Dead Heat by Allison Brennan

on the table at six thirty tonight. You’re both invited. And Sean, of course,” he added. He glanced at his watch. “Nita’s going to have my hide. I’m going to be late to Mass.” He nodded good-bye and left.
    “Dinner with the boss,” Ryan said. “Always makes me nervous.”
    “I love his family. Reminds me of my own.”
    “We should get to SAPD for the debriefing.”
    “I need to send Zach what we have, and I have some records I’d like him to access,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”
    After Ryan left, she sent Zach a long email about Michael, asking him to run statistics on missing children in foster care, breaking it down by race and comparing San Antonio with the rest of Texas. Maybe Michael was an anomaly, or maybe there was something bigger and more horrific than drug running. At-risk youth were called at-risk for a reason. Not just because they might turn to a life of crime, but because others used and abused them.
    She also asked him to pull the records of all foster parents and CPS staff assigned to any boys who’d gone missing within the last two years and fell into the target demographic: male, ten to fourteen years of age, Hispanic, one or both parents incarcerated.
    Her cell phone rang. It was Donnelly. “Where the hell are you?”
    She bristled. “I’m at my desk. Ryan is on his way to the briefing now. What’s your problem?” She winced at her tone. She needed to remember that she wasn’t in her old world anymore, with people who knew her and had worked with her.
    He let out a long breath. “Not enough sleep. Sorry. I need you here. I want your help interviewing Mirabelle Borez. We need something to shake loose, and we made a good team yesterday with George. I have another tactic we can take with Borez.”
    “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I also need to talk to Bella Borez about Michael. I have a photo that might be the kid.”
    “I’ll get her file copied and have it ready for you. But let’s nail Mirabelle down now. I have an idea, and maybe we can get what we both want.”

 
    CHAPTER 8
    Lucy missed the debriefing, but Ryan filled her in on the highlights as soon as she arrived. Essentially, they had nothing. The autopsy was being performed on George Sanchez, but tox screens could take days or weeks to get back, even with the rush. Jaime Sanchez’s gangbangers were still in custody and a team was going over their records and backgrounds, but no one was talking and all had requested lawyers. They were certainly more scared of whoever they worked for—either Jaime or someone higher up the food chain—than they were of prison.
    “I told Donnelly,” Ryan said, “that the hit on George might have been a way to keep the others in line. Talk, you’re dead. It’s classic.”
    “No sighting of Jaime?”
    “Nada. He’s deep down the rabbit hole. May have left town, but Donnelly seems to think he’s close. Did he tell you about Mirabelle?”
    “He wants to tag-team her, see if we can break her.”
    “They’re bringing her in from holding now.”
    Donnelly walked into the room with Nicole Rollins on his heels. “Kincaid, come with me. Quiroz, where are we with the known associates?”
    He held up a sheet. “I have the list, last address of each of Jaime’s people. Half are in prison.”
    “Take the other half and you and Rollins shake them down. Find out what they know, if anything. Listen to what they don’t say as much as what they say. Watch your back. Pull anyone you need, Rollins will make it happen.”
    “Yes, sir. I cleared it with my boss to pull in someone from my squad for today, since you have Lucy.”
    “Who?”
    “Dunning.”
    Donnelly swore under his breath. “Another rookie?”
    “Ten years in the Marines, Special Forces, on SWAT with me, I’d rather have him cover my ass than anyone.”
    “Fine,” Donnelly said, but he didn’t look happy. Lucy considered what Nicole had said yesterday about losing a rookie in the line of duty. She