Reluctant Runaway (5 page)

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
 

W
e 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?

Jo whirled, wiping her hands on a dishrag. She pinned Max with a look. “You were always the smart one in the family. If you can’t figure this out, I don’t know … ” She turned away and gripped the edge of the counter.

Max put her arms around her sister. “I believe Karen’s innocent, too. And you know I’d do anything to help her, but—”

“Oh, thank you!” Jo collapsed on Max’s shoulder, weeping.

The baby stiffened and howled. Desi stood up, bouncing the child. She met Max’s eyes.
Bewildered and frustrated? Yeah, me, too
.

Desi left the room, baby still squealing. Max needed space to deal with her sister. Firmly. They were
not
getting involved in the investigation.

Any woman who can handle a terrorist? She could do without that kind of notoriety. People had the wrong idea if they thought a desperate act of self-preservation meant she flew into town, minus airplane, dressed in a blue bodysuit with a red S on the chest.

“Sh-sh-sh.” Desi paced the living room, patting Adam’s back.

A real superwoman would be able to get a hysterical infant to stop crying.

“He’s colicky.”

Desi turned at the male voice.

A young man stood on the braided rug inside the front door. Lean and on the tall side with light brown hair, longish and a bit shaggy. Stealthy sort—walked in without a sound. Or maybe not. Hard to hear anything with a baby wailing in your ear.

The man smiled. “Desiree Jacobs. It’s been a while. Mama Jo said you were coming with Aunt Max. How was your flight?” He brushed a strand of hair away from blue eyes.

Now the family resemblance became clear. “Brent Webb! You were a gangly teenager when you visited Boston that time. You’ve grown into a—”

“Married man with a baby. Let me take him.”

“Gladly.” Desi handed Adam off.

Brent held the baby facing away from him, dangling over
one arm. Adam’s wails tapered off into hiccups and whimpers.

Desi studied them. “What are you doing? Squeezing the air out of him?”

Brent laughed. “He’s got a tummy ache. Sometimes pressure on the stomach eases the pain. It’ll pass, but maybe later rather than sooner.”

“I’ll leave it to your expertise.” Desi held up her hands. “He’s a cute little fellow, but I don’t have the credentials. Single woman. Never babysat a day in my life.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Brent settled into a wooden rocker. “When you become a parent, you pick up on stuff. As one of my profs says about an archaeology dig, ‘you become invested in the project.’ “

Adam screamed and went stick straight.

Brent got up. “Guess I can’t sit yet.” He took up pacing where Desi left off.

She flopped onto the sofa. “Let me get my second wind. No wonder parenting is a two-person job.”

Brent paled and fixed his eyes on the tile floor.

Desi smacked herself in the forehead. “That was a dumb thing to say. I’m sorry My brain isn’t in this time zone yet. We’ve got to trust that Karen is going to turn up unharmed.”

The young man frowned. “I don’t believe she ran away. She wouldn’t do that to us!” He stared at Desi, daring her to challenge his statement.

She kept silent. The baby was quiet, too.

“And if she didn’t leave on her own, that means—” a muscle in Brent’s cheek jumped—”she was taken. Do you know how horrible the statistics are for recovering someone alive after they’ve been gone for two days?”

Desi sat forward. “Two days! I thought she disappeared last night.”