The Chase

by DiAnn Mills

  “It’s real to me.” She took a breath. “I see it. I feel it. I’m there.”

  “Then how do you propose to write real-life suspense with FBI involvement?”

  “Those parts won’t be easy. I’ll simply go back to how I felt the day in the hospital. I also have yesterday’s chase written into a file in case I want to give a character a heart attack.”

  “Research has nearly gotten you killed.”

  “Don’t remind me.” The visuals kept her awake at night.

  He replaced the DVD. “What about the research for your previous books? Women’s issues can be difficult.”

  She studied her newly manicured nails. “The publisher made the request of my agent. They provided everything I needed, except the interviews I conducted.”

  “How did you get started?”

  “I met an editor at a dinner party. He’d seen my news reporting on Channel 5, and it went from there.”

  “You must write fast.”

  “I do, which was to my benefit. If you don’t have any more questions, I’m going to get ready now.” She grabbed her purse to retrieve her makeup bag. “Oh, we might need reservations. My laptop is there to locate the number.”

  “Thanks. Mind if I check a few other things while I’m at it?”

  “Always working, Agent Harris?”

  “Sure. I have to be one step ahead of you.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Once at the restaurant, one of her favorites, they were escorted to a booth. Amidst the dim lighting that she used to think cozy and romantic, she felt vulnerable. Was it the Arroyo thing or being alone with Tigo? If she were honest, she’d say both.

  After they’d given their food orders, she pulled out her notepad, the one filled with comments and accountings when she was privy to his and Ryan’s conversations.

  “How’s the gun-smuggling case going?” She clicked her pen and poised it to write.

  “Moving ahead.”

  “How’s Jo-Jack?”

  “He has a death warrant.”

  She shuddered at the memory. “So he’s not communicating?”

  “Nope. Left the hospital without a forwarding address.”

  “But he was in serious condition.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you have another informant?”

  “A possibility.” He waved at someone in another booth. “We have willing applicants, but their desire doesn’t mean they can provide good information.”

  “How do you find these people?”

  “By walking the streets.”

  “Can you tell me about that?”

  “I might someday. My turn. Have you talked to Xavier today?”

  “No. But I can assure you he refuses to give up.” She took a deep breath. “I called CPS and learned nothing. And I plan to contact Catholic Charities and review newspaper archives. Then I give up. Well, maybe I’ll give up.”

  Tigo nodded. “Wish I could talk you out of helping him at all, but that’s like spitting in the wind.”

  She chose to change the topic. “I have more questions. I’ve heard some lingo from you and Ryan that I don’t understand. I’m assuming it’s unique to the FBI, but it would add credibility to my story.”

  “Bring it on.”

  “What’s FIG?”

  “Field Intelligence Group. Helps us analyze information from all sources.”

  “Can I find out more info online?”

  “You can. I’ll give you a tour at the office. Should have taken care of that aspect before.”

  “Great.” She peered into his face. He was doing his best to be charming, and he’d given no indication why he really wanted dinner. She started to ask about his mother, but given she was under nurse’s care, her condition couldn’t be good. “No more questions?”

  She gave her best dazzling smile. “What’s candy and bling? Slang for drugs?”

  He startled, then shook his head. “Candy was an informant. Found her with her throat cut about the same time you started your research. Bling was her pimp.”

  “He killed her?”

  “The Arroyos took the credit. She’d been giving me info.”

  The thought shook Kariss to the core. “I’m sorry.”

  “But since you mentioned it, you might want to spend time thinking about how she ended up.”

  “I thought the matter was handled until yesterday. I keep telling myself the two men chasing me were drunk or high and simply liked my car. The Arroyos don’t have my name.”

  “But Froggie Diego has your face, and he might have mine and Ryan’s.”

  The waiter brought their food and filled their water glasses. Tigo thanked him. She could almost hear the wheels grinding in his mind, as though he were planning his next offensive strategy.

  “What do you want me to do now?” she said. “Because you’ve gone to a lot of trouble about something.”

  “Would you consider discussing the situation with a family member? Or boyfriend?”

  “I don’t want to involve my family, and I don’t have a boyfriend. This is a solo project.”

  “Independence can be dangerous, Kariss. I don’t know how much plainer I can be. I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

  “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  “You already are aware of what the Arroyos do. They steal and murder with no conscience. Right now, they think we’re cops, and they don’t give up. They’re a gang. They work for the common good of the group. It’s family. Their goals, behavior, what matters, relationships, and how they cope with life comes from being a member of the gang.”

  She was a fan of psychology and understood the complexity of human behavior. The things gangs did for power and control were frightening. So she’d stay out of their way. By the end of August, she’d be finished with her FBI research. Then she’d take a long vacation.

  After all, Houston was a huge city, and the Arroyos had nothing to do with her story about Benita and how she might have died.

  CHAPTER 28

  Tigo escorted Kariss inside her condo and drove home convinced she hadn’t listened to any of his warnings or advice. He’d gone there with the purpose of convincing her to lay low until the Arroyos were brought in. Unfortunately, she held the trophy for stubbornness.

  While she readied herself for dinner, he’d accessed her laptop. He walked an ethical line there, but she’d given him permission.

  The folder labeled “Cherished Doe Manuscript” had a first chapter, but he wasn’t interested in reading it then. The file “Characters” would be a later pursuit, but the one titled “Notes” had sparked his attention.

  She’d duplicated everything in the FBI file about Cherished Doe and made comments in the left-hand column for events that must have importance to her story. He valued her orderly accounting of the press conference and represented media. No fiction there, only details in a well-journaled fashion. Still scrolling, he’d reached the portion surrounding Gilberto’s and Xavier’s visit to the FBI. Tigo had stopped to analyze a highlighted portion about Xavier.

  I don’t understand why neither HPD nor the FBI will investigate the possibility of Xavier’s child. He’s lost one little girl, and my heart goes out to him for a possible second.

  Finding nothing else to link her to dangerous activity, he’d moved on to check what websites she’d accessed, hoping to find more information about the newly purchased gun. Typical sites popped up, writing and marketing blogs, thesaurus, a ten-thousand-year calendar — Tigo wondered if she was thinking about writing sci-fi — a reverse dictionary, and fbi.gov. He’d scanned other sites until he felt reasonably certain her purchase of a handgun was precautionary. Again he’d wondered if her CHL would be an asset given the circumstances. He’d have to find out where she planned to take the classes and offer to take her to the shooting range. If she was determined to learn how to protect herself, then Tigo wanted to make sure she developed good habits.

  Kariss’s tenacity mig
ht have gotten her far in the book publishing world, but in the world of crime solving, trudging ahead without a plan was deadly. If the Arroyos were not taken into custody soon, she’d be dead before the book was written. Her persistence reminded him of a few reporters — had to have the story no matter where the scoop led. Well, he’d done all he could to warn her.

  Tigo wanted her inside the FBI office every day, seven days a week. He’d gladly bring in a cot. But he couldn’t force her to do anything. Nothing in his past equipped him to deal with Kariss Walker — not his stint in the marines, the work in Saudi Arabia, or his FBI training. To make matters worse, she filled too much of his thoughts. He wished she had a wart on her nose or bad breath.

  Once home, he spent a few minutes at his mother’s bedside. She’d had a restful day, and for that he was grateful. His thoughts eased back to dinner and how stunning Kariss had looked. Did she have any idea what her eyes did to him, or how he’d like to run his fingers through her thick curls?

  “Kariss Walker, you’re nothing but trouble.” He looked at his sleeping mother and addressed his next comment to her. “And you’d like her spunk.”

  Having his and Ryan’s disguises finished would go a long way to eliminate some of his stressors. The paperwork containing new ID and the past ten years of illegal arms trading in Ecuador were in place for both of them.

  Later on tonight, he’d return a call to Hershey. The man supposedly had contact information for those wanting to purchase arms. Tigo trusted Jo-Jack more than Hershey. Hershey had an agenda of his own between gun sales and building out the units for transport. How long Tigo could use his daughter as leverage remained to be seen.

  If only he could find Jo-Jack. Where was he hiding? A thought occurred to Tigo. He picked up his phone and pressed speed dial for Ryan.

  “I have an idea where Jo-Jack’s hiding out.”

  “Where?”

  “Conroe. His hospital records list a brother living there. Last name of Elston. Must be a half-brother. Want to look him up first thing in the morning? I can pick you up around seven-thirty. Drop you by your car later.”

  “Deal. How’d it go with Kariss?”

  “Don’t even ask. Can’t believe I’ve let her get under my skin.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Did she admit working with Xavier?”

  “Yes. On a phone basis only. But I know Xavier is motivated, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.”

  “Have you met your match?”

  Tigo hoped not. But he had considered picking her up each morning and delivering her back home each evening just so he knew where she was.

  Tuesday morning, Tigo and Ryan drove to an address northeast of Houston down a graveled, dead-end road. Surrounded by spindly pines and thick brush, the battered trailer house looked older than Tigo. Weeds had nearly taken over, and a rusted-out Chevy looked like a nesting ground for snakes. If not for two mangy dogs sniffing at his truck, he’d have assumed it was deserted.

  Jo-Jack and his brother had fallen on hard times.

  Tigo and Ryan exited the truck and drew their firearms. Tigo detected the smell of burning charcoal. Odd, since most breakfasts weren’t barbecue.

  “Do you smell that?” Ryan said.

  “Sausage possibly.”

  “I was thinking more like someone whipping up a batch of meth.” Ryan gazed into the trees as they walked to the trailer’s door. “Depends on what’s on the menu for breakfast.”

  “Anything’s possible.” The dogs followed them and wagged their tales. Tigo pounded on the door. “Mr. Elston, this is the FBI. We have a few questions for you about your brother.”

  Not even a whisper of a sound.

  He pounded the door again. “If anyone is inside, please show your face.” He turned the knob. Locked. “Ryan, be my guest.”

  Ryan kicked in the door. Tigo stepped in, his Glock positioned to fire. In the shadowy area, he smelled rotten food and human waste. His black coffee threatened to reappear. Beer cans, broken furniture, and trash littered the area, while weeds grew up through the floor.

  “Mr. Elston, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The two searched the small area, finding nothing but more of the same filth.

  “Tigo, I bet Jo-Jack’s been here,” Ryan said from the kitchen area. “I’ve found gauze, bandages, peroxide. Here’s some tape too. Ah, a couple of Snickers wrappers.”

  Jo-Jack’s candy of choice.

  Tigo and Ryan resumed their search outside where charcoal lay gray-hot in a grill.

  “Whoever was here must have seen us pull up.” Tigo scrutinized their surroundings. “As hot as it is, living inside would be impossible.” He pointed to a dirty cooler and lifted the lid. Bacon, sausage, and hamburger lay piled beside a half dozen eggs. Beside the grill lay a skillet blackened by the coals and paper plates with two forks and a fishing knife.

  The dogs attempted to bury their noses in the cooler, but Tigo snapped the lid back into place. The two men scrutinized the thick pines that reached up to a blue sky.

  “Jo-Jack, if we can find you, so can the Arroyos. They haven’t given up. We can keep you safe but not here. You were badly hurt the last time we spoke, and I bet you need a doctor now.” He stared deep into the brush and saw a narrow path. “We’re going and won’t be back. You know how to reach us. Cooperation with the FBI is the only way to keep you alive.”

  The only sound greeting them was a mockingbird. A crow flew overhead. Tigo glanced at Ryan. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  The two walked toward the truck.

  “Wait,” a voice called from the thick pines to their right where Tigo had noted the path. “My brother needs help.” A bone-thin man stepped from the woods, grasping Jo-Jack around the waist.

  A growing stain of fresh blood on Jo-Jack’s dirty T-shirt caught Tigo’s attention, and he hurried to help. “Call 9-1-1,” he said to Ryan.

  Tigo met the two men and together they lowered Jo-Jack to the soft ground. “How long’s he been bleeding like this?”

  “Gets worse every time we move to the woods,” the weathered brother said.

  “How often do you make the trip?”

  The ashen color of Jo-Jack’s face indicated the end was near.

  “An old lady lives at the intersection of this road. She calls whenever someone turns this way. Kids mostly. Head back here to smoke pot.” He swiped at his nose.

  “She’ll be calling. An ambulance is on its way.”

  Jo-Jack’s eyes fluttered. “No. They’ll find me.”

  “Not this time. We’ll make sure the hospital uses a different name. Then we’ll get you to a safe house like we promised before.”

  “Leave me here.” Jo-Jack sucked in a breath. “I’ll be okay.”

  Tigo lifted the T-shirt. Infection oozed from an abdomen hot with fever. The Arroyos might not need to finish Jo-Jack off. Tigo turned to Ryan. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll get it.” Ryan sprinted to the truck.

  “A clean bandage would be nice,” the brother said. “I have peroxide in the trailer.”

  “He needs more than what we have, like antibiotics and treatment for infection.” IVs and possible surgery ranked high on Tigo’s list as well, but he’d not frighten the two men.

  “I’ve been worse,” Jo-Jack whispered, his words an effort.

  “If you don’t get help, you’re not going to make it. We need you alive.”

  “This ain’t livin’.”

  He had a point, but not if Tigo had a say in the matter. He stared at Elston. “Did you help him leave the hospital?”

  The man nodded. “He was scared of the Arroyos. I’ve been takin’ good care of him.”

  The infection proved the quality of his care. “Don’t do it again, or you’ll kill him for sure. Jo-Jack, I need names. Places.”

  A cell phone rang and the brother answered. “Yeah. We’re doing all right. Call me when the ambulance turns this way.”
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  Jo-Jack’s eyes closed, and his body lay limp.

  CHAPTER 29

  Creative people often slid into depression. Kariss recognized the symptoms and had acquired tools to beat off the monster when she sensed it camping on her doorstep. Tuesday morning, the self-talk accomplished nothing. She told herself how lucky she was to share the same disorder as the great masters: Dickinson, Poe, Emerson, Dickens, Faulkner, Hemingway, Melville, Tolstoy, O’Keefe, Gaugin, Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Rachmaninoff, Schumann, and Tchaikovsky. Ah, she had the list memorized.

  Analyzing her mood this morning didn’t chase the blues away. She should have taken a three-mile run. Eaten a better breakfast than an oatmeal-raisin cookie from Starbucks. Brought her iPod to the office so she could listen to soothing music.

  Paralyzing truth seized her. Her stomach curdled. An unbidden memory of Nikki surfaced, and the fire became as vivid as it had been the afternoon it ended a little girl’s life….

  The fire engine’s siren pierced the air and grew louder while smoke billowed from the windows of Little People’s Academy Day Care. Children covered their ears. Some cried. Caretakers counted the children in their charge.

  Kariss searched through the two-year-olds in her class. “Where’s Nikki?”

  “With Erin,” the lead teacher said.

  Kariss spotted Erin beside her sister, who worked with four-year-olds. Nikki was nowhere in sight. She hurried to Erin. “Where’s Nikki?”

  The young woman’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I thought she was with you.”

  Kariss gasped. “She was asleep and assigned to you while we were outside. Did you leave her alone?”

  Erin paled, and reality shook Kariss. She raced to the side door of the day care that led into the two-year-old room.

  “Don’t go back there,” the lead teacher said. “Kariss, stop!”

  She ignored the many shouts and flung open the door. Smoke filled the room, clouding her vision and making it difficult to breathe. A child coughed, then screams rose from a cot in the corner.

  “Nikki, I’m coming.” She grabbed the little girl just as the wall collapsed. Flames crackled and sputtered, raining debris onto Kariss’s lower back, burning her shirt and scorching her flesh. She fell with the weight, holding Nikki close to her chest. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have you.”