get a shot at her.”

  Darcangelo frowned. “We can’t be sure these two cases are connected.”

  “Oh, come on! Mia knew both men. The three of them served together in Iraq. In the span of a few days, one goes missing, and the other is murdered. And both situations offer evidence that implicates Mia.”

  Darcangelo considered this for a moment, then gave Joaquin a slap on the shoulder. “If you ever get sick of the newspaper, you’d make a good detective. Now get the hell out of here.”

  Joaquin started out the door and then realized he was going nowhere. “Hey, can you give us a lift? My truck is still at the murder scene.”

  Mia sat in the lobby waiting for Joaquin, her gaze fixed on nothing, the anger that had gotten her through the past few hours dulled by a creeping sense of numbness. She didn’t see Joaquin come out of the back or walk up to the counter to sign for his firearm, her mind stuck on the image of Jason in that body bag.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone she’d served with carried away like that. Far from it. But this wasn’t supposed to happen here.

  She’d thought it was over. She’d thought the war was behind them. They’d made it through their deployments. They’d come home. They were supposed to be safe—as safe as anyone could be in this crazy world. But now Andy was missing and probably dead somewhere, and Jason, who’d never done anything but save lives, was dead, gunned down in his own home.

  It made no sense.

  When Mia had been active duty, there had been briefings about terrorist leaders who had ordered their followers to find and kill American service members anywhere in the world, including here at home. But, no. This couldn’t be terrorists. Terrorists always took credit for their slaughter. That was the point. They killed to get attention and sow fear. Killing earned them nothing if it was done anonymously.

  This had to be something else. If only she could think straight.

  Random images moved through Mia’s mind. The body bag. Joaquin dancing. The lead vehicle in their convoy exploding into flames. Jason trying to tie a tourniquet on LeBron Walker’s thigh while the photographer snapped photos. Blood on sand. Andy with blisters on his hands and thighs.