Chapter Thirty-Two

The gun went off, the loud pop pop of two shots sounding almost like booms. Deafening in the small storage building. I careened backward, my weak ankle buckling under me, and fell against Jack, who pushed me upright. I zeroed in on Victoria and Larry. He had her up against one of the shelves. Cardboard boxes filled with Victoria and Jennifer’s special steroid concoction crashed to the ground.

Victoria craned her head as another carton hit the floor. “Damn it, Larry,” she said, hissing through her teeth.

Jack and I glanced at each other. Instantly, we went into action. With super stealth, he circled around behind the shelf. Adrenaline kicked in. My ankle throbbed, but the pain was dulled by my survival skills.

Larry was summoning up gumption I hadn’t known was in him. His hands encircled her wrists, but she clutched the gun, grunting and struggling as she tried to angle the barrel downward to point at his head.

Victoria was strong, but Larry was stronger. He pushed her arm down and away.

I took a page out of Jack’s spy book, but moved at lightning speed. It didn’t matter. She caught my eye, her neck strained, blood vessels popping under her skin. Slowly, she fought Larry until the gun was trained on…me.

Shit. No more time to waste. I ducked, trying to stay out of the line of fire. Another booming pop sounded. “¡Hija de la chingada! What are you trying to do?”

“I still have four left,” she said with a hiss, struggling against Larry to move her wrist and retrain the gun.

“No,” I said. “I do.” And I lunged. In one quick move, I snatched the gun from her hand and yanked the handcuffs from the holster clip on her outer thigh.

“Coming over,” I yelled, tossing the cuffs to Jack. We were synchronicity. He snatched them from the air and without even a second of hesitation, he snapped them onto her right wrist.

I slipped the gun into the back waistband of my skirt and grabbed her cuffed wrist, edging Larry out of the way and jerking her forearm until she had to turn her back on me.

Larry twisted her left arm down and around, locking it behind her back. As I slapped the other handcuff on her, the doorframe splintered with a loud crack and the door flung open. Manny rushed in.

I stared at him, then at the gun he had drawn. Where had he hidden that? My gaze slipped down his black leather-clad legs hitching at…aah, an ankle holster. Nicely played, Señor Camacho. Nicely played. “How’d you know we were here?”

“Craig couldn’t find you.” He met my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “I asked myself, where would Dolores go? Easy. To the most remote place on the property, probably alone. And here you are.”

“Not alone,” Jack ground out. I could almost hear his fists clench. Having Manny know me that well wasn’t his idea of a good boss/employee relationship. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

“So I see,” Manny said. “Buen trabajo, Sargenta. You, too, Callaghan,” he offered stiffly.

I took the compliment, but Jack glared. Manny would become best buddies just as soon as Sarah and I did…which would be never. We each had our baggage. The only difference was that mine was my boss and I’d never slept with him or been engaged to him.

I shoved Victoria toward Manny. “Meet Jennifer Wallace’s murderer.” She glanced back at me, and I added, “Guess you won’t be able to role-play after all.”

She blinked slowly. Not a single bit of remorse flitted through her eyes.

I thought about her poor deluded husband, Lance. Pobrecito. He’d certainly been duped. Victoria had said he’d been the reason they’d come to Camacho & Associates in the first place. Unless…

I’d assumed Lance wasn’t involved, but what if Craig was innocent and Lance wasn’t? What if he’d been the one we’d seen carrying off boxes of the protein powder steroid?

“Your husband,” I said. I bent down and slipped my fingers into my knee sock, fishing for the list of Cuerpo y Alma members who matched Jennifer’s Facebook friends. I felt the heat of Manny’s stare. And Jack staring him down. Oh boy.

I turned my back, quickly scanning the list. No names had shown up on my part of the list, but what about the members Lucy had compared? I glanced at the names on her list. Lance. Lance. Lance. Nothing yet.

And then suddenly two names magnified. There they were in black and white. It was no surprise they’d been her Facebook friends, but seeing them on the Cuerpo y Alma list? That was a whole ’nother thing.

They froze on my lips as my gaze drifted over Manny’s shoulder. Two men stood there, both of them staring at Victoria, utter horror and disbelief on their faces.

One was in costume, painted blue and white like a die-hard Royals fan. The other was in plain clothes.

Steve Madrino and Lance Wolfe.