The Chase

by DiAnn Mills

  “Who’s Bat?”

  Hershey glared into Tigo’s eyes. “I’ve heard the name. Never met him.”

  “Keep your ears open. We have reason to believe he’s supplying guns to the Arroyos. I’m also looking for the woman who’s in charge of the mules.”

  Not a muscle moved on Hershey’s dark face.

  “Think about helping us, and I’ll get back to you. Which is worse? The FBI knowing about your daughter, or the Arroyos?” Tigo nodded and left the gun shop. The two men outside had multiplied to four.

  “Any of you know about a triple homicide on the northeast side two nights ago?” One took a step closer, and Tigo drew his weapon.

  “Gang style.” Ryan pulled his Glock. “Any of you vouch for Hershey?”

  They were ready for a fight.

  “If you do, phone HPD. There’s a reward,” Ryan said.

  One of the men spit a string of expletives. A few minutes later, they were driving out of the hot zone.

  “I need to go undercover,” Tigo said. “The situation is getting worse. How long before gang warfare here looks like Mexico?”

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  “It’s all I can think about. Tough call when my mother’s dying.”

  “What would she have you do?”

  Tigo smiled. “You two talking? She’d have me bring in those killers and help stop the flow of drugs, guns, and ammo making its way across the border.”

  “What’s your new disguise?”

  “Not sure yet. Want to be my bodyguard?”

  “Sure. I’ve missed it.”

  Tigo laughed. “Now to get the word out — and the paper trail.”

  “When can we get started? Or should I ask what SAC Abrams has to say about it?”

  “I have to convince him. He wants me to postpone the idea. With three of the Arroyos dead, the gang will be looking for one of us to infiltrate. Even posing as a buyer is dangerous, but I’m willing to take the risk.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Xavier, your wife probably lied to you about being pregnant. I’m sorry, but it’s something for you to consider.” Kariss had agreed to meet him at a Fiesta store inside the loop on the southeast side of town. She and Xavier sat in her car while shoppers pushed carts full of bagged groceries to their vehicles. She needed to be honest, even as blunt as Tigo.

  “From what I’ve been told, she did things while living here … stole from people … had boyfriends.” He blinked back his emotion.

  Kariss reached for tissues and handed him one.

  Xavier cleared his throat. “Although the police, FBI, and Gilberto think a personal search is hopeless, I believe I have a child and he or she is alive.” He shrugged. “I’d be a fool not to realize the child might not belong to me. But I can’t let it stop my search.”

  Kariss attempted to separate her feelings from the truth. “If a baby exists, Delores might have sold or abandoned it like she did Benita. I know that’s difficult, but we need to be honest and look at the whole picture, Xavier. The authorities will have to find Delores before you learn the truth about your family.”

  “They don’t know where to look.”

  “And you do? I want to see you united with your child and justice served, but I have no idea how I can help.”

  “Why were you at the FBI when Gilberto and I came to see the agents?”

  She didn’t want to tell him about her book project, have him think she was using his tragedy to entertain readers. He’d think she was heartless and cruel when she wanted readers to understand the responsibility of protecting their children. She’d save the topic for another time. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been spending time at the FBI learning more about their procedures.”

  “Are you writing about Benita?” The soft tone of his voice urged her on.

  “Would that upset you? If it does, I won’t write a word.” And she meant it. “I didn’t know when would be the proper time to ask you.”

  He settled back onto the seat. Moments ticked by. “I see you care about what happened to Benita. It’s fine. I don’t read English, but I’d like to know what you say.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sure you’ve learned much about the FBI.”

  “Very little.”

  “I see. What I want to say is nothing’s impossible. I’ve begun my search for Delores by looking for our old friends. Some still live in the Pine Grove Apartments, but they’re afraid to say anything to reporters or police. Many are here illegally. I’ve talked to one family, and his wife claims Delores stayed at our apartment around two months after I left. She was pregnant when she moved out. She packed up her things and left during the night, even leaving furniture behind. The woman heard Delores say she’d never go back to Mexico. She planned her future after she let Benita die. Or maybe before. Delores is smart.”

  “She must have felt secure in not getting caught.” Kariss chose to ride the conversation, certain she could do nothing to bring Xavier comfort.

  “I think so too. I keep asking myself if she still felt safe after the TV show. Would she go to San Antonio or Austin or maybe to a border town where she could slip back into Mexico if she feared arrest?

  “At times I think I could kill her with my bare hands.” The lines in his forehead read of despair. “I know. Neither of us has answers.”

  “Any other leads?”

  “I’m meeting with a man who lived in the building behind us. He’s …” Xavier scratched his head. “He spent time in jail.”

  “For what?”

  “Drugs. Fighting. Delores liked him. He told me about her wanting to … be with him.”

  Xavier didn’t need to say more.

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “No. I don’t have anything he wants, and I don’t need money bad enough to break the law. We come from the same town in Mexico. Grew up together.”

  “You’ve come closer to finding out where she is than the authorities.”

  “I’m one of these people. They trust me. I understand their fear of the law. From here, I’m going to see Delores’s grandmother who lives in a nursing home. But her mind is bad. I hope she might say something that can help me.”

  “I don’t understand why you wanted to meet with me.”

  “I need everything the FBI, the police, and the Texas Rangers have in their files about Benita.”

  The case wasn’t closed, but it had been a cold case. “I don’t know if the information is public since the case was reopened. Let me make a call to find out.”

  Kariss spent a few minutes talking to Hillary. Asking Tigo about the case would only anger him, and she’d already irritated him once today. When the call ended, complete with Kariss agreeing to look at another one of Hillary’s story ideas, she concentrated on Xavier. “Good news. As Benita’s father, you can file a Freedom of Information Act request. This will be reviewed by the FBI’s legal department to determine what can be released to you, based on the privacy laws. Statements made from living persons may not be released. The agent I spoke to suggested going to the FBI website.”

  “But the statements made by living people would be the ones I’d need to find Delores and my child.” Desperation was woven into his words.

  “Possibly. But that’s the law. You could search through their website for more information.”

  “The last time I looked, it wasn’t in Spanish.” He stared out the passenger window for several seconds. “No one believes my child is alive. They pity me instead of offering encouragement. ‘Go back to Mexico. Start your life over.’ “

  “I’m sorry. I really am. All I can do is point you in the direction of the law. I’d like to help, but what can I do?”

  “Please. My stay in this country is limited. At any time, I can be escorted across the border. I must work night and day, and I can’t do it alone. I beg of you.”

  Kariss remembered the years she’d wondered about Cherished Doe’s identity. That passion had followed her to the FBI and persuad
ed them to reopen the case. She recalled the hope after the press conference, and the swirling of rekindled emotion during the viewing of Univision’s program. But the thought of investigating anything on this side of town brought a swirl of acid through her stomach. The raw memories about the Arroyos who wanted her dead couldn’t be willed away. Yet how could she abandon Benita’s little brother or sister?

  “I’ll do my best. I can’t make any promises.”

  Kariss drove back to the FBI office to talk to Tigo about the woman who’d assaulted her when she was with Vicki earlier. She’d been careful not to touch the phone where the woman’s fingerprints were present.

  Inside, Tigo sat at his desk. His mood looked to be friendlier. She reached inside her purse and gave him a twenty-five-dollar Starbucks gift card.

  “Another peace offering,” she said.

  He glanced up with a half smile. “I can’t take this. Looks like I’m being bribed.”

  “Would I attempt to bribe a member of the FBI?”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of character, and you look guilty.”

  She placed the card in front of him. “Call it appreciation. I know I’m a real pain, and my enthusiasm gets in the way of common sense.”

  He settled back in his chair. “I’m rough for a reason. I hope you’ll consider a vacation until this is over. You’re getting in too deep.”

  The sincerity in his eyes touched her, and if she allowed logic to make its way from her head to her actions, she’d book a flight out to anywhere. But she’d agreed to help Xavier. “I’ll think about it.” She reached inside her purse and carefully pulled out her cell. “I’m hoping this provides another lead.”

  He had a plastic bag on his desk, and she dropped her cell into it. “Ready to take a walk?”

  “Yes. I have some bad news. The pic I took? Well, all I got was her hand.”

  “That’s not so bad. We have fingerprints, and the pic might also give us a clue to her identity.”

  She sighed. “Good. Amateur detective work is not my forte.”

  “Glad you understand your professional expertise. What does your sister know?”

  “Nothing. She thinks the woman was someone her ex-husband paid to follow her.”

  His curious look spurred her on.

  “Her ex-husband paid her a few visits after moving in with his live-in, and now Vicki’s pregnant. His live-in recently gave birth to a child of his as well, which makes the situation very messy.”

  “I get it.” He stood and gestured toward the door. “Let’s see if we can ID this woman.”

  “I’m getting to be a pro at this.”

  “I’d rather think this is the last time you give information to the facial recognition team.”

  “Believe me. I hope this woman is linked to my ex-brother-in-law. What she said today could apply to Vicki or me.”

  The woman’s fingerprints were not in the system. Neither did the likeness Kariss gave to the FBI artist reveal a wanted face. Neither did the black rose tattoo on her arm offer any clues to her identity.

  A vacation sounded increasingly appealing to Kariss.

  “Tell me about this ex-brother-in-law.”

  She lifted a brow. “Are you going to pay him a visit?”

  He laughed. “Do you ever step outside your world of story?”

  “This is different. It’s my story. Wyatt Phillips is a commercial real estate broker and has actually weathered the recession.”

  “Where is his office?” Tigo picked up his pen.

  “West side, off the Katy Freeway.” She pulled out Wyatt’s card that he’d given her a long time ago when he wanted her to meet him for lunch. Not sure why she’d kept it.

  “Too late to catch up with him today, but I’ll introduce myself to him on Monday.”

  “Is following someone illegal?”

  “No. But paying someone to assault another is.”

  Weary from the stress of the week, Kariss entered her condo, tossed her keys onto the counter, and headed straight to her bedroom, peeling off her clothes as she went. Maybe she should time how long it took her to perform the task when she was so exhausted.

  Why am I thinking about this?

  She needed to work on her book. But nothing lofty would happen tonight. She didn’t have the energy to accomplish anything.

  Kariss rolled back the pink-and-white comforter on her bed. This would be a “Special K for dinner and watch a love story on TV” night before she drifted off to sleep.

  Wait … she needed to check email. She made the trek back to the kitchen for her cereal and to grab her computer from the kitchen table. The agent she’d queried should have responded. With a deep breath, she crawled into bed, the coolness of the sheets lulling her into utopia. Closing her eyes, she tasted the first bite of Special K with pecans. Skim milk of course. She might have to dive into the cookies-and-cream ice cream in the freezer. But first things first.

  Her inbox contained the normal spam and fan email. So nice to be loved and appreciated.

  There it was. Kariss’s heart pounded, and she clicked on the message.

  A computer-generated response.

  Dear Writer,

  Thank you for your interest in Sabrina Literary Group. We are currently accepting email queries only for adult fiction. No fantasy, sci-fi, or speculative-fiction type projects. Do not send attachments or phone our offices.

  For consideration by our literary team, include the following in a one-page query: genre and targeted audience, your platform, brief bio, amount of funds available for publicity and promotion, and a three-sentence summary of your book’s topic.

  If we are interested in your writing project, we will request a completed manuscript for our review.

  Allow three months for our response.

  Sincerely,

  Sabrina Literary Group

  Kariss reread the message. Were they clueless as to Kariss Walker’s status in the publishing world? And since when did the amount of publicity and promotion funds have a thing to do with a literary agency? She reached for the phone to call. No. Why would she want to embarrass them? Hitting Reply, she typed a brief email indicating who she was and her status on the Times bestsellers list.

  Within a few minutes, she received the same computer-generated response. What a technologically deficient way to conduct business. She should toss her laptop into the gulf and flip hamburgers for the rest of her life.

  Her mother’s words marched across her mind. Pride cometh before a fall. Had her mother prayed Kariss’s career in secular writing would fail? No … her mother wouldn’t do such a thing.

  But her father might.

  CHAPTER 24

  Saturday morning, Kariss entered the gun shop and immediately captured the attention of an older man behind the display case. The business had been there about a year, and it was clean and impressive. Not at all what she expected — no bald, tattooed fellow wearing a leather vest. The attendant had a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Of course, when she thought about it, her dad and brothers were into hunting, and they looked normal.

  Working with Tigo had her profiling too many people. She needed to keep her judgment in check, beginning now.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked to the counter. “I need to buy a handgun.”

  “Then you’re at the right place.” He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. “What did you have in mind?”

  She glanced around at the shapes and sizes of every firearm imaginable. “I have no idea. Something that’s easy to shoot.”

  “For yourself?”

  “Yes. I’ve never bought a gun before.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” He reminded her of a pastor during her teen years. This experience would be a great addition to a book. “I’ll show you a few and let you hold them while I explain their features.”

  “Sounds good.” Relief eased her.

  He gestured toward the display case. With a smile, he removed a small gun and placed it in h
er hand. The cold metal signified the possibility of taking another person’s life, a way to protect herself or those she loved. The implications caused her to nearly vomit. Her fiction mind sped into overdrive. As a teen, she’d steered away from Dad’s rifles, the mere thought shaking her to her toes. So many times since she worked at Channel 5 she’d considered purchasing a handgun and taking the classes to use one properly.

  “No need to tremble,” the man said. “It’s not loaded.” His warm blue eyes didn’t mock her. “This is a .38.”

  A .38? In her research, she’d read and written about these. But she hadn’t held one. “Thanks. I’m a little nervous.”

  “No need. Education is the key here.”

  She looked and listened and held several handguns until she made her decision, a 9mm semi-automatic Taurus. The name made her feel comfortable, like she was buying a car.

  At the counter, she pulled out her credit card.

  “I need a little information first,” he said, placing a form in front of her. “This needs to be completed before you can make your purchase. Your name, address, and driver’s license number will do. And I’ll need to make a copy of your Texas driver’s license.”

  “So you need to run a check on me?” Her pulse raced ahead. Would Tigo find out?

  “Yes. This goes straight to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. Only takes a minute.”

  She rubbed the lower part of her back. Of course people couldn’t walk into a shop and purchase a gun without completing paperwork.

  “Is this a problem?” he said.

  “No, sir.” She fumbled through her purse for her license. This purchase was to ensure she didn’t end up sprawled out on a slab of concrete via one of the Arroyos. Tigo had asked if she owned a gun, and she’d responded negatively. But with all that had happened, she wanted to contemplate the value of telling him.

  A few minutes later, the man looked up. “Okay, we’re set. Will the gun be stored at your home?”