His tone prickled the hairs on the back of Desi’s neck. What was going on here? She glanced at Gordon.
The man frowned. “I was acquitted of those RICO charges. You weren’t even an agent on the case.”
“A buddy of mine was, and you were guilty” The men glared at each other. Then Gordon’s shoulders lowered, and he spread massive hands. “The Lord had mercy. I’m not the same man I was then.”
“Yeah, I heard you got religion.”
“No, I found the Lamb of God. The body and blood cleansed me of sin. The Lamb will do the same for anyone. Even an FBI agent.” A smile wrinkled folds around his eyes.
Desi laughed. The curdled-cream look on Tony’s face was too rich. She hooked his tense arm with one of hers. “Tony and I are believers, Mr. Gordon.”
“Ham.” He nodded. “One of you may be a believer, but the other seems to be a judge.”
Desi braced for eruption, but Tony’s muscles relaxed under her fingers.
“I’m all for getting right with God, Mr. Gordon. Provided your faith is real, but I’m the kind of guy that requires proof.”
Gordon inclined his head, though Desi noticed Tony wasn’t invited to call him Ham. “Perhaps if you watch my pastor on his television broadcast, you’ll be assured of the soundness of my conversion. Reverend Archer Romlin has a powerful ministry. Here’s his card.”
Gordon produced a rectangle of stiff paper from his jacket’s inner pocket. Desi took the card. “We don’t want to keep you from your flight, Mr. Gor—Ham.”
“I leave in my corporate jet in an hour. I came to the public terminal hoping to speak to you, but I see that now is not the moment to bring up—” He paused and a grimace that approximated a smile passed over his lips. “Let me just say I’d like to discuss mutual history that may offer business opportunities to both of us.” His gaze bored into her. “Perhaps we might connect during your stay in Albuquerque.” He nodded to her, measured Tony with a look, and walked away.
“That was … interesting.” Desi stared after him. “You could have been nicer to a new Christian.”
He snorted. “Jabba the Hutt. You made a good call.”
“People can change.”
He frowned.
“They can! Jesus changed both of us.”
Tony’s expression softened, and he touched her cheek. “Hey, you’re cold. Let’s get inside. For now, believe me, I’m neither paranoid nor overprotective where this guy is concerned. I’ll tell you what little I can when we get to your departure gate.” He handed her an e-ticket. “Meet you at the security checkpoint. My flight is with a different airline.”
Desi watched him head for an outdoor baggage kiosk. The wind picked up strands of hair and teased her cold cheeks with them. She headed for the indoor check-in desk.
While she waited her turn, she kept an eye on the doors. As she reached the counter, Max came puffing inside. Wonder if I look as disheveled as she does? Desi glanced down at her field-work jumpsuit. Not her usual travel attire. No doubt her hair was still goofy from all the pins and the headdress from the party. Oh, well.
Max was waiting for her when she finished checking her bag.
“I did mine outside. C’mon.” Max jerked her head toward the security line.
Tony joined them and pulled out his credentials for a quick hustle through the checkpoint. He walked with them to their gate. The attendants were already boarding passengers. Max headed for the entrance ramp like she’d bowl over the first fool who got in her way.
Desi gazed up at Tony “I appreciate you doing this against your better judgment.”
He smiled, but unease showed through narrowed eyes. “Please stay away from Hamilton Gordon. He operates out of Santa Fe, and that’s barely a skip and a jump from Albuquerque.”
“You said you’d tell me about him.”
Tony shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t say much, just what’s public record. You’ll have to listen more to what I don’t say.” He met her eyes. “Three years ago, Gordon was acquitted of RICO charges involving the transportation of stolen livestock across state lines, money laundering, and other financial offenses. The case against him was solid until a couple of key witnesses disappeared.” One hand popped from his pocket and chopped the air. “The setback hasn’t taken the Bureau’s eyes off him. We’re good at patiently waiting in the weeds.”
Tony’s gaze softened, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The brush of his fingers tingled her skin. This man could kill as easily as caress with his touch. The hand slipped back into his pocket. He rocked on his heels, frowning.
“And now?”
“Can’t go there.” He shook his head. “But isn’t it strange that this man knew where and when to find you this morning, including where you’re headed? I’m tempted to ditch my job and hop on this plane with you, or else throw you over my shoulder and drag you back to Boston. Promise me, darling, that you’ll call me right away if Gordon approaches you.”
Emotions swirled through Desi. Dismay. Yes, it was weird that some stranger knew her last-minute movements. Delight. He’d give up his job for her! Well, almost. Disgust. Uh, Mr. Caveman, I’ve got two feet. She’d smack him for sure if he hadn’t called her darling.
“Last call for Flight 859 to Phoenix,” the loudspeaker blared.
“I’ve got to board. I’ll do my best to avoid trouble. And, yes, if Ham—uh, Mr. Gordon—contacts me, I’ll let you know.”
“Good.” Tony moved toward her. “Now, what do you say I collect a down payment on that rain check?”
She let him pull her close. Hey, if he wanted to kiss a messy-haired woman in a Mylar jumpsuit, who was she to stop him? And the man could kiss.
A few minutes later, lips still warm and happy, Desi boarded the plane and spotted her first-class seat beside Max. The redhead was asleep, or at least imitating slumber as well as she’d done a faint. A rush of tenderness filled her. For her friend. For Tony. He was a first-class man. He’d made a big dent in his credit card to provide them with a comfortable ride. She’d find a way to pay him back later.
Right now, she was going to fall into that butter-soft chair and shut her eyes. Soon enough, she’d be thrust back into the madness of a missing niece, an enormous criminal with a mysterious agenda, and a boyfriend who was so good at his job that he could get transferred right out of her life. And let’s not forget the museum theft.
She yawned as she dropped into the seat. What was taken? If she knew that, she might be able to—Her head hit the backrest, and exhaustion snuffed out thought.
Desi left the plane in Albuquerque after two o’clock that afternoon, Max beside her. She wasn’t rested. Sleep lasted the three hours until their layover in Phoenix. But the Arizona stop allowed her to clean up in the bathroom, brush her hair and her teeth, and put on the change of clothing from her carry-on. Oh, and call the office to inform them of her unscheduled detour. Max had cleaned up the same way, after she called her sister to tell her when they would arrive.
As they hustled toward baggage claim, a large poster of Georgia O’Keeffe grinning from the passenger seat of a motorcycle caught Desi’s eye. Too bad she wasn’t here for pleasure. A stop at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe would top the sightseeing list.
At the baggage claim, they found their carousel still empty, but lots of people milled around. Max pursed her lips and craned her neck. “Where is she?”
“If Jo were here, she’d just have to stand and wait for the plane to cough up our bags.”
“You’re right.” Max fidgeted with a button on her blouse. “But she should’ve been here by now.”
She said the words again after they’d collected the luggage. Then in another fifteen minutes, while they sat and watched others get bags from different flights and trot merrily off. Max got on her cell phone again, anxiety lines punctuating the space between her brows.
Max flipped the phone shut. “Still the answerin’ service. Something must have come up. I hope … �
�� Her voice trailed off.
A uniformed police officer approached, gaze fixed on them, and he didn’t look happy. Maybe Max had reason to worry. They both stood.
The young officer stopped in front of them. He looked at Max. “Are you Maxine Webb?”
“That’s me.” Her fingers fluttered to her throat.
The officer frowned.
Desi held onto Max. Please, God, no more bad news.
Four
We need to ask you some questions,” the officer said. “I’d like you to accompany me to the station, Mrs. Webb.”
“Thank God!” Max collapsed to her knees.
Desi went down with her. “Breathe deep now, slow and calm.”
Max’s hyperventilating eased. Desi looked up at the officer, whose name bar read Gillis.
The young man’s brow furrowed. “Are you all right, Mrs. Webb?”
Desi stood up. “Max thought you’d come to tell her something happened to her sister Jo Cheama.”
Gillis’s face smoothed. “Mrs. Cheama is down at the station. She was fine when I left.”
Max leaped to her feet. “Why didn’t you say so? You have no business scarin’ people out of half a lifetime.” She snatched up her carry-on, grabbed the handle of her Pullman, and marched toward the doors. “Where are you parked? Let’s blow this joint.”
Desi followed, leaving Gillis to catch up or get lost. Bother! Was this about the theft investigation? The disappearance? Just what they needed: involvement with the authorities right off the bat. At least Tony wouldn’t think they’d done this on purpose. And what did they want with Max? The woman hadn’t been in Albuquerque since Christmas.
Something smelled funky. The wait with no Jo because she was down at the police station the whole time. Then the officer showing up right when tension got high, finessing a yo-yo of emotions. And now Max was all relieved and eager to go wherever she was told and answer anything they asked.
Desi stepped through the automatic doors onto the sidewalk. Hot, dry air wrapped around her. Stark contrast from the cool of Washington and the air-conditioned airport building.
A patrol car idled at the curb with a jowly older man at the wheel. Gillis’s partner? He shot her and Max a narrow look, but didn’t bother to step out. The bad cop to baby-face Gillis’s good cop. The young officer darted past them and opened the back door.
Desi grabbed Max’s arm. “Someone warned me about the backseats of law enforcement vehicles.” She looked at Gillis, then scowled at the officer behind the wheel. Letting someone mess with Max was not on her to-do list today. “We’ll take a taxi.” She ignored Gillis’s openmouthed stare and glanced around for a cab.
The driver’s door of the patrol car thunked wide, and the partner stepped out. He stood with an arm draped over the roof. Swamp-gray eyes studied her up and down. He must have considered his stare intimating.
Too bad. She’d been hazed by tougher than this character.
A Yellow Cab pulled into the curb ahead of the patrol car. “Here we go, Max. Our chariot awaits.”
But an older couple slid into the cab’s rear seat, and the car pulled away.
Swamp Eyes rapped his knuckles on the roof of his vehicle. “ ‘Round here you have to call for a taxi ride. They don’t just show up looking for fares. This ain’t New York.” His lips curled back. “Take whatever transportation you want, Ms. Whoever-You-Are.” An alligator grin said where he thought she should end up. “We’ll give Mrs. Webb a ride.”
Desi out-grinned him. “This is your lucky day, Officer. You get a two-for-one deal. Where Max goes, I go. Plus a whole pack of HJ Securities Company lawyers, hollering ‘don’t answer that.’ “ She folded her arms across her chest. “You want to question Max, which means you’re fishing for information. But as my Texas friend might put it, the water hole is gonna dry up and blow away if this is the best welcome Albuquerque’s finest has to offer.”
“You’re Desiree Jacobs!” Officer Gillis’s outburst earned stares from passersby. “I thought you looked familiar.” He glanced at his partner. “She was all over the news a while back. Clobbered that terrorist dude—”
“I know.” The older officer’s glare said “get back to the academy.”
A squeak came from Max. Her pressed-together lips quivered, and her cheeks sucked in like she was about to swallow her tongue. Desi didn’t dare meet her friend’s eye, or they’d both be rolling on the pavement. She kept her gaze on the officers. “I’ll call for transportation. No doubt any cabbie knows the way to the station. Or, if you prefer, you can follow us there … just to be sure we desperate criminals don’t make a run for it.”
Desi looked from one to the other. Hard to tell which one’s face glowed brighter. Jowl Face was bust-his-buttons furious. The younger officer seemed undecided whether to fall out on the side of sheepish or thrilled to meet a celebrity.
A second patrol car slid up behind the first, but this one had a different insignia. Two Native American officers burst out the doors and strode toward the first patrol car.
“Sergeant Seciwa.” The one in the lead, a muscular, middle-aged man, held out a hand to Desi, who shook it. Then to Max, who did the same. “And this is Officer Chimoni.” He waved at the lanky man behind him, then turned toward the city cops. “You’re interfering in our investigation. We have property jurisdiction to talk to Mrs. Webb, and we’ll share whatever information we gather.”
Gillis’s partner slammed his door and barreled onto the sidewalk. “We’ve got the lead on the break-in investigation.”
Big and Brawny stood as impassive as a granite cliff. Swamp Eyes thrust his jaw out far enough to halt traffic.
“Call me dog bone,” Max whispered into Desi’s ear.
Desi’s blood heated. Things were way out of hand, and no one seemed inclined to tell them why.
“Neither of you needs to speak to Mrs. Webb.” A feminine voice spoke from the direction of the terminal.
Everyone turned like a whip had cracked.
A brown-haired woman of medium height and sturdy build stood several feet away. She wore a dark pantsuit and a confident smile. She flipped open a black leather case to display FBI credentials. “Rosa Ortiz of the Albuquerque Field Office. The lead on the museum theft case is now ours. We would be grateful for cooperation.”
“So now I need to go with you?” Max flopped her arms. “No, Mrs. Webb. You and Ms. Jacobs are free to leave. Welcome to Albuquerque.”
Finally, someone with manners.
The agent looked toward the four policemen. “Our office has determined that Mrs. Webb could not have been a factor in the theft of the Indian artifacts.”
Max stepped forward. “What’s being done to find Karen?”
The agent’s expression hardened. “Believe me, we intend to locate her.”
Max moaned. “She’s in trouble, but everyone wants to believe the worst about her.”
“Let’s go find the number for cab service, Max.” Desi tugged her friend’s carry-on. “We can’t accomplish anything standing out here.”
A small sedan pulled up to the curb, and an auburn-haired woman got out.
“Jo!” Max charged her sister.
They embraced like they hadn’t seen each other in years. From inside the sedan, a baby wailed.
Desi’s heart turned over. Poor little tyke. Max might be reunited with her sister, but would this child ever have a happy reunion with his mother? The odds didn’t look good.
Desi bounced a cooing baby Adam on her knee in the kitchen of Jo Cheama’s neat little adobe home. The baby’s pudgy cheeks dimpled with smiles now that he’d been changed and fed. After a hot shower and a couple stout cups of coffee, Desi felt more human herself. She’d even put in a call to the museum administrator, but he’d left for the day, and she’d spoken to the manager of HJ Securities’ Denver office. He reported that the museum administrator had a bad case of pass-the-buck-itis. A common illness when disaster struck.
The afternoon was waning, and Jo
had something bubbling in the Crock-Pot that smelled like enchiladas. Desi’s mouth watered.
“I can’t believe they made you come down to the station to answer questions when you were babysitting Adam.” Max stared at her sister seated across from her at the table.
Jo lifted one shoulder. “He was the pet of the break room while I spoke with the officers. They didn’t get much out of me, because there wasn’t much to get. Frankly, I went down there hopin’ for answers. I came away feelin’ like they don’t know much more than I do.”
The woman’s lined face was life-worn, her auburn hair streaked with gray and not bouncy like her sister’s. She wore a beaded headband and a turquoise squash blossom necklace and looked good in them, but not natural born. She’d been married to a full-blooded Zuni. Divorced now. So where was little Adam’s grandpa now that crisis had struck? Probably better out of the picture from what Max had told her about Pete Cheama.
Jo glanced toward the clock over the sink. “Brent has a part-time job as a hotel desk clerk, but he’ll be here soon to get Adam. I’ve asked him to stay for supper. You’ll need to hear from both of us to give you a solid start.” She smiled at Desi, hope a dim spark in her eyes. “When I heard you were comin’ with Max, I said to myself, ‘Any woman who can handle a terrorist should have no trouble with the hairy unwashed down at that bar on old Route 66.’ ”
She headed for the stack of corn tortillas on the counter. “That ringleader, Snake Bonney had somethin’ to do with Karen’s disappearance. He hated losin’ his hold on her.”
What was the woman talking about? Max and she should act like private detectives? Desi looked at her friend.
Max gave an elaborate shrug. “Um, sis, I—”
“We can’t wait for the city cops, the Native police, and the feds to settle their turf wars.” She formed enchiladas and plopped them into a glass casserole dish. “They think Karen ran away, that she’s guilty and hidin’. I know better. My Inner Witness is screamin’ that Karen’s in trouble and needs help. Now!”
Inner witness? Desi bounced the baby and studied Jo’s back. Was that some new term for mother’s intuition?
Reluctant Runaway Page 5
