by DiAnn Mills
She closed her eyes to recall everything she remembered about the man who’d escaped the firefight at the hospital. Firefight. A word she’d used but not experienced. She sat with Tigo and a woman artist who would sketch a likeness of the shooter from her description.
“Aside from the bandana-covered head and tattooed forearms, he was muscular. He had thick biceps liked he worked out every day.” She took a deep breath. “If I give you wrong information, then the wrong man could be arrested.”
“An Arroyo initiation means breaking the law, and the man’s most likely in the system. So we’re good there,” Tigo said.
His words soothed her frazzled nerves, assuring her she wouldn’t be incriminating anyone who was innocent.
“What else do you remember?”
“His face was rather long for a Hispanic, and he had a scar running down the right side of his face near his ear. His eyes were wide set. No eyebrows. I made it a point to memorize their facial features.”
“Smart move. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Tigo said. “Neither I nor Ryan got a good look at him. Anything distinct about the chin, jawline, or width of the nose?”
“A wide nose. Reminded me of a bulldog.”
“Good job,” Tigo said. “Did you hear a name?”
“No. They said whoever they were after was still in surgery. And they talked about getting the job done, and the man they were after was a dead man. One of them didn’t like hospitals because of the cops. Not sure that’s in the right order. I was pretty shaken up at the time. A comment was made about how the victim shouldn’t have claimed to sleep with his sister. And they thought he’d bleed out.”
“What happened after that?”
“I texted you. Gathered up my things and when I walked past them, I saw you and Ryan.”
Tigo turned his attention to the artist’s sketch. “Run it through and see what you get.”
Kariss watched, fascinated. She’d seen this kind of work on TV shows but had never experienced it. She focused on helping the agents and not her own fear. Had to get past the fiction world she created and focus on reality.
The woman pressed a key, and two photos filled the screen.
“That’s him.” Kariss pointed to the man she’d seen a short time ago.
“That’s a man with a record for leaving no live bodies behind.” Tigo sat back in his chair. “He torched a man at a bar.”
“That’s not comforting. Who is he?” She kept her hands folded in her lap so he wouldn’t see her trembling.
“Froggie Diego. Wanted for murder, rape, and armed robbery. He’s also the one we believe carried out the beheading of a rival gang member. One of Cheeky’s key men.”
She sensed her eyes widening, and her pulse began to race. “He … he sounds like a horrible man. Does he normally stay on his side of town?”
“He goes where a job needs to be done, and Ben Taub has been the scene of violent crimes more than once. Understand he does what he’s told.”
“Are you deliberately trying to scare me?”
“Is it working? I’ve been trying to run you out of Houston since we walked to the hospital parking lot.”
He’d nearly succeeded, but she’d never let him know. “I’m fine. I’ll simply be aware of the company I keep.”
“What if he finds out who you are and decides to make a home visit?”
“I live in a gated community.”
“That would never stop an Arroyo.”
“I’m not budging.”
“Does anything scare you?”
Yes, but it was more in line with a nightmare that mirrored the past. She bit into her quivering lip. “I’m in this for as long as it takes. In my opinion, I’m safer here than anywhere else.”
Tigo spent the morning of the Fourth of July with his mother before heading to a special-event detail at Memorial Park. While people picnicked, played games, and waited for a concert by the Houston Symphony to be followed by fireworks, he’d be looking for possible bombs. Ever since 9/11, the FBI attended large events to ensure the safety of the people. Sometimes extra agents were called in from other cities.
Until it was time for him to leave, he’d sit at his mother’s bedside, scrolling through secured and non-secured sites that might have any information about the Arroyos’ dealings. YouTube had two videos about the gang. One dealt with an execution — a beheading of a rival gang member, a key man in the Skulls. Another was a party where faces were blocked. Lots of talk there, and he guessed Cheeky was among them.
A familiar woman sat in the background. He stilled the frame and confirmed it was Candy, the petite beauty, now gone, leaving two orphaned kids behind. This proved her claims and information had always been right on.
The voices in the video could be used to track down key people. But identifying members wasn’t the real problem. The authorities needed to make arrests. The gang members hid like roaches, coming out at night to forage, then scattering when morning broke the horizon. If one of them was being investigated, he went esconder — isolated from the others until things settled down.
The Arroyos had declared war on anyone carrying a badge. Much like the cartels in Mexico.
Candy had been good about wearing a recorder, and the ATF agents had been successful in thwarting a few shipments, but Tigo wanted more. The Arroyos were working with someone who provided guns. Someone who covered his tracks.
Kariss had nearly gotten herself killed in a firefight. She’d held up better than most men. Much better. Although the woman drove him crazy, she had strength … and courage. Danger stalked her, but she hadn’t voiced it like he expected, although he’d seen the terror in her eyes. He hoped the Arroyo who ran was more concerned with saving his own skin than finding out her name. Tigo cringed at the damage the media could have done. They’d have played right into the shooter’s hands with a photo and name.
What about Mike McDougal, the reporter who claimed he and Kariss had history? Tigo wanted to think he’d conjured up that line, but obviously it was true. How close were they? And did he even want to know?
Tigo laid the laptop aside. On holidays, he dwelled more on his lonely existence. That aspect of his lifestyle hadn’t changed since he left college. Old friends had families, and he didn’t fit. Couldn’t have an intelligent conversation when he wasn’t married or didn’t have kids. Their problems were way out of his zone. None of them were caretakers for aging or ill parents. So he turned down invitations, refused blind dates, and dreaded holidays — grim reminders of his miserable personal life.
He stiffened, as though his mother could read his thoughts. She’d lived the same type of life for him, her every breath for Tigo. She mirrored her belief about children being a gift and a culture’s future. He could do no less for her, not because of obligation or a skewed sense of responsibility, but because he loved her.
A text came in from Jo-Jack. The man was scared and wondering where he could go once the hospital released him. Right now police were giving him 24/7 protection. Tigo typed a reply.
THAT’S HANDLED. SAFE HOUSE IN DALLAS.
At least tucked away, Jo-Jack had a chance of staying alive until arrests were made and he could testify. Except the Arroyos who’d beaten him were probably watching the hospital. Tigo wouldn’t put it past any of them to fire on an FBI transport vehicle. The move would need to happen at night. Probably a helicopter lift made to look like a life flight. In essence, it would be.
CHAPTER 18
Monday morning, every vehicle in Kariss’s rearview mirror was a potential killer. Her imagination spun in a blur, and her stomach threatened to reject breakfast. She wished her Jaguar was a tank, then she might feel safe. But the flip side — leaving the city — was not an option. She’d never been a runner, and she wasn’t about to start now.
A vehicle eased up beside her on the highway … a pickup truck filled with Hispanic workers. She gripped the steering wheel as though it could save her from an assailant.
Calm down, Kari
ss.
The Arroyos had no idea who she was or where she lived. At least she wanted to believe so.
Once she made it to the FBI office, her habit of making a list of what needed to be accomplished for the week amounted to a blank screen on her laptop. She couldn’t concentrate on her writing or the questions she wanted to pose to Tigo. Her fears about the Arroyos wanting her dead continued to rise. Maybe her research at the FBI wasn’t worth the price, especially if she didn’t live to finish the book.
She sipped her latte and peeked around her cubicle at Tigo, who had finished his liquid energy an hour ago. He was on the phone, so she returned to her work area. They hadn’t discussed the shooting since the facial recognition event. Neither had she broached the topic with Vicki, who had enough trauma in her life. No one else to talk to about it … but herself. That conversation would be funny, except in her writing life too much exposition ruined a good story. Readers skipped it. Their eyes scrolled down to the action.
So she must do the same. Set her sights on the future, the arrests of Arroyos, her novel, and most important, how Benita had died.
Her cell rang, a welcome sound since her mind refused to concentrate on her story. “Unknown” registered on the caller ID. Maybe it was the new agent she’d queried.
“Kariss Walker here.”
“Good morning, Miss Walker,” a man said in Spanish. “This is Xavier Olvera. Do you remember me?”
She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, then pulled up a new document page on her laptop. “Good to hear from you. I saw the media interviews. You did a fine job.” She positioned her fingers on the keyboard.
“Thank you. I spoke to Special Agent Harris earlier, and now I realize I need help.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The FBI and the police can’t find Delores. They say she’s either dead or hiding. I’ve looked everywhere too. She’s disappeared.”
“I’m sure they’ll be able to find her. Her information has been sent to law enforcement officials across the country, and the search for her has been a topic of top TV networks, columnists, and reporters. Investigations take time.” She minimized the document to reveal her desktop background — a pic of her nieces and four nephews taken at Easter at her parents’ farm. She’d scratch at the gates of hell if anyone tried to hurt them.
“I don’t care about Delores. I just want to find the child I’ve never seen.”
Kariss had wondered about the child as soon as she’d heard about Delores’ claim of being pregnant when he was deported. “What did Agent Harris suggest?”
“He said there was nothing he could do. Delores could have the child with her or could have abandoned it or given it up. But after what she did to Benita, I … I have to know for sure.”
“Sir, we don’t even know if she was honest about the pregnancy.”
“How do you think I feel?”
Devastated for sure. “I don’t understand how I can help you.”
“You could pressure Agent Harris. Get him to look for my child as well as Delores. Hospitals have records of babies, verdad? The baby would have been born around October five years ago.”
“But would Delores have used her real name?”
“I believe so. It makes sense that by giving the baby my name, she could prove it belonged to me and get more money.”
“But Delores broke contact with you, so your theory isn’t necessarily realistic.” Kariss cringed. She sounded heartless. “Mr. Olvera, I feel for your loss and the tragedies that have fallen on you. But I think this is hopeless without the help of law enforcement officials. Once they find Delores, they can verify whether there is, or was, a second child.”
“You think she killed the baby too?”
“I’m so sorry.” Even if she believed Delores had killed both children, would it make any difference to Xavier? But Kariss couldn’t bring herself to dump more truth on him. “I think when the authorities find your wife, then you’ll learn the truth about both of your children.”
“I need your help to find my child. You’re the only one I can trust. My brother believes like Agent Harris. They say to wait for the police. They say to wait to find Delores. But all I can think about is the hope of finding my child. Dios aprieta, pero no ahorca.”
Weight dug into her shoulders. She understood the saying: God tightens the grip, but he doesn’t choke you. Xavier’s plea … his deceased Benita. “Let me see what I can find out and get back to you. I have your number.”
“When?”
No putting off this guy. “Probably this afternoon or tomorrow.”
“If I don’t hear from you by tonight, I’ll call you.”
Kariss stared at her phone long after she and Xavier finished their conversation. She understood his concerns. In his shoes she’d feel the same. The years spent working in day care with precious children swept across her mind … the laughter, the innocence … and the fire. What if he did have another child who was alive? Yes, she’d turn up stones to find a possible child too.
Her first stop was Tigo. She’d talk to him while the situation was still fresh in their minds. If he’d refused Xavier, her chance of enlisting his help was slim. But she’d try. Downing her now-cold coffee, she closed her eyes, allowing her need to help children wash over her.
She wanted to help this man, who’d had his heart ripped open. She wanted to bring joy back to his saddened life. Another child wouldn’t replace Benita, but the anticipation brought hope. Maybe in doing so she could redeem her own failings.
She approached his cubicle. “Tigo, got a minute?”
The scowl on his face indicated bad timing.
“I can come back later.”
He leaned back. “Now is as good a time as any. I’m leaving for an appointment in a few minutes.”
“Investigation not going well?”
“Let’s just say I have some extenuating circumstances.” Frustration poured into his words.
She slid into a chair near his desk. “Xavier Olvera just called me. Said he’d talked to you earlier.”
Tigo tapped a pen on his desk. Not a muscle moved on his face. Neither did he blink. “So he asked you to help him find a child that may not exist?”
“Yes. And I agree it looks hopeless.”
“I suppose you threw in your support, and now you’re begging me to pour my expertise into a situation that has no leads?”
Oh, he was in a bad mood. “Not exactly. I’m asking for your advice.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: I despise what happened to his daughter and the grief it’s caused him and his family. I’m mad as well. I’m angry that the mother has disappeared, and we can’t find any leads to track her down. But we can’t waste resources. I can’t jump into dredging up a child who doesn’t have a sex or a birthdate. When we find Delores, we can ask her about the second child.”
“That child would be about five years old, his only child. The same age as Benita when she died.”
“I’m sorry, Kariss. The FBI can’t waste their time on what-ifs. Other law officials are looking for Delores, but we can’t look for a child who potentially doesn’t even exist. We deal in specific crimes. If in doubt, look at our website. Please, don’t bother Ricardo Montoya. He’s on case overload too.”
She refused to be dismissed. “Can’t you see this isn’t over?”
“I have reality to take care of. Have you forgotten the Arroyos’ mission at the hospital? That has my attention. It’s real. People are dying. You were almost a victim, or have you discarded the thought of being at the receiving end of a bullet?”
She shook her head. “No, I remember all of it. Vividly.”
His efforts to frighten her weren’t wasted, but she’d been involved in the Cherished Doe case far too long to let it ride. “I value your concern, and I also know I don’t have your skill and wisdom in this field. But I’ll do all I can to help Xavier learn the truth. I’m asking if there is a good place to start.”
/> Tigo leaned forward. “You have the ending to Benita’s story. If you don’t like the reality of the situation, then write it to suit yourself.”
After sending Kariss out of his office to think about his blunt but logical response to Xavier Olvera’s pleas for help, Tigo shut down his computer. He’d been curt and should apologize, but she needed to understand the world didn’t dance to the tune of good people. He hoped he made her angry enough to leave the city until key Arroyos were arrested.
Her safety needled at him. She had a soft heart that he’d seen with this case. And she could make some stupid decisions in the name of caring, like spending time on the wrong side of town where the Arroyos had easy access. Tigo was itching to have her cell phone records directed to his Blackberry, but ethics prohibited it unless she authorized it, and he had a feeling she’d refuse access.
Right now he had an appointment for a root canal. His tooth throbbed like a beating drum, and he refused to take pain meds while working. The dentist — one Tigo hadn’t met before — specialized in root canals. The thought sent his blood pressure on an upward spiral. He’d rather face a firing squad. But he’d put off the procedure long enough, and he couldn’t hide the pain from other agents anymore.
At the dental complex, he signed in and filled out enough forms to perform brain surgery. His personal dentist had sent X-rays, so all he needed to do was wait — alone and distracted. No one screamed. All he heard was soft music, reminding him of a funeral home.
“Mr. Harris.” A woman with perfect teeth smiled from the doorway and escorted him to a chair.
She took X-rays again. And he waited.
A young man stepped into the room, dressed in jeans and a golf T-shirt. This guy, who looked younger than Tigo, couldn’t be the specialist.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. I see you need a root canal. We’ll get you numbed up and take a look at your tooth.” He slipped into a pair of gloves.
Tigo’s dentist always swabbed the area with a topical solution before bringing out the novocaine shot. Not this guy.
