Desert Heat

The renovated police station reflected the wealth that funneled into Adobe Creek from the celebrity resort nestled in the foothills. While the rest of the city maintained its historic Southwestern architecture, the modern brick precinct looked out of place amid the older adobe and wood buildings and outdated warehouses farther down the narrow street. Adobe Creek needed about fifty years to catch up with the rest of the world.

Tico looked around with a sense of disbelief, unable to accept he’d taken this job. Yet, here he was, his hip already hurting from his two throws, facing off with the squad team that wanted nothing to do with him, and wondering what Meg Flores looked like when she wasn’t angry.

His reception had proven to be more or less what he’d expected. What had surprised him was the gut wrench that hit when he’d ridden his Harley past the Judumi reservation outside of Adobe Creek. His dad had told him stories of the Judumi tribe, but any group that had spit out his dad and forgotten about Tico, even though they knew he existed, was no group he ever wanted to join.

Yet, he’d come, even though he didn’t relish the meeting with Chief Eric Longwood and the detective team. Under other circumstances he’d bet Meg Flores could have been a friend, along with the rest of her team. But, no. Once again, he had to be the hired gun. He arrived as the threat to their reputations because they couldn’t move this investigation forward. None of them wanted him here. Diablo snorted behind him, pulling on the reins as if punctuating his thoughts. Tico picked up the pace. The sooner he unloaded this animal, the better he’d feel.

Did the team know that Tico had originally refused the job? It wasn’t until the man behind Longwood’s request had called him and explained the personal investment he had in solving this case that Tico did some soul searching and accepted the assignment. The huge pay hadn’t hurt either, but refusing would have been morally wrong.

He’d done stings similar to this before. He’d never tackled a group as far-reaching as the Mexican Carlito cartel, but stopping their drug and human trafficking ring in Adobe Creek outweighed his personal desires never to set foot in this part of the country. Diablo’s hooves clicked on the pavement as if counting out the seconds that would lead to the hours and then days he would spend in Adobe Creek. He’d get the job done as quickly as possible and get the hell out of town. Maybe take a long vacation. Ride his Harley up the Pacific coast. After fifteen years, he needed a break. He was so damned tired of playing the tough guy with his peers.

An older man with a day’s worth of stubble stood in the door of the stables. He took one look at Tico and began to laugh.

“Long ride from Tombstone, son?”

Another joker. Yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken this job, even if he did set himself up as a fool. Why was he always right?

CHAPTER TWO

MEG SAT IN the conference room with her team members, Bill, Jose and Mitchell, awaiting her boss and the Rattlesnake—Tico Butler’s nickname in the underground world, according to his profile.

She swallowed a gulp of coffee with disgust. Wasn’t it her bad luck that even though he arrived dressed like a clown riding down Main Street, Butler looked like someone she’d find attractive? She’d worried about that since seeing his photo. Almost forty years old, Butler had a tough look, his face chiseled by a life lived hard, but there was something strong, magnetic and downright sexy about the expression in his eyes in the profile photo. His features smacked of his Judumi heritage. Her family ranch sat adjacent to the Judumi reservation. She’d been friends with the tribe her entire life.

She’d learned that Tico Butler’s father had belonged to the Judumi tribe. Her most trusted teammate, Bill Mewith, was also from the Judumi and had been her childhood friend. She glanced at him sitting beside her now. He’d mentioned that he was curious about the tribesman they were about to meet who’d never known his heritage. Meg had always admired everything about the Judumi native culture. She might be Mexican-American, but she’d spent her childhood with her Judumi neighbors and felt like one of them.

Bill caught her glance. “So, what if we’re wrong about this guy, Butler? I could see my brother pulling a stunt like his this morning.”

At Bill’s words, Jose sat back in his chair as if expecting bullets to fly.

Palms flat on the table, Meg leaned closer to Bill. “After all we discussed, you’re caving?”

“Not caving, girl. We have a serious issue here. Maybe we should rethink our opinion of him.”

“Because he made an ass of himself for all to see?” She waved in the direction of the street. “You don’t know who he is. I do. I did my research. Did any of you? That whole show was to get you on his side. And you’re playing right into his hands.”

Jose whistled softly. “Cojones, man. His must be made of steel.”

Bill chuckled. “Especially with the way he was riding. An insult to his heritage, for sure.”

Meg cringed. She didn’t mind the slang. She minded that they were admiring Butler when they’d all agreed to be unified in their attempt to muscle him off the case.

“Look, I don’t argue that he’s probably good at what he does, but we don’t need him.”

Bill leaned toward her at eye level. “He took us by surprise with his antics. He’d probably be just as effective infiltrating a place we can’t get into.”

“Must have been quite an entrance. Sorry I missed it,” Mitchell said.

Meg swallowed her anger. “Look, he’ll be here any minute. I don’t want you wimping out on me when you were all outraged that we’d been circumvented. We can do this job without some city slicker.”

Mitchell cleared his throat. “We’ve been working to crack this ring for almost two years. It’s been a week since the latest women were taken, Meg. Not one stinking lead. We’ve probably already lost those three girls.”

“No!” Meg could feel her face flush. She didn’t like her emotional reaction one bit, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept the fact that the missing high school girls were gone for good. At least, not yet. Unsolved, the missing persons files could stay open forever. Meg didn’t want those ghosts haunting them. “I’m not willing to give up on these women yet, Mitchell. If they’ve been snatched by the cartel, too many bad things will happen to them. We have to keep looking.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But we’ve combed the county. What’s your next great idea?”

The sarcasm in his voice had the other men looking up. Easy girl, she told herself. Mitchell might be Longwood’s hired consultant, but he wasn’t hers. In her mind, he’d retired two years ago. He didn’t need to be here now. She took a slug of coffee and let the hot liquid burn down her throat. “Seems to me, Mitch, that generating great ideas is why you’re still here. You know? Resident expert? Why are you asking me?”

The room fell silent. Mitchell was the longest-standing detective in the precinct. Although he had retired two years ago, he kept coming back as a consultant because he’d experienced more stings and busts than any of them, at least until this latest cartel. The cartel operated along the border but had never intruded on Adobe Creek. Until now.

Mitchell slammed the table with his fist. “Well, little girl, I’ve run out of ideas this time. Maybe that’s why your daddy enlisted Tico Butler.”

Her father had brought Tico Butler on to the case? No. Eric Longwood had hired him. She wasn’t going to split hairs with the man who always tried to push her buttons.

Meg slid back her seat. “Daddy my ass, Mitchell. Maybe if you spent less time with your buddy Jack Daniel’s, you’d be clear enough to respect that kids like us know what we’re doing.”

Her accusation was like a bucket of ice water thrown on the room. Everyone knew Mitchell tipped the bottle now and then, but no one dared talk about his problem since he didn’t venture into the field anymore. After all, he was a legend in his own time. Now that he did mostly desk work, what did the occasional drink matter?

Bill held up both hands. “Dammit, you two. Enough! Nothing productive is coming from this argument.”

Meg blew out a breath. Bill was right. She let herself drop back into her chair. “See? The snake hasn’t even gotten here, and we’re sniping at each other. I’m not backing down.”

“We don’t have a choice, Meg. Butler is here,” Bill said. He leaned toward her. Speaking quietly, he pulled his usual stunt when he thought she was wrong. “I’ll bet fifty bucks you’re the first one who caves to this guy.”

She shook his hand, gripping it more tightly than normal. This was one bet he’d lose. “You’re on.”

Jose looked apologetic. “Mitchell is right, Meg. We have to listen to what Butler has to say. We’ve run out of leads.”

She pointed a finger at each of them. “If you think Tico Butler is useful, then you get what you need from him before I send him packing.” She looked each man in the eye. “Are we all agreed on this?”

Bill nodded. “Might take longer than one meeting, but I get your drift.”

Jose held up a hand. “You’re the boss.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Good luck with that one.”

That was all she’d get out of Mitchell. She didn’t expect much else.

She listened with half an ear to Jose and Bill making small talk with Mitchell, which was pretty much the routine for clearing the air after a heated exchange. Football. The latest drug bust. But, now that she’d had an exchange with Butler, all she could think about was how to keep her balance and stand her ground, even if the others disagreed. Butler’s stunt with the horse was nothing any of them had expected. More reason to run his unwanted help out of town. A lot was at stake here. She wasn’t about to let an outsider screw things up, no matter what his reputation.

She addressed Mitchell. “What do you say we let Eric and Butler do all the talking before giving our input?”

Mitchell shrugged. “That’ll do.”

She sensed motion in the hallway outside the conference room windows. She sucked in a fortifying breath to settle her heart rate when Tico Butler looked right back at her.

“Okay, guys. Here comes trouble.”

* * *

PLASTERING A SERIOUS look on his face after joking with the amused officer at the desk, Tico followed the officer’s directions to the conference room down the hall. The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows were open. He registered the scene with a glance.

Meg Flores, her two teammates and Mitchell Blake were seated around the fake wood table, a pitcher of water, glasses and manila files on the table. An empty whiteboard filled the wall behind the head of the table. A red light blinked on a coffeemaker holding a freshly brewed pot.

From reading their profiles, Tico knew that Bill Mewith was the Judumi Indian seated next to Meg, his hair hanging in a braid down his back. Jose Lopez sat drumming his fingers on the table. Mitchell Blake looked worse than his profile picture. Stress lines around his eyes and mouth, faded red hair and the start of a paunch at his waistline made him look world-weary and badly in need of exercise. Tico had read that they were all good at their jobs. Right now, they all looked pissed as they watched him pass the window.

Exhaling a long breath, Tico was about to push through the door when someone called his name. He recognized Eric Longwood heading toward him. He was taller and rangier than he’d expected from the face-to-face Skype conversations they’d had last week. With blond hair in need of a trim, and a mustache that could rival any biker’s, Longwood was as distinguished as his light blue eyes, intent and intelligent.

Eric held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person. Welcome.”

Tico let a grin play across his face. “I managed to arrive alive.”

Longwood motioned to his clothes. “What’s with the getup?”

“Trying to ruin my reputation.”

“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.