“Not telepathy.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver shaking up her body. “Just what was needed at that moment. Those men were shooting into the water. It was only a matter of time before they hit one of us. I knew we needed to move and just thought it and God sent it to you. I don’t know how. That’s never happened before.”
Those men. He wanted nothing more than to call in a team and have them all arrested.
After he got Elly to safety.
“How far did we swim?” We. Like he had anything to do with it.
“The other side of the marina.” She pointed west. “You can see the top of my boat from here.”
Sure enough. It was a distance away, but he could see it.
“If you hurry, you can reach your car before those men reach the parking lot.”
He wanted to ask how she knew, but could already quote her answer. “Okay. Let’s get you home.”
Elly looked down at the water. “If it’s all right, I think I’ll just swim to the boat. That way I don’t slow you down.”
“I don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No. You need to hurry. Besides, this is faster for me, too.”
No arguing with that logic. Besides, she was probably safer underwater than with him anyway.
“Thanks. For…” What? Saving his life? Breathing for him? Trusting him with her secret? “Everything.”
Her lips shook and her teeth rattled as shivers increased. “I-I know y-y-you’ll have questions…”
Was that a blue tint to her lips? “You sure you should be getting back in the water? You look half a step from freezing to death.”
“I-I’m warmer in th-there.”
If she insisted. Although hadn’t he experienced it himself? “Then go. We can talk later.”
She offered a half smile before turning and diving in, her body slicing through the water so cleanly that she barely made any ripples.
He watched where she disappeared. Why, he wasn’t sure.
A moment passed before he turned and walked down the boardwalk. Okay, now to call for…
Ah crud. His phone. It was in his pocket, his damp pocket. There was no way it would work after being immerged in water.
So much for calling for backup.
Probably just as well. He couldn’t prove that those guys had done anything wrong. It’d be their word against his and Elly’s.
Celestine. This tied back to her somehow.
How had those guys found him? They must’ve followed him from the coffeehouse.
But why had they waited so long to confront him? Why not do it in the time he was sitting at the marina, alone, waiting for Elly?
The cameras.
They’d been all over the place at the marina but not on the bike path. They hadn’t wanted any trace of what they were about to do.
Which probably meant that they’d never planned to let him live.
Just who the heck was Celestine anyway?
Maybe she was seeing one of those guys. Or maybe she was related to them. Either one could be cause for them to come after him.
As his car came into sight, he pulled his keys from his pocket.
His electronic key fob was probably fried, too. At least he had an actual key for his car so he could still operate it.
Water sloshed in his shoes with every step.
He couldn’t tell anyone what had happened today. Not Morgan or his family. No one.
He was half a step away from falling for a, well, mermaid with no tail.
Just where the heck did she come from, anyway?
That was one mystery he had a feeling he wouldn’t be solving anytime soon. Celestine Montoya, on the other hand, he could research.
He needed to know everything he could about her. Otherwise, this might not be the last time the Almas attacked him.
And next time, someone he loved might get caught in the crossfire.
₪ ₪ ₪
Montoya.
Zander stared at the report in front of him. Why he’d thought to check it he wasn’t sure, but it was right there, in a standard black font.
One of the guys who’d attacked him in the alley had been a Montoya. Carlos Montoya, to be exact.
Who may or may not be connected to Celestine. He didn’t have any proof either way.
But he needed to find some.
It all felt too inter-connected for them to be unrelated.
Mix in the attack earlier and it added up to something really, really bad.
By the time he’d driven home and changed, he knew it was too late to return to the pier. Those guys would be long gone.
So he’d gone and gotten a replacement phone instead, then come straight to the station to see what he could dig up on Celestine.
His search on Celestine Montoya hadn’t turned up anything relevant. No criminal record. His initial search hadn’t tied her to any criminal cases, either.
DMV records listed an address in the Pacific Heights district. He’d already made plans to drive by after leaving the station but he knew what he’d find. A large, well maintained older home on land that was worth a small fortune.
Celestine either had money or came from it. The big question was if the money was obtained through legal means.
Maybe Rafe would know something. Or be able to find out.
He grabbed his cell and punched in a text. Wanna grab a beer later? Life stinks. Girl troubles.
There. Now Rafe would know that it was personal and important.
The code, developed years ago when Rafe had first started feeding Zander info from the street, was designed to throw off anyone who might read the text. Wanna grab a beer later meant Zander was looking for help, life stinks meant the issue was important, and girl troubles indicated personal.
He’d never used the last one before.
The reply was instant. See you then.
Rafe may be into questionable things, but Zander could always count on him to come through.
Hopefully this would be no exception. Zander needed everything he could learn about Celestine Montoya.
₪ ₪ ₪
The bar bustled around Zander, a cacophony of noises that sounded like beautiful chaos. It was early evening and the place was packed.
This was his scene, the place he fit in. Wasn’t it?
Then why did he feel so ill at ease? Why did Elly’s warning haunt his thoughts?
Wait. Maybe her warning had been related to the incident earlier, in which case he was in the clear.
Something told him that wasn’t it. The way she’d said it, the foreboding, hinted at something much larger and more ominous than just a confrontation with three guys.
A confrontation she had easily and successfully ended.
A beer condensed on the table in front of him. Untouched.
Funny how his earlier resolve to stop drinking had vanished the second he walked through the pub’s door. As soon as he’d sat down, he’d ordered the beer.
He craved it. Yet every time he’d reached for it, Elly’s words ran through his head. Something bad is coming.
How could he both believe and doubt her at the same time?
Drinking is hurting you.
Shut up, Elly.
Long term consequences.
He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig, as if the very action would show her she was wrong, as if she would somehow know he was choosing to disregard her warning and would stop running through his head.
The beer sloshed down cool, yet it was strangely unsatisfying.
He spotted Rafe entering the bar.
Rafe glanced around then sauntered over. “Yo, man. How’s it hangin’?”
The words, said loudly enough for the people nearby to hear, helped solidify Rafe’s act.
Zander bit back a grin. Rafe should’ve gone on to Hollywood. The guy had skills.
Extending his hand, they slid fingers, then fist bumped.
“Just unwinding from the weekend, you know?” He followed Rafe�
�s example, speaking a little louder than usual but not so loud that it would draw undue attention.
“Well, lemme grab a beer, then we can catch up. You can tell me all about that hot chick of yours.”
In spite of the code, Zander couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe was envisioning a very specific hot chick.
And if asked, he had no idea what he’d tell Rafe about her.
He sure as heck couldn’t tell Rafe about her breathing underwater and predicting the future. Rafe would probably have him committed.
Maybe he should be. The whole thing was nuts.
Rafe slid onto the bench opposite him. Foam sloshed over the rim of the mug and splashed onto the table, but Rafe didn’t seem to notice. “So? Tell me all about this chick.”
The adjacent table was empty and no one was close enough to hear over the din of clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and rock music, but Zander dropped his voice anyway. “Not why I’m here.”
“I know that, dude, but I ain’t seen you look at a girl since Laura so I gotta know more ‘bout this one.”
“She’s not… it’s not like that.”
Rafe paused with the glass inches from his lips. “Maybe it oughta be.”
“It’s not that simple, man.” Zander sighed. “She’s different. Really into God and all that stuff.”
Rafe swallowed the swig he’d just downed and set the glass aside. “So? She’s entitled to her beliefs. Don’t mean you gotta jump on board.”
No, it didn’t. But there was so much more to her than Rafe knew or than he cared to share.
Zander glanced around to make sure no one could overhear before proceeding. “Actually, I’m here about Celestine Montoya.”
Rafe flinched.
He tried to hide it, but they’d been friends too long for Zander to miss the subtle move. “What?”
Rafe ran his fingers through his straight black hair. “Nothin’. I don’t know that name.”
Was Rafe lying to him? After all these years? “Come on, man. I saw you. The name means something.”
Rafe leaned his back against the wall, brought his leg up and put his hand on top of his knee, and surveyed the bar. The picture of nonchalance, except for the darting eyes and tight lips.
Yeah, that name meant something all right. “It’s about Jave. He was dating her. She… she had his kid.”
Rafe finally looked at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I met with her earlier. There are some things that don’t add up. Then three guys jumped me this afternoon and pretty much told me to stay away. And I know she’s related to an Alma guy who tried to kill me.” Actually, he wasn’t sure of that last one, but the resignation on Rafe’s face confirmed the suspicion. “Who is she?”
Rafe sighed. “We could be killed for talking about this.”
“Then we better keep it quiet and hurry up.”
“Look, I don’t know who she is. But the Montoyas are tight in the Almas. Rumor has it that they might be the family behind it all, but no one’s saying for sure.”
Behind the Almas. Whoa.
Jave was dating the cartel’s daughter? “I got Carlos in a cell right now. Any chance he’s the brains behind it all?”
Rafe snorted. “That dude’s a tool. No way he’s running things.”
“Then who is?”
“No one’s sayin’. But it ain’t Carlos.”
What were the chances Celestine knew nothing about the family’s gang ties?
Slim. The woman was smart, much too smart to not know what was going on with her own family.
But was she a part of it? Or did she separate herself from the rest of her family in that area?
The way she ordered Damien around earlier flickered into his mind.
She’d presented herself with authority. And Damien, a ranking Alma member, had responded.
But did that automatically mean she was a part of the Almas?
Didn’t matter. If she knew about it but said nothing, she was still an accomplice to whatever they did.
“Know how Celestine is connected to Carlos?”
Sister? Cousin? Wife?
What if Jave had been sleeping with another man’s wife? That would’ve given someone a strong motive for murder.
He should know. After Laura…
“No idea.” Rafe’s flat tone said that he didn’t care to find out either.
“Any chance she’s not linked to the Almas?” Nope. He knew the answer even as he asked it. Too many coincidences for her not to be involved somehow. Besides, strong gang ties could account for the fancy house with heavy security that he’d driven by on his way here.
Not to mention the three Almas who’d tried to kill him and Elly.
“If you’re a Montoya in this town, you’re also Alma. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t ask around about any of them. No one messes with the Montoyas.”
If they were behind the Almas, then maybe it was time someone did mess with them. “This could have something to do with Jave’s murder. I’ve gotta see it through.”
Rafe shook his head slowly. “I get it and you know I’d do most anything for you, but this? It’s suicide, man. Just ask out that hot chick and move on with your life.”
Move on? Abandon Jave’s murder and any hope of bringing his killer to justice? Not a chance.
But the message got through loud and clear. He was on his own for this one.
₪ ₪ ₪
“How can I help you, hon?” Betty, the little white-haired lady who seemed to be in charge around the youth center, gestured to a worn sofa.
Ray eased his six-foot frame down onto the sagging cushions. “I’m a counselor at the walk-in clinic and I’ve been working with a girl who frequents here.”
He paused.
For effect, nothing else. He’d rehearsed this story before coming in so he knew just what to say. “Frankly, I’m very concerned about her. She mentioned a volunteer here, Elly something, and I was hoping to speak to her.”
“Oh dear.” Betty folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Elly’s not here today. Who is the girl? Maybe I can help.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that information. Privacy laws. Honestly, I could lose my license for talking to Elly, but I don’t know what else to do. The patient has spoken so fondly of Elly that I feel like she may be the only one who can get through to her. Would you happen to have her contact information?”
His tone was so convincing that he almost bought it. No wonder Betty was eating up his story.
Now the only question that remained was if Betty’s concern for the fictitious child would override her concern for Elly’s privacy.
“Oh dear.” Betty repeated, her fingers clenching around the hem of her sweater. “I don’t have any way of reaching her.”
He tried not to frown. “Surely you make volunteers fill out some kind of application? Especially since they work with children?”
A small huff escaped Betty. “Of course we do. It’s just that Elly doesn’t have a phone.”
No phone? In this day and age? Who was she kidding? “None at all?”
“No. She said she doesn’t need one. Elly lives very simply. More so than anyone I’ve ever known. All she needs is basic sustenance and God. Lots and lots of God.”
So Elly was one of those religious types.
He could use that to his advantage. Experience had told him that those kinds of people were easily manipulated if they thought he was one of them. “God’s something we could all use more of, isn’t He?”
Betty’s eyes twinkled. “Now that sounds like something she’d say.”
He felt Betty studying him and didn’t miss the way she assessed his bare ring finger. No doubt she was hearing wedding bells when she really should be hearing the sound of her precious Elly’s funeral.
“I can have her call you the next time she comes in.”
Not acceptable. Who knew when that would be?
“I’m not sure this p
atient has that long.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked up at her. “I really should’ve been down here immediately after she left my office on Friday, but, well, as I said, this is a breach of ethics and it took me this long to decide it was absolutely necessary.”
Betty’s already white face went a shade lighter. “Oh dear.”
Was that all this woman knew how to say?
He drew in an even breath. “Normally, I’d never ask this, but…” He paused again, feeling Betty hanging on his words, “do you have her address? Maybe I could catch up with her in time to save a life.”
“Oh dear.”
If she said that one more time, he just might pull his knife. Then she’d really have something to oh dear about.
“She doesn’t really have an address.”
What? Was she homeless?
Could Betty be lying to protect Elly? He studied Betty’s face. Steady eyes, concerned frown. Everything about her oozed sincerity.
“How can she not have an address?” Irritation crept into his words.
He tempered his frustration. He was supposed to be gravely concerned about an at-risk kid. Anger wouldn’t help his cause.
“She lives on a boat. I think she has it moored in a marina somewhere…”
Great. Not like San Fran wasn’t surrounded with marinas. And that was assuming she was even in San Francisco proper and not an outlying city.
Had this whole venture been a colossal waste of his time?
Wait. Background checks had addresses attached to them. “Didn’t you run a background check on her?”
“Well of course I did!” Indignation lined the words, as though Betty was appalled that he could think anything less. “She uses a mailing address but it’s not where she lives.”
Naturally.
First he left a witness, now some do-gooder had gotten involved and neither had an actual address.
When had things gotten so difficult?
He’d gotten all the information he could. Time to get out of here.
Besides, the horrendous tweed jacket he’d donned for his disguise was getting itchy and the fake glasses were sliding down his nose.
He pushed the glasses back up. “Well, when you see her, can you have her call me? I just hope we’re not too late.”
Silent is the Grave Page 20
