Blood Trails

by Diane Capri

  The Navigator had traveled five miles through traffic and approached the offices of Scarlett Investigations. Drake parked at the front curb. Flint and Scarlett climbed out and entered a much less ostentatious building than Shaw Tower. The low-rise brick structure had been constructed in the nineteenth century and housed only one tenant.

  Flint followed Scarlett into a conference room where multiple video screens, filled with images from Laura Oakwood’s past, lined one wall. She pulled up an old road map of the area surrounding the convenience store Oakwood had robbed back in late September 1989. At the time, the store was called Mildred’s Corner.

  Scarlett had said the intersection was nothing much back then, and she didn’t exaggerate. One lonely stretch of Texas blacktop crossed another without so much as a yield sign to mark the occasion. At least sixty miles from any real town in any direction. A few shacks dotted the dusty pastures along the roads.

  Yes, only a knowledgeable felon would expect to find anything worth stealing at Mildred’s Corner convenience store.

  Scarlett pointed toward the ugly building. “The big attraction back then must have been that tall rusty awning over the pumps that kept the sun off as long-haul truckers filled up with diesel.”

  “The faded sign promising ‘Cold Drinks’ inside didn’t hurt either.” But Flint was familiar with the area along that particular stretch of nothing, and Scarlett was, too.

  Long after the 1989 robbery, they’d met and spent eight years together in Bette Maxwell’s boarding school and foster home only ten miles north of that store. The Lazy M Ranch. He’d been eight when he arrived. Scarlett was ten and already the unchallenged queen of the place.

  He’d given no thought to Bette Maxwell over the past fifteen years. Back then, the land around her old ranch was dry and barren and the sun had burned his scalp mercilessly every day. He ran a palm over his head as if he could still feel the peeling skin.

  Scarlett’s fast search for hospitals within thirty miles showed three medical centers, but two had opened after 1994. Only one facility had served the community in 1989. Flint had done the same research earlier.

  “Do you know anyone who works at Central Branch Hospital?” Flint lowered his voice as if he might be overheard.

  Scarlett swept her premises for listening devices and employed the latest privacy technology, which was fine. Her business demanded no less.

  But she usually recorded everything that happened within these walls, and that wasn’t okay. No computer system in the world was hackproof. The entire US government couldn’t prevent hacking, even at the Pentagon.

  Men like Crane and Shaw could buy the best hackers in the world, if they needed to. The two goons would probably try to beat the information out of her instead.

  Either way, for Flint, silence was a better choice until he ran this one down himself.

  “Our question needs to be answered quickly, and we don’t have time to follow all the rules. We need a favor.” He didn’t say not to ask Shaw, but the command was implied.

  Scarlett folded her index finger and tapped her knuckle against her lip. Her gaze focused on the screens in front of her. Finally, she looked at Flint. “Maybe. Let me deal with it. We’ll find out. What else?”

  Another screen showed the crime scene and newspaper photos of Mildred’s Corner before and after the robbery. The police records were reasonably thorough for the time and place, Flint supposed.

  He’d seen the photos already. He’d noted the location of the bodies and the blood at the scene.

  The clerk had lied about what happened in at least one particular. The customer’s body, a woman slightly younger than the clerk, was found behind the counter. She wasn’t simply a bystander. What was she doing back there? But those lies might be irrelevant. He’d added them to his short list of leads. Leads he wouldn’t discuss here and now.

  Another screen displayed a photo montage of Laura Oakwood and Rosalio Prieto. Those had been in the files, too. A pretty young cheerleader. A handsome football player. Driver’s license and high school yearbook photos. They looked like a wholesome slice of Americana. Another lie.

  Flint looked away from the screens.

  The original medical file would be delivered to Drake before Flint returned to the Navigator. There were no copies of the file. Still, Scarlett would find out, somehow, that there’d been a baby born to Laura Oakwood at Central Branch Hospital six weeks before the robbery. If she didn’t figure it out for herself, then Flint would tell her. If the lead panned out, she’d need to know.

  The important thing was what Crane and Shaw would do with the knowledge once they acquired it.

  The baby-or-no-baby task would keep those watching Scarlett occupied and out of his way for a few hours. He glanced at the clock.

  “Where would a young woman fugitive without much money run to from that place, and how would she get away?” He slouched against the wall to watch her work through the problem.

  “In 1989?”

  “Right.”

  “It was a lot easier to get lost inside the US back then. No cell phones we could trace. Not much electronic anything, really. Easier to change her name, her appearance, and hide in plain sight. She’d have had to leave No-Man’s-Land, Texas, but it was totally doable.” Scarlett rested both hands on her hips, thinking.

  “You’ve found heirs no one else could locate inside the country before.” Flint shook his head. That answer didn’t feel right to him. “Shaw and Crane would have used their influence to find her inside the US. Could she hide from those two, even if she was in witness protection? Which she’s not, by the way. I checked.”

  “Not likely. I’ve got a team on the US angle already. We’ll keep looking. But let’s say she left the country.” Scarlett cocked her head, looking at the maps. “Mexico was the logical choice. Our Bonnie’s would-be Clyde, Rosalio Prieto, was the son of first-generation Mexican immigrants. He’d have been familiar with the country, fluent in Spanish. Mexico is close. The border is porous as hell, and it was worse in 1989. We’ve got two teams down there already.”

  Flint waited a bit longer. Mexico was the obvious answer. But it felt wrong. Too easy.

  Oakwood had avoided detection for a long time now. She deserved more credit. What he knew about her was limited. But she’d proved she was brave, smart, cautious, and clever. She wouldn’t have made a dumb mistake like running south all the way through Texas for the Mexican border, especially while lugging a baby, when she thought law enforcement was in hot pursuit.

  And even if she’d done a dumb thing like that, he was better off assuming otherwise.

  He’d yet to fail by overestimating his quarry, but he’d made the mistake of underestimating once before. Absently, he rubbed the long scar on his chest, evidence of what that particular mistake had cost him. It was a lesson he didn’t intend to repeat.

  “I guess Canada was an option. Long way to travel and she probably believed there was a manhunt going on for her at the time.” Scarlett’s tone became thoughtful. “She’d have had no way of knowing about the mix-up with the second gunman. Or the delay in identifying Prieto. She’d have been running full out, and running from here to Canada wouldn’t have been easy.” She paused and then nodded again like she’d made up her mind. “US or Mexico makes the most sense.”

  “Agreed.” Maybe for a single woman, Mexico might have made sense. Flint leaned deeper against the wall. But Oakwood was a new mother. Assuming she kept the baby, which he was betting she had, the baby would grow up. For starters, an Anglo child would have attracted undue attention at school or in any village south of the border in 1989. Oakwood would have considered all that, but Flint didn’t say any of it. “In Mexico, she’d be found. Arrested.”

  “But not extradited.” Scarlett’s eyebrows knitted above her nose. “Because she’d be subject to the death penalty in Texas for her part in the robbery, and Mexico wouldn’t send her back to that possibility.” She had always been stubborn once she latched onto something,
and she’d made up her mind about Mexico. “Texas could have waived the death penalty to get her back.”

  He said, “Not a chance in hell.”

  “So she escapes to Mexico and she’s gone forever.” Scarlett’s voice slowed as she walked through her thoughts. “Explains why no one has been able to find her.”

  “So far.” Flint grinned. “No one’s found her so far.”

  Scarlett paused, drew a deep breath into her lungs, and held it a second before she exhaled. “Mexico is a huge country. We’ve got barely two days to get this done. We’ve got to narrow our search.”

  “I have some ideas. Stay on both the US and Mexico options. Most likely answers are usually the right ones.” He pushed away from the wall. “But find out about the kid first. We might get lucky. The hospital should have a footprint, at least. There could be blood for DNA comparison once we find her, too, if we need to prove identity.” Flint walked toward the exit. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Briefly, he reconsidered telling Scarlett the rest of what he’d learned from the blood reports and the hospital files. No. Crane and Shaw were listening. And even if Shaw wasn’t listening, she’d report to him because he was her client.

  Besides, she’d pull the reports again and figure it out for herself soon enough.

  “I’ll call you. Get me the police reports. And find out about the kid.” He left the building. The Navigator was waiting at the curb.

  Crane’s land men were waiting at the Navigator. The two he’d left on the ground in his alley, up and on the hunt again now, too.

  Drake was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Maybe Earless and Baldy looked slightly worse in the sunlight after the alley fight, but they weren’t all that handsome to begin with. The extent of lingering damage, if any, was hard to quantify. Their gray suits were rumpled and dirt-stained. The Taser leads would have left marks on their fat necks, but from eight feet away Flint couldn’t see the vampire bites.

  Flint glanced around quickly. Few pedestrians sauntered along the sidewalk and vehicle traffic was light.

  Scarlett Investigations was located in a quiet section of Houston, where Scarlett’s business was known to law enforcement and allowed to operate under the radar. Her clients, some of them less than savory, came and went without attracting undue attention in this neighborhood.

  Police rarely bothered to circle the block. Surveillance was limited to Scarlett’s systems.

  In short, Flint was on his own, but things could be interrupted without warning at any moment. Far from ideal.

  He continued his steady stride toward the Navigator. “Step aside, gentlemen.”

  He’d bested these two twice and he could do it again. They were slow learners. For their first two encounters, he’d mistakenly assumed they were Shaw’s men. Now that he knew they weren’t, his options had expanded.

  “Right this way, Flint.” Baldy reached for the limo door and pulled it open like a well-paid doorman.

  They must have overpowered Drake somehow because he would never have allowed them anywhere near his Lincoln and remain vertical.

  Flint’s steady approach placed him fifteen feet from the Navigator.

  Baldy made a sweeping gesture with his open palm.

  Earless spoke. “After you.”

  His voice was higher than Flint remembered. Squeaky, almost. Flint narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. Both of them were way too old to be sporting that much acne on their puffy faces. Which probably meant steroids. Both were abusers. Maybe for a long time.

  A lucky break. Flint ran through the options in his head while he pressed forward without a millisecond’s hesitation.

  Flint scanned the area. No matter how quiet things were on the street right now, it didn’t seem prudent to take them out here on the sidewalk in front of Scarlett’s office in broad daylight. And if he did get rid of them now, Crane would only find new mercenaries to take their places. Better ones, presumably. At least he recognized these two.

  “Where’s my driver?”

  Earless pointed an elbow toward the back of the Navigator. “Taking a nap.”

  “We got off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid.” Flint stopped walking two feet beyond arm’s reach. He shook his head in mock apology.

  Earless breathed easier. Baldy’s shoulder tension relaxed slightly.

  “I talked to Crane. You’re land men and he’s your boss, right?” It was a guess. But since Shaw had disavowed them, Crane became the most logical puppet master by default.

  Earless cleared his throat. He folded his hands in front of his ample abdomen. “Crane’s our client.”

  Flint shrugged, suggesting clients and bosses were one and the same, necessary evils the world over.

  “There’s plenty of money here, Flint, and not much time. We should work together.” Baldy’s tone was high and whiny, like a teenager cajoling his parents for the car keys. “Make sure we keep Oakwood away from Shaw until the time runs out. Crane pays when he says he will. No need to get greedy. We’re willing to share if you are.”

  “So you’ve found Oakwood, then?” Flint narrowed his gaze behind the sunglasses. “Got her hidden somewhere?”

  “Yes.” Baldy’s gaze darted to Earless for the briefest of moments, which told Flint all he needed to know.

  “To do my job, I’d need to find where you’ve hidden her. Then grab her away from you. Then get her to sign everything over to Shaw. That about it?”

  Earless smiled like a hungry hyena. “You could try to do that, sure.”

  “Or I can agree to help you out, lay low, and get paid anyway? You’d give me a third of your fee, right?” They exchanged glances. Flint pressed his lips together as if he were seriously considering the offer. Finally, he nodded. Once. Decisively. “Yours could be a better plan, given the time constraints. But I don’t do business with people I don’t know.”

  “Fair enough.” Earless pulled out a brown glossy business card and handed it to Flint. Shiny gold print formed a bold logo. “SW.” A smaller cursive font declared, “Share the Wealth, Inc.” Flint flipped the card over and read two names and two phone numbers on the back.

  “Which one of you is Dwayne Paxton?”

  Earless said, “That would be me.”

  “Marcel Trevor over here,” Baldy said.

  Flint nodded and slipped the card into his pocket, careful not to disturb the fingerprints until they could be lifted and run through the databases. These two looked like ex-cons. They’d be in some criminal database somewhere—and probably not for loitering around limos on Sunday afternoon.

  Flint noticed a line of steady traffic from the church down the street. A gaggle of high school boys with a basketball were approaching from the south, horsing around.

  “We’re starting to attract attention here. Tell you what. I’ve got plenty of work to do and you’ve got the Oakwood problem solved. I don’t need to tangle with you guys.” Flint nodded again. He put a friendly expression on his face and shrugged. “I’ll stay out of your way. You’ve beat me to the prize and you’ll give me a third of your fee. Seems fair. I get paid for doing nothing. Your client offered me the same deal, so he’s okay with the arrangement. There’s no problem as far as I’m concerned.”

  He cocked his head. He’d never give anybody a third of his fee. The idea was laughable. These two wouldn’t give him 33 percent either. All he was trying to do right now was get away clean.

  “Fair enough.” Trevor slammed the limo door closed and stood away from the Navigator on the sidewalk.

  “Works for us,” Paxton said.

  “Okay. But don’t tell Crane. Or Shaw. Or anyone else. We need to make it look like I’m still on the job. I’ll go through a few motions. Places you’ve already been. Stuff you’ve already done. Otherwise, Shaw will just hire someone else to replace me, right? You’ll have to go through all of this again.” Flint slipped his hands into his pockets and moved tow
ard the back of the Navigator. He glanced into the back window. Drake lay flat on his back, eyes closed, still breathing.

  Several lines of traffic had come up now, as if more people were leaving some sort of event farther south. Flint opened the hatch, checked Drake’s pulse, which was strong, patted his pockets, and located the spare remote access system fob.

  “You know how to reach me,” Flint said to Paxton and Trevor as he slammed the hatch and waved. He walked between passing vehicles, around the left side of the Navigator, and opened the driver’s door. “I’ve got your numbers now. I’ll stay out of your way.”

  Paxton said, “We’ll call you to check in from time to time.”

  “Perfect.” Flint slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors. The powerful engine fired up immediately when he pushed the start button. He waved again and pulled the Navigator away from the curb, headed west.

  When he glanced into the rearview mirror, Paxton and Trevor were gone.

  They’d been watching Scarlett, and they’d probably return to their task. They expected her to report to Shaw, and those reports would keep them up to date on Flint’s progress.

  They hadn’t found Oakwood. They expected him to. But they planned to prevent her from signing her rights over to Shaw once Flint found her.

  They weren’t geniuses. They were experts at self-enrichment. It was the right play. They’d already tried to find Oakwood and failed. If Flint found her and cut them out, they’d lose out completely. Not acceptable. If they followed Flint and pushed him aside once he found Oakwood, they would win.

  He was feeling better about keeping the info about the baby from Scarlett. He’d keep Scarlett in the dark as he needed to during the rest of the hunt.

  But she’d be spitting mad when she found out.

  There would be consequences. He winced.

  Remember to wear your body armor when you tell her. He rubbed the scar she’d left on his chest all those years ago.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Drake woke up a few minutes into the drive to Mildred’s Corner. He sat straight up in the back of the Navigator, one hand held to the side of his neck. “What the hell is going on here?”