Reluctant Runaway (8 page)

“No doubt. Chances are I won’t be going with you to the airport. Jo isn’t really open to talking to me anyway. When I’m done with Paris, I’ll rent a car and skedaddle for Santa Fe.”

Max laid a hand on Desi’s arm. “Stay in touch. Okay? And call Tony with an update.”

Desi sighed. “Only because I miss the big lug, but I know he’ll give me a lecture.”

“Hey, at least he cares.” Max went back to packing. “He could be a good source of information. Get him to sniff around after our good Reverend. He’s got resources we couldn’t even dream about.”

“Maxie-girl, you’re a gem. Just when I think this whole morning’s a bust, you hand me a nugget.” Desi picked up a framed photograph from the dresser. “This must be Karen. How old was she in this picture?”

Max looked over her shoulder. “Seventeen. That was her senior picture.”

A husky young woman stood framed in an adobe archway. She wore jeans and a light-colored buckskin jacket with fringes around the shoulders. Her features were pleasant and regular, skin tanned or naturally bronzed. One hand rested against the arch; the fingertips of the other touched the squash blossom necklace at her throat—either the same necklace or a copy of the one her mother wore.

Karen’s elbow-length dark hair flowed long and loose with a hint of the curl from Jo and Max’s side of the family. But the attractive widow’s peak on her forehead was a unique feature. Full, rouged lips curved into a smile that imitated sultry but didn’t quite pull it off. Too pinched at the edges. And the eyes—

Desi’s heart wrenched.

Poster child for a lonely generation in the midst of a crowded world
.

A feminine scream sounded from the other room, followed by a male shout. The baby wailed.

Desi locked gazes with Max, and they both charged for the great room.

 Six

S
he’s alive! She’s alive!” Jo had Brent in a bear hug, and they whirled around the room.

They stopped when Desi and Max skidded to a halt in front of them. Wearing a goofy grin, Jo stepped away from Brent. The baby howled from his car seat in the middle of the floor.

“Karen’s alive!” Brent blurted, face flushed.

Max stared from one to the other. “What in the world—”

“My car is gone.” Jo grasped her sister’s arms. “And Karen’s the only one with an extra set of keys. Mine are still hangin’ in the foyer.”

Brent knelt to unbuckle his son from the seat. His hands shook.

Desi let out a gust of breath. “I hate to be the killjoy, but anyone who knows how to hot-wire a car could have stolen it.”

Jo shook her head so hard the beads on her necklace rattled. “It’s Karen. I know … in here.” She tapped her chest.

“Your inner witness?” Way to antagonize the woman, but this situation kept going from nuts to bonkers.

“A mom’s knowing. But you can’t relate to that.”

Touché, lady
. Desi looked down.

Max touched Desi’s shoulder. “Jo, my friend is tryin’ to help … at your request.”

“Okay, so I’m touchy. But now that I’ve found somethin’ real, my sister and her friend are still passin’ judgment on my
beliefs. I’m tired of it, and I … Oh, never mind.” Jo looked toward Desi. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more cooperative.”

“Forget it.” Desi waved a hand. “So back to the car theft. Why did it have to be Karen?”

“Yeah.” Max tilted her head. “Pete was plenty mad at you when he left here—”

“I doubt it was Pete.” Brent stood up, holding Adam.

Jo nodded. “Not Pete’s style. He’s more likely to get wasted and wreck the vehicle with a crowbar, not sneak off with it in the night.”

Brent switched Adam from one arm to the other. “When Karen disappeared, so did our rattletrap of a second car. If it died on her, this is the logical place she’d come for fresh wheels.”

“Fair enough.” Desi pointed at Jo. “You’re going to call the FBI, and that’s what you’re going to tell them.”

“Got it!” She smiled and years fell away from her face. “So when they find my car, they find my daughter.” She bounded toward the kitchen.

Brent looked at his watch. “I’m going to be late for work. Maybe I should call in—”

“No,” Max said. “You need to be where Karen would expect to find you if she’s lookin’.”

“Good thinking.” Desi nodded to Max.

“And
you
need to call Paris, remember?”

“I haven’t forgotten, but first I’m going to call a cab. You and Adam have a flight to catch. And I’m going along to make sure you’re safe—”

“Nix that. You stay and see what the feds say about the disappearance of Jo’s car.”

“But Pete Cheama’s out there.”

“So?” Max took Adam from Brent. “Me and Little Bit’ll be fine. What do you think the dude can do in the middle of a
crowded airport with me screamin’ my head off and scratchin’ his eyes out?”

Desi laughed. “I almost forgot you’re Texas Irish like your sister.”

“You got that right. Let’s hop to it.”

The room emptied in a flurry Desi held Adam while Max finished packing. Then they waited on the porch for the cab. Agent Ortiz would descend on the house soon.

Desi nudged Max. “If Karen was here last night, don’t you think it’s strange she didn’t try to speak to her mother? At least reassure her that she’s okay?”

Strain lines appeared around Max’s mouth. “Nothin’ has added up right yet.”

The cab arrived, and Desi helped the driver load the bags into the trunk while Max installed Adam’s car seat. A few minutes later, Desi watched the cab and its precious cargo pull away. Then she walked back toward Jo’s house.

How maddening to think the missing girl might have been so close, and they missed her.
Father God, keep Karen safe wherever she is
.

Behind her, a vehicle pulled up. She turned to see the Hispanic agent climb out of the passenger seat of a dark blue sedan. Ortiz wore a crisp brown A-line skirt, a cream-colored blouse, and a blazer that matched the skirt. Her walk was confident, face tight and eager. Delighted about the new lead, but not, Desi bet, for the same reason as Jo.

Desi didn’t want to be the one to point out the obvious to Max’s sister: If Karen was desperate enough to steal her own mother’s car and not say boo to her loved ones, she was more than a runaway. She must be in trouble up to her cute little widow’s peak. The possibility of a murder charge due to that guard’s death fit the bill.

Agent Ortiz nodded at Desi. “Good morning. Thank you for notifying us. Do you know where the vehicle was parked?”

“Jo called it in. I think the car was in the port next to the house.”

“That’s right.” Jo came up to them. “I’ll show you.” The agent lifted a hand. “No, let me check out the area. Wait here, please.”

“You need a hand, Orty?” A voice called from the direction of the sedan. A slender man in a rumpled suit leaned against the front bumper. He took something out of his pocket, a crack sounded, pieces sprinkled on the ground, and then he popped an item into his mouth.

A peanut?

Desi looked toward Ortiz, who curled her lip toward her partner.

“Hang tight, Stuey.” The name was dipped in sarcasm. “I’ll let you know.”

The man nodded and pulled another peanut from his pocket.

Ortiz headed for the carport.

Jo’s fingers closed around Desi’s upper arm. “I want them to find Karen … and yet I’m scared for it to happen. Can you understand that?”

Desi laid her hand over Jo’s. “I may not have children, but I know what it’s like to be afraid for a loved one.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry about that remark earlier.” Jo took a deep breath. “I feel like shell corn on a hot skillet. Sometimes the heat gets too much, and I pop off.” She tried a smile, but her eyes stayed dark and sad.

“Rhoades!” Ortiz’s shout came from the carport. “Get the lab on the horn and tell them to trot out here. We’ve got what looks like blood here.”

“Blood?” Jo’s fingers turned to claws around Desi’s arm. “Oh no! My baby’s hurt.” The woman turned, wild-eyed, and raced toward the carport.

Tony’s rigid thumb ruffled a stack of papers on his desk. He pushed stiff fingers through his hair. Might feel great to jerk some of it out about now.

He stared at the map in front of him. Three red circles glared back. The little eyes marked trucking companies in Boston that had branch offices in Hollywood, California, a hotspot for pirates of copyrighted property.

This case was the most massive and organized bootlegging operation Tony had ever seen. The public had no idea the amount of money that exchanged hands over pirated music and videos, and they usually skipped past that pesky FBI warning on DVDs. They’d probably start a grassroots uprising if they realized how much pirates cost honest folks in higher prices.

So while the FBI in L.A. hunted for the copying center, he’d been handed the job of cornering the distributor. Perfect sideline for a legitimate national freight company? You bet! Tony smacked the map with an open palm. Problem was no judge would give them a search warrant for all three trucking companies. And since the black marketeer they arrested with the goods last night had zipped his lips, they didn’t have enough cause to go after the most likely suspect: Gordon Trucking.

Tony’s fingers rummaged through his hair again. Why was he doing that?

Desi. She liked his hair a mess, and she was never far from his mind. What was that lovely lady doing today? Sleeping in? Not likely. One o’clock in Boston, but 10 a.m. in Albuquerque. She’d no doubt been up for hours—and up to who knew what.

His little crusader wouldn’t be able to resist helping Max’s family. He knew it better than she did. Scary thought, for him. Too bad she hadn’t figured out how dangerous the tendency to ride to the rescue could be in this nasty world.

Would you have her any other way?

He shook his head. Too deep a subject for a quick answer. Better see if any of the other squad members had uncovered anything to give this dead end fresh direction. He looked out the glassed-in enclosure of the private office he rated as squad supervisor.

What little he could see of the bullpen showed few agents at their stations. The rest of the squad was out chasing leads. Or more likely, chasing their tails, the way this case was going.

In their seats, Tony counted Ben Erickson, Valerie Polanski, and Matt Slidell. Ben was on the phone, Valerie filling out paperwork, and Matt glued to his computer screen. What else was new? The wunderkind wouldn’t miss a slipped decimal point in the stockholder’s reports of “Ham” Gordon’s corporation, but it would take a nuclear explosion to get him on another task until he finished. Talk about a one-track mind.

Tony stood, tugged his cell phone from his belt pouch, and checked the charge. Good. Desi had called him last night to let him know she and Max had arrived at the Cheama home. If she called again, he’d be available.

He took a step toward his office door, and the desk phone rang. He went back to his chair but didn’t sit. He’d done too much of that today. How did the professional paper pushers stand it?

Pun intended.

“Lucano here.” He heard the sound of heavy breathing, like someone puffing from a long run or maybe pain.

“You Desiree … Jacobs’s boyfriend?” The voice was male.

Tony stiffened. “Who wants to know?”

“Please I—” the man sucked in a breath—”know her face. From the news. Same place … I got your name.”

“What do you want with Ms. Jacobs?” Tony pressed a button on his phone.
This call will be recorded to insure quality crook control
He waved like a demented cheerleader at his team members outside the glass walls.

“Nothing,” the strained voice said. “It’s you.”

Erickson caught his wave and trotted to the door. Tony scribbled
start trace
on a piece of paper. The Minnesotan read the note and dove back into the bullpen.

“You’re looking for me?” Tony watched Erickson grab a phone receiver.
Pedal to the metal, you big Norskie!
“It’s no secret where I can be found.” Polanski darted over and hovered in his doorway.

The caller chuckled, and then hitched his breath.

Pain then. Back when his ex-partner was recovering from a bullet wound in the chest, Tony heard the sound often enough to recognize it now.

The man let out a soft grunt. “But it’s not … common knowledge … you’re looking for … people who haul … pirated discs.”

Tony’s heart jerked. “What do you know about that?”

Erickson flashed him a thumb’s-up.
Way to go, Minnesota!

“Don’t ask for … explanations. This is … all I can give you. A trucker named Elvis. He can … lead you to the new Waco.”

“Wait a minute! Is this some kind of joke?” This guy was going to get his chops busted if he was a prankster playing off that not-long-enough-ago cult tragedy in Waco, Texas.

‘No joke.” A breath rasped, “It’s a puzzle. Connect the dots. You’ll … figure it out. Gotta go.”

“Wait! You sound like you’re hurt. We can—”

Click

Tony slammed the receiver down. He strode into the bullpen. “Sorry people. He hung up on me.”

Erickson shook his head. “I put switchboard on it, but there wasn’t enough time to complete a trace.”

“The informant knew about our pirating investigation. He said to look for a trucker named Elvis, who would lead us to the ‘new Waco.’ “ He bracketed the last two words with fingers in the air. “Legit or a crank? What do you think?”

Erickson scowled. “Sounds like the guy’s using.”

Polanski shrugged. “You got me. I’ll have the lab get the recording off the system and analyze it. Maybe they can find some clues to location from background noise.”

“Do it.” Tony turned toward the big blond agent. “Erickson, you get on the Elvis thing.”

“Elvis? Did I hear someone mention The King?”

Tony looked down to find Slidell blinking up at him.

What do you know? Something besides equations gets his attention. “We just had an anonymous call. The man said we should look for a trucker named Elvis.”

“I gathered that much.” Slidell tapped his lip.

Desi does that, too. Stop thinking about her! But that heavy-breathing guy mentioned her first thing. That means something. Was it a threat?

“CB handle.” Slidell’s expression flattened. “It’s not unusual for road rangers to presume on a famous name.”

“So this could be a legitimate lead. If we find a driver with a CB handle of Elvis working for Gordon Trucking, we might have a break in the case.”

The computer guru smiled. “You’re passably bright.” He turned to stare at his screen.

Off in the ozone again. And not one to kiss up to the boss. Wouldn’t occur to him. At least he could like that much about the guy.

Tony shook his head. But Slidell was wrong about one thing—Tony was dim, going on dimmer. Sure, he would have figured out the CB handle thing in a minute or two. Way too slow, because his thoughts kept straying to Desiree. But what could he do with an innuendo about her from an unidentified subject? A big fat nada,. that’s what.