The Chase

by DiAnn Mills

  “You bet. I’ll meet you at Papadeaux’s at six.”

  Kariss slipped her phone back into her purse, allowing the weight of what Mom really meant to slowly dissipate. Someday she’d return to church, after she’d lived a little. The rules and “Thou shalt nots” were too confining.

  Saturday she planned to attend a meeting with the Story Sisters, a writing group that had become her lifeblood. She’d participated for a couple of years and loved to hear about their writing projects and adventures. Seeing familiar faces and sharing about the craft always gave her a perk. She desperately needed encouragement from fellow writers, and the sisterhood would motivate her to convince Meredith that changing genres was a good move. Kariss didn’t plan to reveal her writing project to the group. She simply needed to breathe the same air as those who often faced challenges with their writing.

  Just as she pulled off the 610 loop her phone jingled again, and she answered before checking the caller.

  “Do you mean I actually have the great Kariss Walker, bestselling, award-winning author?” Sarcasm rippled through Meredith’s tone.

  “I apologize for not returning your call.”

  “Lately all I get is a recording.”

  Kariss moistened her lips. “I did my best to explain how I feel when you were here in Houston.”

  “Useless tripe.”

  The woman could crumble a cement wall with her cutting tone. “I feel like a redundant fool here, but I don’t know how else to communicate my desire to write this novel.”

  “Try me, because your actions are not conducive to my caliber of writers. The Rockford Literary Agency handles only bestselling writers who adhere to my career plan for their lives. Writers stand in line for my wisdom and consideration for me to represent them. I’ve worked hard for you in developing a platform, and what have you done in return?”

  “Excuse me. I believe you’ve received a hefty percentage of my advances and royalty checks.”

  “But you’re high maintenance. I had to beg for the country’s best image coach to redo your wardrobe, makeup, teach you how to speak—”

  Fury danced in Kariss’s veins. “That wasn’t me. I became a part of your agency because I already had those essentials from my TV days, including a platform. May I suggest you have my file in front of you before you place your next call?”

  “Whatever. This call is to inform you that I must have the new book proposal in my in-box within twenty-four hours.”

  Kariss acknowledged her one and only position. “Then we no longer have a professional relationship. I’ll fax the termination of your representation tonight.”

  “Jo-Jack has given us good leads before.” Tigo put his truck into park and shut off the engine. Here in his home’s garage, he had a few moments, but he needed to cut Ryan’s call short. “The proof will be in what he brings in. He claims that Cheeky thinks he’s working against us. Hard to say.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  “Play it from the office. Come up with a different disguise. Right now I think they’re looking for a cop. No point in wasting time thinking about what information they extracted from Candy.”

  “Extracted is a good way to put it.” Ryan’s voice held no humor. The Arroyos beheaded their last victim. Candy had been lucky.

  “I … I looked into the whereabouts of her kids. Living with another hooker. Foster care looks like the best option.”

  “You’re involved again.”

  “I owe Candy. Her kids meant a lot to her. You know me, I have priorities. I’ve contacted CPS to see about a good foster home. And I deposited the cash due her into an account to be used for her kids. Not sure my call did any good, but I tried. I have more than one reason to nail Cheeky.”

  “Tigo, none of us want your priorities to get you killed. You’d better change your MO before you venture into that snake pit again.”

  The comment irritated him, though he understood Ryan’s caution. “I know how to be careful.”

  Cheeky paced the floor of the bar, empty this time of day except for Froggie, his lead man. He swallowed a gulp of Buchanan’s that only fueled his fury. Two of his men were dead, key men whom he depended on. They had been stupid but fearless, and that’s what he needed to keep his organization on top and making money. Candy had already paid for her betrayal, now the policía responsible would pay with his blood. But Cheeky had to think his way through his next move, play out all the scenarios. What he did best.

  “The man who killed our men,” Cheeky said. “Do you have a name?”

  “Not yet. Word’s out. Policía, but I don’t know which one.”

  Cheeky had plans to move up in his world, and his second cousin held a prominent role in Mexico’s largest cartel. Loyalty paved the way, and Cheeky had positioned himself repeatedly to get the job done. Not once had he failed. Smuggling weapons for his cousin’s cartel ranked high on the list, while he maneuvered wealthy professionals toward his cousin for a web of white-collar crime. Drugs and prostitution brought in its share of profits — all looked good.

  Soon Cheeky would have the respect he deserved. His cousin’s cartel was observing how he handled the Houston policía, the Skulls who bragged about taking over the city, and his own people, all while making millions. The Arroyos understood they eliminated the competition and took risks. No one got in Cheeky’s business.

  “What do you want me to do, boss?” Froggie said.

  Cheeky studied the man who had more guts than brains. “I want this man stopped.”

  “I’ll find him,” Froggie said. “¿Quiero que lo desparezca?”

  Cheeky took another drink. “Do it. Now.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Two weeks passed and the FBI had learned nothing to aid them in solving Cherished Doe’s death. Optimism trickled down the drain, and Kariss’s hopes fell with her disillusion.

  She worked on turning the facts about her book project into fiction by tweaking here and there. Her male hero began looking more and more like Tigo. Acting like him too. But the female agent sent vague messages. Every time Kariss sat her down to interview her, she turned her face and refused to respond. Obviously Kariss had upset her. Stubborn characters could be difficult until the writer discovered their true motivation.

  To expand her research, Kariss introduced herself to a woman agent by the name of Hillary Wallace, who was approachable and enjoyed lattes. However, the woman was as closed mouth as Tigo and Ryan when it came to revealing behind-the-scenes information. The problem with Hillary was that she wanted to write a novel too, but she had no skills. None. Kariss enjoyed mentoring new writers, but Hillary’s manuscript would take a decade of work. And every time Kariss saw the woman agent, she wanted to know if Kariss had read her latest chapter. That task had become excruciatingly painful. Instead of looking for Hillary, Kariss had begun to dodge her.

  In the midst of brooding about no longer having representation by the most prestigious literary agency in the country and the unlikelihood of Cherished Doe being solved, Kariss decided to simply write her novel. After all, a writer best expresses herself when she is in the midst of creating. And Kariss refused to dwell on her current publisher’s disinterest in suspense.

  Tigo approached her from his cubicle. “Univision scheduled their Cherished Doe documentary for this Friday night.”

  She’d nearly forgotten the Spanish program. “What time?”

  “Ten o’clock and the program repeats at one a.m.”

  “Have you seen what they’ve put together?”

  “No. But their excellent programming is why I haven’t given up. Aquí y Ahora reaches a wide Spanish-speaking audience.”

  She sensed her heart speeding toward hope again. “These are the people who are most likely to have answers. I shouldn’t have gotten so down.” She smiled at him. “My optimism is up again.”

  “Glad it takes so little to make you perky.”

  Perky? Like she was a shih tzu begging for attention? How could one
man be so exasperating? Granted, she’d almost tripped over the edge of self-pity, but being described as perky didn’t help.

  Tigo saw he’d frustrated Kariss one more time. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but it happened at frequent intervals. Her never-ending chatter hammered against his brain, but he was learning to manage it. Her wit and warmth gave her a few extra points on the personality chart. The news-reporter – turned – women’s-fiction-writer – turned – suspense-writer was quite intelligent. That added a few additional points.

  Not sure what his point system meant anyway. Why was he keeping score?

  And she did bring him Starbucks every morning with a smile. Perky. His description fit, but she obviously didn’t think so. He’d ask how she preferred him to describe her, but that might not be smart.

  Snatching five DVDs and his noise-canceling headphones, he walked back to her cubicle.

  “If you’d like to view the networks’ news releases again, you can use my headphones. I have a meeting and a few phone calls to make. Just return them when you’re done.”

  Her dark eyes grew larger. It took so little to please this woman. “Thanks.” She cast an admiring glance at his headphones. “I like this brand. And I did want to look at these DVDs with an objective point of view. Perhaps my fiction mind will see a plot thread.”

  “How’s the story going?”

  “Feels like a drought.”

  “Now you have a little time to work on it.” And he could work on the string of leads their new informant had provided. Much of it looked bogus, but he wanted to check out a few tips with Ryan before calling Jo-Jack. Now that he had distracted Kariss, he had time — quiet and uninterrupted.

  “Don’t forget I want to be in on the discussion with Ryan about the gun smugglers.”

  Tigo inwardly groaned. Not if he and Ryan had their meeting without her knowledge.

  Once he’d examined Jo-Jack’s leads, including a gun deal supposedly going down on Sunday night, he made his way to Ryan’s cubicle, which was on his left side, while Kariss worked on his right.

  “Did your wife let you out of the house?” Ryan tilted back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head.

  “That’s not funny. I’m going to send Kariss your way. Let you answer her questions.”

  “Give her a break, Tigo. She’s smart.”

  “Don’t I know it. Can’t dance around anything.”

  “She’s a writer. Posing questions is how she learns. Be careful. You’ll probably find yourself in her next book.”

  Tigo pointed his pen at Ryan. “She loves bald men.”

  “Right. You’re the one she spends all of her time with. Then she makes notes.”

  “We’ve had that talk,” Tigo said. “And I told her to keep me out of her stories. Right now she’s watching the DVDs of the Cherished Doe press coverage, which gives us time to talk. Teasing aside, it was her persistence that moved me to talk to Linc about reopening the case.” He wanted the case solved, not for Kariss or himself, but for the little girl in an unmarked grave. “I hope Univision flushes something out.”

  “The Hispanic community is family oriented, but they’re also loyal to each other. However, I think if anyone recognizes the little girl, they’ll come forward.”

  “And I’ve got to let go of the case and be patient.” He hesitated. “Let me make sure Kariss is behaving herself.” Tigo slipped over to her cubicle. She inserted a disc into her computer and adjusted the headphones.

  He returned, convinced his and Ryan’s conversation would be private. “I wanted to talk to you about Jo-Jack.”

  Ryan nodded. “All right. What do you think about his information?”

  “He thinks we’re stupid for trying to stop the Arroyos. He says they have too much money behind them. That we have no idea who all’s involved.”

  “So we’re supposed to back off like scared girls?”

  “Right. I’m going to call him once we’re finished. I texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. We need a face-to-face. I want to tell him he’s useless to us unless he can come up with better info.” Tigo tapped his pen on the desktop. “I wish I could go undercover. But not while I’m chained to Miss Walker.”

  “Why does that make a difference when most of our undercover work is done at night? Tell her she stays here. It’s too dangerous, just like Linc told her.”

  The night work meant time away from his mother, whose days were numbered. But then…. “Now is not a good time.”

  “All you need are tattoos and a bald head.” Ryan chuckled.

  “You fit the scenario better than I do.”

  Tigo considered telling him about his mother’s condition. But that was personal. Ryan knew his mother lived with him but not about the cancer. “Still thinking about posing as a buyer. Minimum exposure. With Candy dead, the case isn’t going anywhere, and since I don’t know what they might have gotten out of her, infiltrating the gang with my old disguise doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m repeating myself, but a new look has more potential of keeping you alive.”

  Tigo grinned. “Before I commit to that, I’d like to listen to a surveillance recording made when Candy was alive. The background noise was definitely a bar, and I’d like to do a sound recognition on the voices. I want to narrow down the location.”

  Tigo sensed Kariss standing behind them. “I thought you were viewing the press coverage. You couldn’t have viewed all of those this quickly.”

  “I noted the differences from each station. I wondered if your and Ryan’s discussion was off limits.”

  “It is. But I need to listen to something. Go ahead and fire questions at Ryan while I locate a recording. Makes him feel important.”

  “Never mind. Nothing personal, Ryan, but I have plenty of work to do.”

  She handed Tigo the headphones, and he returned to his desk. After adjusting them, he pushed in the DVD. Although the picture played, no sound came through. He ejected the disc and tried again. Same problem. Yanking off the headphones, he tossed them on the desk.

  “Problem?” Kariss peered at him from the doorway.

  “Did you have any trouble with the headphones?”

  “No. Maybe it’s your—” She drew in a breath. “If they aren’t working, it might be my fault.”

  This woman would be the death of him. “Why? What happened?”

  “Remember I told you about my problem with wearing a watch?”

  He squinted. “Are you telling me that you just destroyed my headphones because of the ‘too much electricity in your body’ syndrome?”

  “Possibly.”

  He stood, fighting back the continuous annoyance. “Don’t you think it would have been courteous to tell me this before you used them?”

  “Honestly, Tigo, I forgot. I’ll get you a new set.”

  “Gee, thanks, Kariss. But your generosity doesn’t help me now.” His cell phone rang. No name read across his caller ID. This had better be good considering the mood he was in. He pressed on the connection. “Santiago here.”

  “It’s Jo-Jack.” The man’s raspy voice sounded like he needed to clear his throat.

  “Hold on a minute.” Tigo hurried out of his cubicle and into the empty hallway. “What have you got, because so far nothing you’ve given me has been worth a dime.”

  “But this is,” Jo-Jack whispered. Was the quiet tone for Tigo’s or Jo-Jack’s benefit? “Took me time to find out what I wanted. But it was worth it. Got a dealer’s name.”

  “You made the same claim last Saturday.”

  “But this guy operates out of a fancy office in the Galleria. Lots of connections.”

  “Who?”

  “How much is it worth to you?”

  “I paid you plenty for bad information. Give me the name, and if it pans out, then we’ll talk about more business.”

  “Can’t talk right now. Too many people around. Meet me at Candy’s corner at two-thirty.”

  “Where are you calling me fr
om?”

  “Pay phone. Lost my cell.”

  “That’s the cost of doing business. Get another phone. Text me if you remember the name.”

  “All right. What I have is good. Be here. It’s worth it.”

  Tigo slipped his phone back into his pocket. Playing games was not his style, and for all he knew Cheeky had put Jo-Jack up to the call. But he’d been reliable in the past, and Tigo needed a break.

  CHAPTER 12

  At two-thirty p.m., Tigo and Ryan drove to Candy’s old corner and parked on the opposite side of the street. Since Tigo’s tank now had a wanted sign, he’d picked up a fifteen-year-old Chevy Impala to drive to this part of town. Both men wore torn jeans and T-shirts, but Tigo had added glasses and a baseball cap. He exited the car and nodded at Jo-Jack across the street.

  Tigo scanned the area before stepping into a drugstore and heading to the magazine section, right where he could see the overhead mirror displaying who entered the store. He picked up a sports magazine and pretended interest. Jo-Jack joined him. Tigo could tell by the smell — a mix of a dirty body, bad sewage, and Snickers bars.

  “Were you followed?” Tigo pretended to read the magazine with one eye on the store’s mirror.

  “I’m smarter than Candy.” Jo-Jack turned a page of a magazine. “She stopped respecting the Arroyos.”

  “Is that what happened to her?”

  “She got too sure of herself. Thought the FBI could save her.”

  Guilt attempted to nail Tigo for Candy’s death, but he shoved it away. She knew what she’d been getting into. “What about you?”

  “As I said, I’m smarter. And I need the money.”

  “What do you have for me?”

  “The man you’re looking for goes by the name of Bat. He and Cheeky do a lot of business.”

  Must be a supplier. “Got a last name?”

  Jo-Jack shrugged. “Hey, I risked my neck to get this for you. I should have more after the weekend.”

  Candy had spoken about Bat, but Tigo hadn’t been able to dig up any more information. “Okay. We’re in business. Do you know who’s tipping us off about Arroyos’ transports?”