serious and
went all friendly-protector on her. "Yes, Benjamin," she countered.
"Watch your back, okay? Barrington's a little nuts and
a complete idiot, but he's crazy like a fox in the hen house."
She nodded in agreement. Somehow Charles Barrington had
convinced the primarily conservative residents of Bigler County that he was
tough on crime, so they'd re-elected him. But, in fact, he made outrageous plea
bargain agreements every day. The man had no moral center, no sense of
fairness, and no idea that he turned hardened criminals out on the streets with
his inappropriate deals.
"You too, Slater," she said, blowing him a kiss. "Charles
watches you like a hawk. He'll take you down if he can."
"Nah." Slater smiled. "He'd have to grow some
balls first."
#
The phone call came while Rafe drove northeast on Interstate
80, fifteen minutes south of Placer Hills, the Bigler County seat. He glanced
at the readout. Max. Icy fingers ran up his spine in spite of the sun's heat
through the windows warming the car's interior. God, he hoped the detective had
good news.
He pressed the receive button. "Max, what have you got
for me?"
The pause at the other end of the phone told Rafe all he
needed to know. Lupe Rodriquez was dead. He lowered the phone to his chest, but
he could still hear Max's voice. He closed his eyes against the pain and
bitterness.
When he put the phone up to his ear again, he heard Max's
voice continue, " ... so I guess the good news is it's not Lupe's blood in
the alley."
Relief washed over Rafe. "What? I thought ... Whose
blood was it?"
"An ex-con named Morris Sullivan, thirty-six year old
white dude, did a dime at Chino for assault, released six months ago."
"Is he dead?"
"Dunno, Hashish, no body. We don't know what happened
to him, if anything, or why his blood was in that alley."
"You're checking it out?"
"Got several guys tracking him, but if he's alive, he
probably went to ground."
"Connection to Lupe?"
"None, but Rafe – " Max paused. "Didn't you
hear what I said about Lupe?"
"Yeah?" And that's when Rafe realized he hadn't
heard the first part of Max's sentence because he'd pulled the phone away from
his ear. Max had said, "I've got good news and bad news."
A mixture of sorrow and anger funneled through him like a
dark, reckless tornado, but he kept his voice flat and unemotional. "What's
the bad news about Lupe, Max?"
"We found a body a few minutes ago in East L.A., Obegon
Park." Another pregnant pause. "I'm sorry, buddy, I'm pretty sure
it's Lupe."
"Jesus Christ," Rafe whispered.
"I think you should come back right away."
Rafe paused while he shook off grief. "Why? I'm almost
to Placer Hills."
"Check into a motel, park your car, and take a flight
back," Max advised, his voice low as though he thought someone might
overhear his side of the conversation. "If you can be here in an hour or
so, I can hold off the coroner."
"Why?" Rafe repeated. "Can't you handle it?"
"There's something you need to see for yourself."
Chapter
Fifteen
Rafe hadn't been more precise than to say he would arrive in
Bigler County in "a couple of days," so his call caught Bella
completely off guard when she answered the telephone the next morning.
"Isabella Torres," she snapped into the phone
cradled under her right shoulder, both hands busy, one negotiating the lid on a
huge latte, compliments of Ben Slater, and the other riffling through a stack
of current-case file folders.
"Whoa there, Sparky." The intimate sound of his voice
jerked her into the past where it wasn't safe to go.
"Who's this?" She kept her voice aloof, even
though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the line.
"Ah, come on, Torres." An amused chuckle as if he'd
read her mind. "Take a guess."
No sense pretending, just get it over with. "Agent
Hashemi, how nice," she said with a false sweetness belied by her next
words. "I'm busy. What do you want?"
"Make nice if you want to run with the big dogs, Torres."
"Sure,
went all friendly-protector on her. "Yes, Benjamin," she countered.
"Watch your back, okay? Barrington's a little nuts and
a complete idiot, but he's crazy like a fox in the hen house."
She nodded in agreement. Somehow Charles Barrington had
convinced the primarily conservative residents of Bigler County that he was
tough on crime, so they'd re-elected him. But, in fact, he made outrageous plea
bargain agreements every day. The man had no moral center, no sense of
fairness, and no idea that he turned hardened criminals out on the streets with
his inappropriate deals.
"You too, Slater," she said, blowing him a kiss. "Charles
watches you like a hawk. He'll take you down if he can."
"Nah." Slater smiled. "He'd have to grow some
balls first."
#
The phone call came while Rafe drove northeast on Interstate
80, fifteen minutes south of Placer Hills, the Bigler County seat. He glanced
at the readout. Max. Icy fingers ran up his spine in spite of the sun's heat
through the windows warming the car's interior. God, he hoped the detective had
good news.
He pressed the receive button. "Max, what have you got
for me?"
The pause at the other end of the phone told Rafe all he
needed to know. Lupe Rodriquez was dead. He lowered the phone to his chest, but
he could still hear Max's voice. He closed his eyes against the pain and
bitterness.
When he put the phone up to his ear again, he heard Max's
voice continue, " ... so I guess the good news is it's not Lupe's blood in
the alley."
Relief washed over Rafe. "What? I thought ... Whose
blood was it?"
"An ex-con named Morris Sullivan, thirty-six year old
white dude, did a dime at Chino for assault, released six months ago."
"Is he dead?"
"Dunno, Hashish, no body. We don't know what happened
to him, if anything, or why his blood was in that alley."
"You're checking it out?"
"Got several guys tracking him, but if he's alive, he
probably went to ground."
"Connection to Lupe?"
"None, but Rafe – " Max paused. "Didn't you
hear what I said about Lupe?"
"Yeah?" And that's when Rafe realized he hadn't
heard the first part of Max's sentence because he'd pulled the phone away from
his ear. Max had said, "I've got good news and bad news."
A mixture of sorrow and anger funneled through him like a
dark, reckless tornado, but he kept his voice flat and unemotional. "What's
the bad news about Lupe, Max?"
"We found a body a few minutes ago in East L.A., Obegon
Park." Another pregnant pause. "I'm sorry, buddy, I'm pretty sure
it's Lupe."
"Jesus Christ," Rafe whispered.
"I think you should come back right away."
Rafe paused while he shook off grief. "Why? I'm almost
to Placer Hills."
"Check into a motel, park your car, and take a flight
back," Max advised, his voice low as though he thought someone might
overhear his side of the conversation. "If you can be here in an hour or
so, I can hold off the coroner."
"Why?" Rafe repeated. "Can't you handle it?"
"There's something you need to see for yourself."
Chapter
Fifteen
Rafe hadn't been more precise than to say he would arrive in
Bigler County in "a couple of days," so his call caught Bella
completely off guard when she answered the telephone the next morning.
"Isabella Torres," she snapped into the phone
cradled under her right shoulder, both hands busy, one negotiating the lid on a
huge latte, compliments of Ben Slater, and the other riffling through a stack
of current-case file folders.
"Whoa there, Sparky." The intimate sound of his voice
jerked her into the past where it wasn't safe to go.
"Who's this?" She kept her voice aloof, even
though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the line.
"Ah, come on, Torres." An amused chuckle as if he'd
read her mind. "Take a guess."
No sense pretending, just get it over with. "Agent
Hashemi, how nice," she said with a false sweetness belied by her next
words. "I'm busy. What do you want?"
"Make nice if you want to run with the big dogs, Torres."
"Sure,