скачать книгу бесплатно
“How’d you do so far?”
Tico tapped his badge. “Stellar.”
Longwood shook his head, a look of disbelief crossing his features. “I can just imagine. I’ve seen the video already. Come in and meet the crew.”
Tico followed the chief into the conference room ripe with the smell of coffee and animosity. Inwardly, he sighed. Another round with the angry birds.
Longwood put his own folder at the head of the table. “Everyone, this is Tico Butler.”
“We met outside,” Meg said. She looked as though she was still stewing. From the subdued expressions on the other men’s faces, he figured she’d just given them a good tongue-lashing, as well.
The chief took a seat. “Good, then the introductions don’t need to be made. Tico, why don’t you have a seat.”
Tico pulled out the chair next to Meg. “I haven’t been formally introduced to anyone. My horse made that hard to do.”
Longwood shook his head. “I know. Your horse made quite a debut on the security cameras. Don’t be surprised if you end up on YouTube.”
Chuckling, Blake was the first to offer his hand. “Mitchell Blake. Retired. Not sure why I still hang with these kids.”
The younger man followed suit. “Jose Lopez.”
“Bill Mewith,” said the Judumi. His handshake was strong, and his eyes held the guarded look of a man recognizing a stranger as one of his own. “I read your profile. Your father was Judumi.”
Tico appreciated the guy’s direct approach. “So I’ve been told. You look like a tribesman.”
Mewith nodded. “As do you, brother. You’d fit right in around here.”
That hit Tico like a gut punch. Did he want to fit in where he didn’t want to be?
“Next you’ll be inviting him home for some fry bread and roasted quail,” Meg Flores said, looking miffed with her colleague.
Tico leaned back in his chair. “I can see we’ll get along just fine, Detective Flores.”
“You need riding lessons.”
“And you could use some manners.”
Chief Longwood took over. “That’s enough. Let’s get one thing straight right away, Meg. Tico didn’t ask for this assignment. He agreed to come after lots of persuasion. So a show of respect is expected. We have a job to do. Let’s all get along or go home.” He looked pointedly at Meg. “Am I clear?”
Meg nodded once. “Shall I pass out the latest files?”
Tico took a moment to peruse the file she handed him, even though the others probably knew he’d already seen a detailed report. Staying impassive when staring at the smiling faces of the three missing women was still hard for him to do. A case was simply a puzzle to be solved until photos revealed the people involved.
The kidnapped women in Adobe Creek were what had triggered the call for Tico to assist in breaking this case. The mayor of this town worked on a special task force to fight human trafficking, a crime that had become more prolific over the years. The miles of unpatrolled border made abductions child’s play for the underworld. Adobe Creek’s finest worked hard to keep the cartels away from their residents and, up to this point, had been successful, but someone had crossed the line. Not wanting to waste a minute, the locals had summoned Tico—three times until he’d finally agreed. Tico didn’t miss the set of the detectives’ jaws as they perused the files in front of them.
Chief Longwood began the discussion. “The Adobe Creek Police Department doesn’t like having women go missing within its boundaries. Heck, we don’t like women going missing at all, but when it happens on our turf, it’s war.
“Tico, as you know, we’ve been tracking the Carlito ring coming from Mexico for two years now without a whiff of a lead once they cross the border. Can’t even figure out where they’re crossing. Now that they’ve hit our town, they’re in our backyard. Not acceptable.”
“Where do you lose the trail?” Tico asked.
Longwood thumbed over his shoulder. “Adobe Creek is adjacent to the Nogales-Phoenix corridor, which has eight thousand square miles of the most inhospitable land in southern Arizona.”
“They also trespass across the reservation, coming on foot and with trucks that destroy fences and vegetation,” Bill Mewith added. “The tribe has men we call shadow wolves on the hunt all the time. Sometimes they get a lead, but the trail turns dry by the time they get over another rise.”
Mitchell said, “Last week a load of drones headed straight for the sensors, pulling every lawman in a five-mile radius. All bogus. We learned later that the drones were sent to distract our forces while they launched over fifty mule trains from different points. They get a kick out of jerking us around with decoys.”
Tico frowned. “They’re not using planes, I take it?”
Longwood shook his head. “The feds have some pretty sophisticated tracking equipment, but the cartel scouts have technology that hasn’t even hit the States yet. They don’t need to use planes. Too noisy. The ground works just fine.”
Meg Flores had been surprisingly quiet. Tico was glad when she finally spoke. “We’ve come up dry in all directions,” she said grudgingly.
Tico liked the velvet-smooth sound of her voice, like a blend of bourbon and honey. Her words lit a fire in her eyes. He didn’t blame her for being angry. What concerned him was whether or not her outrage would cloud her judgment.
“You investigated the celebrity resort?” He made a show of checking his file although he knew the name. “The Quarry?”
“Last time we checked the resort, everything looked clean,” Mitchell Blake said. “And none of the missing women live there.”
Meg looked at Tico. “The chief thinks you can infiltrate the area more easily than the rest of us.”
Tico tapped his badge. “Can I take my horse, too?”
Meg groaned. “God spare us.”
Bill leaned toward Tico. “Word of advice, brother? Don’t ever let a tribesman see you riding. They’d put you to shame for not being able to man a horse.”
Tico almost winced. Mewith had called him brother, twice. He didn’t like being recognized as a Judumi, even though he had the traditional almond-shaped eyes and angular face of his father’s people. He had enough of his mother’s New York Irish in him to stand apart in both attitude and lineage.
The other men laughed.
Tico pointed to the pitcher of water. “Mind if I help myself?”
At the chief’s nod, he reached for a glass and felt his muscles pull all the way down to his left hip. Damned horse. He wanted to groan but just kept reaching. The others kept silent as he poured water. He held up the pitcher. “Anyone else?”
Blake stood and headed for the coffeepot. Flores already had a cup of coffee. No one else answered. Tico drank, glad to wash the road dust out of his throat. “Who reported the missing women?”
“Family. Tina Marks and Cheryl Hall are high school seniors from Bisbee. Came to Adobe Creek to tube on the river with friends. They went out on an errand to the shopping mall and never came back.”
Tico appraised the three photos. The high school seniors were blonde and brunette. Both long hair, but different looks. The other woman was a local resident, a mother of two small children. Janice Carlton was older than the other two but not by more than five or six years. Again, with dyed blond hair falling at her jawline, she had a different look. So, no common element here except for the fact that they were women.
“You’ve questioned boyfriends, neighbors? Janice Carlton’s ex-husband and friends?”
Meg shot him a quelling glance. “All of our investigations are in the report. We’ve been to all suspected areas—twice. Did you not read your copy?”
He let a grin play on his face. “Night reading. I usually fell asleep before finishing.”
She slapped her forehead. “Chief, I beg you. Do we really have to talk to this guy?”
Eric let his gaze slide from Meg to Tico. “What are you getting at, Tico?”
“I’m suggesting that perhaps we need to go back to all the original points of investigation one more time.”
The room fell quiet. The burnt smell of coffee invaded Tico’s nostrils. The hot plate sizzled with coffee Blake had spilled when pouring his cup. Tico took another sip of water, if only to give the others time to digest his suggestion.
“See if there are any contradictions the third time around?” Bill asked.
“Yes. It’s hard for people to remember the details they tell when they’re lying. And sometimes when the stress lets up a bit, people have time to remember facts.” Tico tapped the page. “I see the mother was recently divorced. Lived alone with her children.”
“Lives alone,” Meg said, sending a heated glance in Tico’s direction. “She’s still alive.”
Tico ignored her but changed his verb tense. “Does she have a morning routine? Stop for coffee before work? Work out? Walk a dog?”
Meg answered in clipped tones, “No pets. Has a gym at home. Doesn’t drink coffee. We’ve covered all that.”
Taking a fortifying breath, Tico gestured to Bill and Meg. He was about to ruin their day asking a question they wouldn’t want to hear. “I understand your impatience. It must feel like hell sitting here when there are three women missing and no leads. The pressure can make a detective edgy—especially when another woman goes missing after two years of investigating the ring. Can you handle this case?”
Bill’s face grew stone cold. Meg’s jaw dropped. She turned to Longwood.
“Chief, are you going to let him insinuate that we are incapable of conducting this investigation?”
Longwood brushed his fingers along his mustache. “I know we’ve been over this, Meg, but I’d like to hear you answer him.” He nodded toward Bill. “You, too. For the record.”
Meg scoffed. “For the record? I’m sure Mr. Rattlesnake here knows all the details from his discussions with you before he got here.”
Bill sat straighter in his chair. “Is this really necessary, Chief?” When Eric didn’t answer, Bill turned to Tico. The cut in his voice made it perfectly clear that he’d been insulted. “My neighbor and two other tribal elders were murdered by passing drug dealers while they were harvesting ceremonial plants in the desert last year. Meg and I tracked and caught the bastards without shooting a bullet or losing a man. Do you seriously think I need to answer your question?”
Meg pointed to Tico. “And you want us to be nice to this guy?” She leaned back in her chair. “Look, Detective Butler. We are working against all odds here. We know it might be too late to rescue these women. But I believe their captors still have them holed up locally, waiting for a window of opportunity to funnel them to safer ground.” She stared at Tico as if he were a dung heap. “As you know, the women are probably being drugged to keep them docile. Once the abductors get them away from here, they will be raped, beaten and tormented to break their spirits.”
Tico didn’t flinch. “I understand your concern better than you think, Detective Flores. However, you didn’t answer my question.”
He saw her decision to hate him flick like a switch in her eyes. The tension in her face drew those full, kissable lips into a fine line. He watched her, unblinking. This was what Longwood had hired him to do. He’d dealt with anger, death threats and his share of fights. Yet, seeing her animosity rise was like swallowing battery acid. A new reaction. The feeling jolted his senses. That irritated him something fierce.
The other men might recognize that he was only doing his job, but this woman and Mewith were taking his question personally. He had to admit—he’d do the same if some out-of-town show-off tried to take over his investigation when he had so much at stake. But Tico already knew Mewith’s story. He also knew that Meg’s family had lost women to human trafficking. He needed to make sure these two could be impartial, not caught up in a vendetta. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, he watched Meg Flores while tension thrummed the air, waiting patiently for her to answer.
* * *
MEG SEETHED INSIDE but she kept her expression as neutral as possible. No wonder they called Butler the Rattlesnake. He’d sat perfectly still during the case discussion. Only the flash in his eyes had warned her he’d been about to strike. This son of a bitch pushed her buttons on first contact. She didn’t need a ruggedly sexy jerk from New York pointing out the possibility of her own shortcomings in front of her boss and her team.
Sure, this case was critical. Sure, Butler had street know-how that her team could use. But damn it all. She didn’t want to have to answer to him. She was the team leader—and now she was feeling as emotionally unfit as he suggested she might be. Yes, she was pissed.
This investigation needed to move forward—and now. Everyone around this table needed to quit flexing their muscles. Someone had to give, but Meg couldn’t relent. Not yet. Not until she knew that she could trust this one-time gang leader from New York. Rumor had it that he didn’t even have the required high school education to get into the police academy. Guts alone and the recommendation of his mentor had gotten him accepted, and not without a fight.
Could she trust a man like that? The only way to find out was to not back down.
Meg closed her file. Laying a hand on the folder as if it were a Bible, she looked pointedly at Butler and said in a low, controlled voice, “I am more than capable of executing my duties in bringing these women home quickly and efficiently. Do you have a problem with that, Detective?”
Tico closed his file, returning the stare. “Not at all, Detective. That’s all I wanted to know.”
Butler swallowed. The movement had Meg staring at his neck. Corded. Defined. His collar, open at the neck, hinted at muscles beneath the denim shirt with her boot print still shadowing the front. His black hair, pulled into a ponytail as with most Judumi men, glistened beneath the overhead light. That intrigued her. If the man was as set against his heritage as he seemed, why did he imitate his people, who believed long hair enhanced their senses? His dark eyes seemed dangerous, probing, and watched her with an unsettling curiosity.
Lines etched around his eyes and mouth betrayed his expressiveness. A scar crossed his jaw. He had a nice mouth. Good teeth. Gawd! She was checking him out as if he was horseflesh. Worse, he realized she was staring and simply stared back. The room had gone quiet while these two appraised each other.
Eric Longwood cleared his throat.
Tico kept his attention trained on Meg. His voice lowered. “Okay, then, Detective. What’s your plan?”
Just like that? He was giving up after putting her and Bill on the spot? She shook her head. This guy was not going to manipulate them into cooperating by intimidation.
“Is this a test, Detective Butler, or are you already out of ideas?”
Tico smiled. “I’m full of ideas, Detective. I’m simply wondering if you are ready to listen to them.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ee9e2a82-2057-567a-bc4b-ccc579a2da9e)
MEG PRACTICALLY TURNED her white pickup on two wheels into the quarter-mile drive for Rio Plata Ranch. A cloud of dust rose behind her. The open, arid land on either side of the road passed without notice. Meg couldn’t get her mind off the meeting at the precinct, where Tico Butler had invaded her world. Her concentration had been shot for the rest of the day while she’d stewed over what to do.
The answer had struck like lightning. Now she headed for her parents’ house. The only way she’d be able to get Butler off the case was to ask for her father’s help. Don Francisco Flores was mayor of Adobe Creek. Next to the Judumi reservation, Don Francisco was the largest landholder in the county. He also owned the Rio Plata silver mine in Mexico on which he’d built his fortune. Don Francisco knew every public official within a one-hundred-mile radius and had funded the Adobe Creek unit against drug and human trafficking years ago. If anyone could send Butler packing, Don Francisco could—and would if Meg asked him to.
Meg reduced her speed to lessen the dust as she passed the cabins for the ranch hands. Two horses were still in the split-rail corral next to the courtyard and cantered to the fence at the sight of her truck. Her parents must have been riding before dinner. Nice. They really knew how to enjoy their life now that they’d both retired from the mining industry. Well, her father would never truly retire. But Meg’s brother was doing a fine job of running the business in Mexico, which freed Don Francisco to concentrate on his twin passions—politics and Adobe Creek.
Pulling her truck up to the courtyard leading to the front door of the low-slung, rambling adobe ranch, Meg caught sight of a silver Harley-Davidson parked in the shade of a mesquite tree. Her breath caught in her throat. The bike had a New York tag.
She froze. “No way in hell.”
She pushed open the arched heavy wooden door, ready for battle. The familiar, sage-scented coolness of the living room welcomed her, but no one was around.
No one person in particular.
She headed for the kitchen at the back of the house. “Mom? Dad?”
“Señorita Flores, is that you?”
The housekeeper’s teenage daughter came bursting through the kitchen door. Her eyes were bright with excitement.
“Hola, Ana. Where are my parents?”
“Oh, Señorita. We have a guest. Such an interesting man.”
Of course. A rugged, sexy stranger rides in on a Harley looking as if every inch of him offers excitement, and any teenage girl would go gaga.
“Easy now, Ana. Where are they?”
“The veranda. Mama is preparing ropa vieja.”
No way was that creep eating dinner in her house. Meg took the few steps to the back doors and looked out. Sure enough, Tico Butler sat beneath the shade of the roofed pergola at the far end of the stone-walled veranda, holding a glass of beer, leaning back in the upholstered chair, looking very much at home in her parents’ company, attentively listening to something her mother was saying.
Damn his bones. Meg charged out the door. All three looked up at the sound of her footsteps. Barbara Flores smiled at her daughter’s approach. Once she sensed Meg’s intention, her brow creased with distress. Though her mother could read her every mood, anyone watching would know Meg was angry. Her father and Tico seemed to share the same expectant, if not guarded, look.
