Reluctant Runaway (17 page)

One eyebrow went up. “Is he a licensed counselor?”

“No, just a friend.” He called Stevo a friend? But he wasn’t lying. Only a true friend did what Steve Crane had last night, and nobody said friends couldn’t irritate you like all get out. “He brought pizza, and we watched baseball. Just the touch of normal I needed.”

The shrink nodded and made a note in the file on his knee. “You’re in the early stages of the grief process. This matter will hit you again. And again. Sometimes very hard. The trick is to handle the emotions in a healthy way.” The mustache brush again. “Let the feelings wash over you; express them when appropriate. Then move on into normalcy without guilt, as you did last night. Do you have anyone else besides your ex-partner to confide in?”

“Desiree Jacobs. I talked to her last night, too. Therapeutic in a different way.”

“Ms. Jacobs is a significant other?”

“As significant as they come.”

A knuckle brush, no eye contact. “How did you feel when you got up this morning?”

“Tired, wired, and eager to get this chat over with so I can get on with the case.”

“No particular thoughts about yesterday’s violence?”

“Sure, that and all the things I need to coordinate to bring the crooks to justice.”

“Anger? Plans for revenge?”

A shrug-off answer stalled on Tony’s lips. His stomach had that heavy “don’t go that way” feeling he got when God was alerting him to a wrong turn. The psychiatrist looked up.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sure, I’m angry. Thoughts cross my mind about what I’d like to do. But that’s like white noise that doesn’t deserve my attention. Not just because I’m a trained professional, but because it goes against my convictions.”

Knuckle brushes came fast and furious. “So you’d say you have a system of spirituality?”

Tony sat back. “I have faith in God; I attend church; I pray. Called my mom this morning, told her about Ben, and she prayed, too. Put my whole squad on her church’s prayer chain. I’d say, ‘Look out, bad guys,’ when that happens.”

The psychiatrist’s pen made check marks on a page. “Social support network, family support, inner moral compass.” The man nodded and stood up.

Tony rose. The psychiatrist scrutinized him. Tony’s insides tightened.

The shrink brushed twice at his mustache. “I needed to hear those things to give you unqualified clearance. Your competency appears unimpaired by yesterday’s events. The shooter is out of the picture, so you have closure there. And in my opinion, continuing to work the case will cause the least amount of additional stress on you and your squad.”

Tony nodded, muscles loosening. “Besides, it’s better for the Bureau if the agents most familiar with the case continue to pursue it.”

The psychiatrist gave a closemouthed smile. “True, but I’d yank your clearance in a minute if I thought you’d shipwreck with it.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“Likewise.”

Tony offered his hand and got a firm clasp in return.

“Make an appointment if you’d like to talk again,” the psychiatrist said. “But I’m not requiring that in my report to Cooke.”

“I need to see the ASAC about something urgent. Could you call him with your findings? Paperwork takes an eternity to move through this building.”

The shrink nodded. “I’d planned on it. He wanted to hear from me on this right away.”

Tony left the office and pulled out his cell. He punched in Desi’s number and waited. The voice mail message came on, and he jerked the phone away from his ear and glared at it.
C’mon, Des, turn your cell on
.

He punched in the number for Ortiz in New Mexico.

“Ortiz hacienda,” a male Hispanic-accented voice answered.

“Agent Rosa Ortiz, please.”

“Rosita!” the voice called at a distance from the receiver. “Is for you.”

Tony turned his face toward the wall and let traffic move around him.

“This is Agent Ortiz.”

Good, she sounded wide-awake. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Lucano? Glad you called, I—”

“Check around and see what hotel Desi’s registered at. I can’t raise her by cell phone.”

“Already done. Your concern about her bugged me, so I got up before daylight and started looking. Are you on the plane yet? She’s not at any hotel in town, and she’s not back at Jo Cheama’s. That place has been quiet as a tomb all night.”

Tony slapped the wall. “And you didn’t phone me?”

“Cool your jets, Lucano. I was about to … before I got in the shower even. I’ve issued a BOLO on her rental. We’ll pull out all the stops to find her. Get here as quick as you can.”

Pocketing his phone without a good-bye, Tony double-timed for Cooke’s office. People scattered out of his way. In the ASAC’s outer office, the assistant waved him through with a smile. He didn’t smile back.

“Have a seat, Lucano.” Cooke pointed to a guest chair.

Tony settled on the edge. “I just got word—”

The ASAC lifted a hand. “Don’t say anything until you hear me out.”

Tony gritted his teeth. Now what? Give him his gun and that case file on the desk, and he was gone.

Cooke’s chair creaked as he sat back. “Thanks to the speed of our internal grapevine, my good news/bad news probably won’t surprise you.” He steepled his fingers beneath a fleshy chin. “Because of the nature of this incident, everybody put it at the top of their piles, and we accomplished weeks worth of processing in less than twenty-four hours.” The man’s arms lowered. “I have verbal clearance on you from both the investigating OPR agent and the psychiatrist. However—” he sat forward—”the review committee wants to go over the reports in writing before issuing their determination.”

“Determination?” Tony half rose then sank down under Cooke’s glare. “My competency? Whether it was a righteous shoot? What?”

“No one doubts that you acted appropriately, but you are the single witness to an event in which two people died—one of them a fellow agent.”

“Single witness! Polanski was there.”

“She didn’t see anything. Just heard shots.”

“So you’re telling me I’m on suspension?”

“Nothing so drastic. Just restricted duty. You’ll run your squad from your office in this building. No street work.”

“You’re keeping my weapon?”

The ASAC nodded. “But not this.” He handed Tony the folder. “Should be more where this came from on your desk from overnight lab work. Let your squad members do the chasing around. Take it easy for several days.”

Tony put the file under his arm. “How about I take some
time off? I’m going to Albuquerque. Desi’s missing.”

Cooke spat a foul word. “Just what you needed right now. Isn’t the New Mexico office on it? Let them do their jobs.” He pointed. “You of all people should know better than to play civilian sleuth. We need you on that bootlegging investigation.”

“Same case. She found out things that may have led to her abduction.” Or worse. Tony swallowed. He filled his boss in on Sanctuary. “Wouldn’t surprise me if a combination of embezzled funds and bootlegging money is funding construction.”

Cooke smacked the top of his desk. “Jacobs walks into more situations than a GI Jane. I don’t know whether to put her on the payroll or lock her up.”

“You and me both. I’m leaning toward locking her up. As soon as I find her.” Tony stared his superior in the eye. “You can grant me vacation, put me on suspension, or even fire me, but I’m on my way to Albuquerque.”

“Hold the ultimatums, Lucano.” The man studied his ceiling.

Tony gripped his chair. Now he knew the answer to the big question: Would he throw away his career for Desi? He just did.

Cooke leveled a hard gaze on him. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll send you to New Mexico in a consulting capacity. You know this case better than anybody, and you’re an expert on Desiree Jacobs. Let the local agents do the legwork, but find Jacobs and this secret compound, stop the pirating network, and nail Ham Gordon’s hide to the wall.”

“So I’m taking off on the Bureau clock?”

The ASAC rasped a chuckle. “No way are we going to let Albuquerque have all the kudos on this one.”

Classic Cooke. Glory for the home team. Hoo-yah! But he’d take it.

The man leaned across his desk. “The review committee won’t be happy with my decision, but guess what? I don’t like
committees.” He sat back. “Something like this Sanctuary thing, the SAC’ll want to know. He may notify Director Harcourt that we have a situation developing. Now get out of here, and don’t let us down.”

Or else
. Tony heard the add-on loud and clear, but he’d take that, too. What did a career matter without Desi to share his life?

 Fourteen

W
hat was that smell? A sweetish spice. Sage? Desi opened her eyes. The plant grew in front of her face. She lay on a familiar-looking blanket under the shade of some large object. Raising up on her elbow, she looked around. Ahead of her lay sand and sun-browned plants, to her back an enormous rock.

How had she gotten here? And where was here anyway?

She looked again at the blanket. Oh … right. The Pueblo men had used it to carry Pete Cheama. Jo’s ex hijacked her, and his friends drugged her, and now they put her outside to sleep it off. Some hospitality! She sat up and rubbed her forehead. A small headache lingered.

Desi touched the rock. Cool, relatively speaking. She pushed to her feet, and a wave of dizziness passed over her. She wobbled and steadied herself. Was it the tamales or the tea?

Her head topped the boulder she’d been sleeping beside. Desi scanned the terrain. Dusty-brown vegetation tufted rolling landscape. In the distance the Sandia Mountains raised pale heads. To her left, a ridge blocked her view. The sun was well up, but it was still morning—unless, of course, what she thought was east was west. Unease tingled across her skin. No sign of habitation, human beings, or a scrap of evidence that she wasn’t the last person on the planet.

They wouldn’t have taken her into the desert and abandoned her to die, would they? She wouldn’t believe that. Couldn’t.

“Hey, out there! I’m awake now You can show yourself.”

No answer but heat waves from baking sand.

Something moved by her foot. She looked down. A scaly creature looked back and stuck out its tongue.

Desi screamed and backpedaled; the spiny reptile scuttled away across the sand. Desi plunked down onto the blanket. Her breath came in little gasps.

Just a lizard. Get a grip! Might as well stamp City Girl on her forehead.

Well, that’s what she was. No apologies. She didn’t belong out here. But if someone had wanted to put her in a prison without bars, they’d done a beautiful job.

Lord, I messed up again. Plunged ahead in my Desi-do-gooder style when I should have asked Your advice. So here I am, a little late. How do I get out of this?

The rustle of the sagebrush answered her. A breeze cooled her skin and rattled the dry plant. The sound soothed, and calm arose from a place deep within.

She swallowed against the cotton in her throat. What she wouldn’t give for a drink of water, and she was going to get thirstier. The shade narrowed as the sun climbed higher. She scooted back against the boulder and something thumped. She looked down. Oh, hallelujah! A canteen the same color as the rock had fallen over when she bumped it.

Desi grabbed it and took two healthy swallows. Warm, but wet. She screwed the cap on and set the canteen aside. Who knew how long the moisture needed to last her?

Maybe the small consideration was a sign. Maybe they hadn’t abandoned her. They could come back. But from the treatment she’d received so far, that might not be a good thing. On the other hand, about now she’d embrace even Hamilton Gordon like a long lost brother.

A harsh cry vibrated above. She looked up, shading her eyes. A large bird wheeled overhead. Great! Another sign, and this one not good. Once her water ran out, she’d be buzzard food.

Desi stood. She wasn’t waiting around to become Special of the Day. But where could she go? Any direction might take her deeper into the desert rather than out of it.

The sun baked the top of her skull. Her headache grew. She sank down against the rock, shuddering at another scream from the bird. Tony had to be wild looking for her. Resolve hardened. She
would
get back to him if she had to grow wings and join that scavenger in the sky.

She must be west of Albuquerque, the direction she and Cheama took last night. If the sun was in the east, and she walked away from it toward the Sandia Mountains, she’d be headed for civilization, maybe parallel to a highway. But would the road be to the north or south of her? Likely south, since she’d gone north into the desert after leaving the paved road.

Logical assumptions, but could she hazard her life on speculation? On the other hand, could she stake her life on rescue? No one, including Tony, had a clue where she was—except people who didn’t want repercussions for taking in Pete Cheama.

Cheama, that double-crosser! He strung her along with promises, and all she got out of the deal was a headache and a dry mouth. Her rental car was lost. Her suitcase and all her clothes and personal items gone. And what about her purse? Her life was in there, like any other red-blooded female.

The buzzard squawked.

Desi hugged her knees. What was the matter with her? Fussing about a car and clothes and a purse when she might never have cause to use any of it again? Tears prickled the backs of her eyes.

Suck it up, Des
. She didn’t need to lose any more moisture.

She was already sweating like a construction worker. Not a bad thing. They said when a person stopped sweating, they should worry about dehydration and heatstroke. The longer she spent out here, the closer she came to that point.

Guess that answered what to do next. In a couple of hours, her shade would be gone. No reason to stick close to the rock when that happened. She’d be fried if she left and fried if she stayed.

All right, she’d wait that long for the man in the white hat to ride over the ridge.
Then
she’d head south and pray she reached the highway—or even a hovel with a telephone—before she became a desiccated corpse in the sand.

“Any word?” Tony greeted Ortiz at airport baggage claim.

The Albuquerque agent shook her head. “Our local PD had a report of reckless driving by a car that matched the description of Jacobs’s rental, but by the time they got there, all they found were rubber marks. Since then—” Ortiz shrugged—”nada.”

The airplane pretzels turned to lead in Tony’s stomach. “Let’s get to your office and compare case files. Maybe something in there will jell into a lead.”

Ortiz glanced at the baggage carousel. “No luggage?”

“Just my carry-ons.” He tugged his wheelie and gripped the strap of the laptop case that hung from his shoulder.

They went out to the car. A fortyish man with a swollen cheek waited by the vehicle.

Ortiz waved toward him. “This is my partner, Stu Rhoades.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lucano.” Rhoades offered a hand.

Tony shook it. The guy talked like he had his mouth full. Was he sick, or did somebody slug him?

Something in the man’s mouth crunched, and he turned his head and spat.

Tony stared. Peanut shells?

Ortiz put Tony’s wheelie in the trunk. “Lucano, you’ve got shotgun. Rhoades, you get the back.” She opened the rear door and grinned at her partner. “With your buddies.”

Tony peaked over the top of the door. The backseat of the Bucar was littered with shells. Rhoades climbed in without argument. Shells crunched as he settled into the seat. Tony took off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and got in the front passenger side. And he thought Stevo’s gum-chomping was a crime against humanity—or against him, at least.

Ortiz headed the car away from the airport. “I don’t know about this Holy City in the desert. Jacobs might be making too much out of an encounter with an enthusiastic little cultie. We can’t find evidence of construction materials purchased in the area and hauled into the wilderness. Gordon recently built himself a mansion near Albuquerque, but that project’s done.”

Tony shook his head. “These people are too smart to buy materials locally if they don’t want to raise suspicion. Ham Gordon’s got a fleet of trucks. He could haul things in from anywhere in the country Here a little, there a little. Maybe even stealing the supplies.”

Another crunch came from the backseat. “You got a point, Lucano. We background checked the Gordon Corp drivers when we first got this case and found zippo, but now we’re digging deeper. Could be more out there like Bill Windsor who’d do anything for a few bucks.”

Like kidnap a woman looking into their desert hideaway. Or even kill. The unspoken thought hung in the air.

Ortiz glanced at Tony, brow furrowed. “Windsor slipped by us on our initial check. We can’t afford to miss another one.”

Tony bit back a snarl. No point in holding a grudge against the New Mexico office for accepting Windsor’s clean-looking credentials. They’d done their due diligence and found no reason to investigate further. Now they had a reason, but at a steep price. Too often, that was how law enforcement went. If only agents were issued omniscience along with their badges.

But then, omniscience in flawed humanity could be an even bigger disaster.

At the FBI building, Ortiz took Tony to a small conference room. He got out his laptop and the Boston case file.

Ortiz brought him a copy of the file from the New Mexico end of the bootlegging investigation, a separate file on the museum theft, and a missing persons file. “Starting to look like there’s overlap on these cases. But how they connect is murky at best.”

The two of them began laying out data, while Rhoades went to check for new results.

Tony picked up the missing persons report on Karen Webb. “Says here the mother swears the ex-boyfriend took her daughter. Any possibility of that?”

Ortiz shrugged. “It’s a common scenario, but low on our list. Bonney and his gang are rough and crude and not above dealing drugs on a small-time scale. The APD breaks up fights at that bar where the bikers hang out, and we get complaints that they like to party on the reservations.” She laughed. “Bonney’s a character all by himself. Claims to be a direct descendent of William Bonney, aka Billy the Kid. Can you believe it?” She shook her head. “But we can’t find a motive for him to snatch Karen Webb, except for some vague mumbling from the mother about revenge for her daughter leaving him.”

“Bonney has no connection to Hamilton Gordon?”

“None whatsoever. Of that we’re positive.”

“What about someone else in the biker gang?”

Ortiz paused with a wad of papers in her hand. “We haven’t had reason to pursue that angle, but the way things are going nowhere fast, I suppose we’d better.”

Tony picked up the missing persons report on Desi and put it on top of Webb’s. He stared at Desi’s name on the impersonal document. His insides twisted. He cleared his throat and pulled out the accident sheet involving Pete Cheama’s pickup and fanned the three out like a hand of cards. “People are disappearing right and left. No way the events aren’t connected.”

“That’s what we think. We’ve suspected that the Webb disappearance was connected to the museum theft, but given her involvement with Inner Witness, we’re willing to revisit the issue. Haven’t told Jo Cheama yet, though.” Ortiz gave a small chuckle. “Doesn’t pay to jump the gun when we’re still waiting for critical lab results that could prove the young woman guilty. She was an unhappy gal. Maybe she wanted quick bucks to get out of town. The black-market value on those artifacts is pretty high.”

Ortiz’s phone sounded. She picked up and listened a few seconds then set the phone on the table and pressed the speaker button. “Say again? I didn’t catch all that.”

“There is a package for you in the desert.” A man’s voice came through without inflection. “You will need to pick it up soon, or it may spoil.”

Tony went still. A package that could spoil? Did the caller mean a body? He opened his mouth to ask.

Ortiz held up a hand. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

The voice gave directions to a location west of Albuquerque. Tony snatched up a pen and scribbled.

“Got it.” Ortiz nodded at Tony. “Now how did you get my cell number?”

“Found it in a purse. A dead man said to call.”

“Who’s dead? Tell us where you are, and we’ll come get your statement.”

The hiss of empty airspace. Tony gripped the back of a chair. Had they lost him?

“Before he died, the man said to tell Desiree he was sorry. He lied to get her help. He doesn’t know where to find Sanctuary.”

Tony grabbed the phone. “What do you know about Desiree Jacobs? Where is she?”

A soft click left silence behind.

Tony’s fingers fisted in his hair. “I can’t believe I blew that!”

Ortiz took her phone. “It’s okay, Lucano. I’m pretty sure the guy was going to hang up anyway. Did he sound like the one who called you in Boston?”

“Not at all. This caller was calm—controlled. Mine talked in gasps like he was hurt.”

“Cheama?”

Tony glanced at the accident report. “Timing fits.”

“One mystery solved, a million to go.”

“We can discuss this en route. How soon can we get a chopper?”

“We? You’re supposed to have your rear pinned to a seat in the office.” Ortiz shook her head. “Guess that’s not going to happen.”

“You guess right.”

“Let’s go, then.” She led the way out of the conference room. “I’ll get ground backup on the road, in case we find trouble out there. Rhoades!” She called to her partner coming toward them up the hall. “Call Kirtland Air Force Base and have them start prepping a chopper. Lucano isn’t the only one who gets anonymous phone calls about strange locations in the desert.”