by A. J. Thomas
Ray switched her to speakerphone. “I heard something like that. I was just checking up on her Facebook stuff and trying to get a hold of her. Has Aunt Louisa talked to the police?”
“No!”
Ray winced, pretty sure that Carmen’s shout wasn’t directed at him.
“Jose, we do not throw balls in the house! Damn it, hold on….”
He listened to the muffled sound of his sister putting her youngest back to bed and smiled. She was trying to calmly explain that it was past his bedtime, past the dog’s bedtime, and past her bedtime too. With an exhausted sigh, she returned to the phone. “No, she hasn’t talked to the police. I guess the FBI is in charge, but no one will tell her anything about what’s happened. They said they’d have some family liaison person call her in the morning. Can you imagine that? Raymond, if you ever have to call a mother and tell her one of her children has been missing for a week, you will not tell her someone else will get in touch with her in the morning!”
“Yeah, no shit. How are you holding up?” He didn’t have to point out that she had just as much reason to be worried as Sophie’s mother, if not more. Carmen had spent eight years taking care of Sophie like one of her own—she was far more of a mother to their cousin than Aunt Louisa had been for a long time.
Carmen let out a bitter laugh. “How do you think I’m holding up? I’m a wreck. She hasn’t been home for a week, and the entire family is treating me like I’m some kind of monster for not knowing something was wrong. Apparently I’m not even allowed to be upset because I should have somehow magically sensed she wasn’t on campus.” Her sniffle squeaked through the phone. “So what are you going to do?”
Ray sighed. “Not panic. Carmen, I’ll go to her dorm first thing in the morning. I’ll check in with her professors, talk to the girls on her floor. If none of her friends or her boyfriend have reported that she’s missing, odds are she isn’t actually in danger. But I’ll find her, okay?”
“Can you talk to the FBI?”
“The FBI doesn’t like me.” Ray bit the inside of his cheek, surprised at how hard it was to keep from laughing. “I can find her without them.”
“Raymond, just because one FBI agent kicked your ass doesn’t mean they’re all jerks….”
“Technically, last week brings the total number of FBI agents who have kicked my ass to two. Although, the first guy might have been justified.”
“First guy?” Carmen giggled.
Ray smiled and didn’t even try to fight the flush through his cheeks as he remembered the week he’d spent screwing a hot federal agent not eight months ago. Even though he’d ended the week with a black eye and a cracked rib because he said something to piss the man off, it had been one of the hottest weeks of his life.
“Yeah, I’m not telling you that story. It’s personal.”
“Suit yourself. You’ll call them in the morning?”
“No. He was an okay guy, but the rest of them are assholes. Every single one of them.”
“They’re the ones investigating. And I know Alejandro has gone to look for her, too. Things could get really nasty if you two run into each other….”
If Alejandro was actively looking for his sister, Ray thought it would be nice to have someone else on his side. Alejandro was a psychotic enemy, and he lived in a world where there were seldom good explanations when someone disappeared for a few weeks.
On the other hand, Sophie wasn’t a part of that world. Sophie was twenty-one, a college student, and tended to party too much. San Diego was only a five-hour drive from Las Vegas, and Ray knew she’d been eager to go ever since she was busted trying to get into one of the casinos with a fake ID at nineteen. She was also just as much of a closeted nerd as Ray, and he wouldn’t put it past her to spend days at a time lost in a programming project, forgetting about mundane things like attending class and eating. Maybe she’d had a fight with the new guy she was dating and had gone off with some friends for some girl time. He’d never heard her use phrases like girl time, but anything was possible.
Even the FBI’s involvement didn’t necessarily mean something was wrong. If they could identify her as a relative of Alejandro Munoz, they might jump at the chance to investigate, even if they were just investigating a college co-ed spending the week letting loose in Vegas.
He gritted his teeth and tried to think of any alternative. He sighed. “I’ll talk to them. But, she might just have gone to Vegas for the week. Do you still have her spare key card?”
The next day, Ray swung by his sister’s house to grab the spare key to Sophie’s dorm room. He reassured his sister once again that Sophie was probably just fine and headed north on the I-15 to the regional FBI office. The newer office building was four stories, with sleek black windows and equally shiny black siding. It looked like any other office building until you realized the twelve-foot ornate iron fence encircled the entire building and parking lot and that it was topped with a thin line of razor wire.
Ray hated coming here. Aside from his issues with individual FBI agents because he was just a police officer, he had to check his weapons with security in the lobby and wait for an escort from the Regional Gang Task Force office—if they decided to see him at all.
He fidgeted in the blue plastic chairs in the lobby, watching a dozen men and women in virtually identical dark suits shuffle in through metal detectors.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The shout came from a massive blond man at the edge of the crowd. He had furious brown eyes, one of which was still slightly black. He had features that were often called chiseled, although with his nose bent and still taped, he didn’t look particularly handsome.
“Good morning, Special Agent Hathaway.” Ray waved and smiled brightly.
He’d spent the last week suspended from work because of new FBI agent James Hathaway. When Ray had left a message with the task force office to have someone collect his report about the money leaking out of Alejandro’s accounts and the gang war that was looming as a result, Special Agent Hathaway read enough back reports to know about Ray’s relationship to the cartel leadership. He hadn’t bothered to note Ray’s position as a homicide detective. Hathaway assumed Ray was a criminal informant in police custody rather than a police officer and had treated him like a criminal. Once he understood the magnitude of the theft Ray had heard rumors of, he tried to handcuff Ray and put him in protective custody—inside a solitary confinement cell in a federal detention center.
In all fairness, if Ray had been a criminal informant, protective custody would have been the way to go. But Hathaway hadn’t even bothered to check, much less listen to Ray as he tried to explain and find his ID. Special Agent Hathaway had tried to throw Ray into a car, so Ray threw him into a wall, elbowed him in the face, and then threw him into a food cart. It had seemed like a good idea, at the time.
Ray sighed as he remembered the jeers and laughter from his fellow detectives. Not one of the fuckers had volunteered to clarify things.
Hathaway stopped just two feet from him, standing with his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
“Like, in this world? In an existential sense? Because that’s a big question, and I need a beer or two to really nail it down.”
“This isn’t the police station, jackass!”
Ray pursed his lips and made a show of looking around carefully. “I think,” he said slowly, “you might be right about that. Glad to see those finely honed investigative skills being put to use. I’m here for information on the Sophia Munoz case.”
Hathaway’s glare turned into a vicious sneer. “No.”
“Hmm?”
“You think anyone in this office is going to hand information on that cartel bitch over to you? The SDPD might not care who you’re actually working for, but everyone here knows the truth.”
Ray pulled out his phone and found something to pay attention to.
“What the fuck do you thin
k you’re doing?”
“Ignoring a raging imbecile,” said Ray, swiping through the home screens on his phone but keeping his eyes on Hathaway. If the fucker lost his temper again, Ray would have to take the first hit, but he wanted to know what direction it was coming from so he could minimize the damage before dealing with him.
He should have just gone straight to Sophie’s dorm room. He wasn’t going to get anything here, except another write-up.
“Hathaway!” a woman shouted. “If you don’t get your ass upstairs, we’re starting the progress meeting without you!”
Hathaway glared to the side, grumbled, and stalked off. Ray dove out of the chair and slipped to the side as soon as Hathaway turned away. A few quick steps, and he’d put a half dozen of the other man’s colleagues between them. He made sure his jacket was open and his badge and ID were visible as he wove through the crowd.
“Hey!” Hathaway shouted behind him. “Hope you’re enjoying your time off!”
Ray waited until he was by the security desk near the front door before he turned and waved. “They told you I’m still getting paid for these two weeks, right?” He ducked out quickly, determined to get the hell away from the damn FBI before he really did get into another fight.
He’d likely find out more on his own anyway, so he got back on the highway, heading west.
The wealthy Bohemian neighborhood of La Jolla was perched on a series of green mesas and cliffs on the north side of San Diego County. Its thriving branch of the University of California had been founded on a repurposed Marine Corps base. It had injected racial and cultural diversity into an area where racism and bigotry had been so ingrained that the original builders included restrictive covenants for race, religion, and ethnicity in the very deeds of the homes they sold.
Thanks to the university, it had evolved to become a haven for successful artists, politicians, and professionals from every background imaginable—provided they could afford the multimillion-dollar homes and the pricey shops. Ray had been just as in love with La Jolla as every other student who went through the university, but the reality of a working-class wage had sunk in after graduation. He still loved visiting the area, even if the downtown nightlife surrounding his condo was more his style.
The university itself was divided into six colleges, each with their own little section of campus and their own academic philosophy. Ray didn’t even remember them all now, but he knew that Sophie had enrolled in Warren College, named for Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren, just like Ray had when he was a student. It was an odd choice for a computer engineering major, since Warren College tended to focus on social justice issues, but Sophie seemed to enjoy it.
He had to park at the far end of campus and walk to Warren College, and to the huge six-story residence hall where Sophie lived. He followed a group of students into the building and only had to use Sophie’s keycard to get into the suite her room was in, and again into her dorm room. Another girl walked by as he opened the door. He smiled at the glare the girl sent him and slipped inside without a word.
The dorm room was neat, clean, and meticulously organized. Because it was a single room, it was tiny, with a sturdy lofted bed and a matching desk shoved beneath it. The desk had a hutch with a single shelf, half of which was cluttered with framed snapshots of Ray’s nieces and nephew. The other half was filled with pictures of Sophie with various groups of friends. She was smiling in every picture, and with her bright eyes and long wavy hair, she was the sparkling center of every single photo.
In the back corner of the desk was a toy Ray had given her during her third Christmas at his sister’s house. It was a tiny robotic arm. They had built it together, once Ray convinced her that plugging the insulated wires into their slots wouldn’t electrocute her. She’d kept the younger kids entertained for hours, programming it to wave and then to throw tennis balls for their hyper Australian shepherd. It had worked perfectly, provided the younger kids kept putting the tennis balls back in the right spot.
Sophie had grown up so much since then.
Now the center finger of the robotic claw was raised, flipping off the entire world. He couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the dire circumstances. The USB cable used to connect the robotic arm to a computer was sitting loose on the desk, along with the charging cable for Sophie’s cell phone.
Ray pulled on a pair of latex gloves out of habit and began at the front of the room, searching everything. He moved around the room, from one side to the other, checking everything systematically. He searched through Sophie’s armoire and desk, trying not to disturb anything. A dozen empty hangers were scattered among the clothes hanging in the armoire, and her laundry basket was empty. There was no makeup bag, and the basket of toiletries sitting next to the laundry basket held some obscure beauty products Ray had never heard of, but was completely lacking in basic things like shampoo and toothpaste. There was also no sign of her luggage, her backpack, or her laptop case. Since her laptop and phone were also gone, Las Vegas was beginning to look more likely.
When he searched Sophie’s desk, he was a bit surprised by how empty it was. There was no address book, no schedule, nothing except a bundle of notebook paper still wrapped in plastic. He knew she did most things on her computer or phone, but almost everyone kept scraps of paper or a pen around a desk.
Finally, Ray climbed up to the top of the bed. It was neatly made, with one of their grandmother’s quilts draped over a knit blanket. And aside from the bedding, there was nothing else there.
He hopped down and called his sister.
“Did you find her?” she asked, without bothering with a hello.
Ray sighed. “No, and before you panic, hear me out. I’m pretty sure she’s fine. Half of her clothes are gone, along with her luggage, her laptop, her makeup bag, and all that stuff. Odds are she just needed a break. There are no signs of a struggle, and wherever she’s gone, she took the time to pack.”
“Are you sure? Mama and Aunt Louisa are meeting with some woman from the FBI this morning, but she won’t tell them anything over the phone and….”
Ray rolled his eyes, grateful that they were on the phone, because she would have smacked him for it. “No. Stop right there. You’re not allowed to get hysterical and start screaming. I swear I will hang up on you if you do. The whole family is worried because Alejandro wants them to worry. He’s the one who came to me, and I’d bet ten bucks the only thing they know is what he’s told them. Am I right?”
“Yes, but….”
“Not buts. Whatever Alejandro’s game is, if he hurt his own sister, even Aunt Louisa would disown him. And wherever Sophie is, she is ten times smarter than him and you know it.”
“It’s not just Alejandro! The FBI is sending someone here to search the house, too! They’re worried, Raymond!”
Behind him, Ray heard the soft buzz as the electronic lock opened. “Hang on, this might be her now.”
Ray pulled the door open quickly, expecting and hoping to see Sophie looking hungover and tired. Instead, he saw a tall, slender man in a loose pinstriped suit. The build didn’t match Alejandro’s, and Ray wasn’t willing to open fire in a crowded university residence hall for anyone besides his own dear cousin. Ray took in the man’s posture, assessing him as a potential threat. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, giving the man easy access to the pistol in his shoulder harness. His hand was frozen a few inches from the pistol’s grip.
Then he took in the way the man’s suit hung off him and felt a stir of instant lust. He ran his gaze over tightly muscled arms and shoulders. His mind was swirling, sorting through a dozen different scenarios that might come to pass as soon as the man spoke, and planning how he could manipulate those scenarios to drag this man home with him tonight. As he brought his gaze up to the man’s angular, handsome face, he gaped at the familiar features, the soft pale green eyes, and the furious expression on the other man’s face.
“You?” Special Agent Elliot Belkamp pointed an accusing finger at him. “
What the hell are you doing here?”
Ray swallowed hard. He hadn’t seen Elliot in nearly eight months, when they had spent the better part of a week blowing off steam in a northwestern Montana hotel room before Ray had fled back to civilization. The sex had been one of the hottest things Ray had ever experienced, and not just because it was one of his first forays into having sex with other men. He’d thought so at the time, but diving into San Diego’s gay scene headfirst afterward had resulted in one long series of disappointing hookups after another.
Ray had never expected to see him again. Aside from being separated by a thousand miles, Ray had made an ass of himself before they parted ways. To this day, he was utterly confused about just how he’d screwed things up, but he was pretty sure he had. He had tried to explain that he was nervous about being with another man, tried to find the words to say that he felt like letting another man fuck him would make him weak, make him less of a man. Elliot had just smiled and said he didn’t fuck around with people who didn’t respect him and headed for the door. When Ray tried to stop him from leaving, the other man had efficiently knocked him on his ass. Skinny or not, Elliot Belkamp could fight.
Still, even if it meant getting his ass kicked, Ray would gladly do it all over again.
“Carmen,” Ray grinned, “I’m going to have to call you back.”
Elliot took a deep breath and forced himself to step back a few inches. “What the hell are you doing in my crime scene?”
Raymond Delgado’s smug smile and infuriating eyes had made Elliot want to hit something every time he had thought about him over the last eight months. To see the man here and now, insinuating himself into Elliot’s case again, made Elliot want to punch the fucker all over again. The fact that he was still just as sexy as ever, still had the same inherent and unquestioning confidence, made it so much worse.
Ray’s smile flickered for a moment, his eyes widening. “Two things.” Ray slipped his ever-present cell phone back into his pocket. “Why is this a crime scene? And why is it your crime scene?”
