25

Veranda jerked the Tahoe to a stop in front of the other cars that lined the gravel drive. She jumped out and sprinted toward the central pavilion between the casitas. Rios and Tiffany sat at one of the tables near Diaz and Chuy, who stood next to one of the decorated altars, deep in conversation. She veered toward them, ignoring the blurted questions from startled guests as she blew by.

When she got close, Chuy thumped Diaz’s shoulder and pointed. Diaz turned around to see her running straight at him. Rios and Tiffany glanced up at the same time. Rios pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

She saw Diaz’s eyes widen, travel over her ripped clothes and disheveled hair, then narrow.

He caught her by the elbows. “What’s wrong?”

“Daria Villalobos,” she gasped. “Out in the desert by South Mountain. We need the air unit, K-9, patrol. Got to surround her. Hurry or she’ll get away.”

“Slow down,” Diaz said. “Are you hurt?”

Rios joined them. “Did you say something about Daria Villalobos?”

“I’m okay,” she said in answer to Diaz. “No time to explain.” Still panting, she continued in short bursts. “Please get help now. Can’t let her cross the border.”

“Come with me.” Keeping a firm grip on her arm, Diaz started toward his car, Rios a half step behind. “I’ll use my radio,” he said. “It’ll be faster. But I’ll need a lot more info to call out the cavalry. Start talking.”

She rushed to keep up with his ground-eating strides as they hurried to the driveway. While they walked, she told both of them about her abduction and escape. “That’s why I couldn’t call,” she finished. “Daria took my cell phone and disabled the car’s radio.”

“And your duty weapon,” Diaz said. “With a full magazine.”

She nodded. “Advise responding units she has at least two guns.” She described Daria’s Desert Eagle pistol.

Diaz tugged the door of his sedan open and reached inside to grab the microphone. He relayed the information to dispatch along with a request for support units. Pausing, he glanced at Veranda. “Where were you when you stopped?”

“Out past Caisson Road. Near the foot of the mountain. There aren’t any good landmarks. I’ll have to show you.”

“How long did it take you to come back here after you left Daria?”

“Between fifteen and twenty minutes. She might have called someone to pick her up by now.”

After Diaz gave the approximate location to the dispatcher, a gruff voice interrupted the radio traffic. “Car four, I’m ten-seventeen. ETA twenty minutes.” The duty commander was on his way.

“Get in,” Diaz said to her, motioning Rios toward the backseat. “I’m calling out Crime Scene techs to process your car. You’re going to direct me to the scene.”

She gestured at their costumes. “We can’t go like this. Let me get my go-bag.” Before he could argue, she rushed to the Tahoe, snatched the black nylon duffel from the rear cargo area and hurried back. Diaz barked orders into his cell phone as she slid into the front passenger seat. Rios buckled himself in behind her.

“I know it’s after midnight,” Diaz said into his phone. “I’ll authorize the overtime. Put it in VCB’s budget. Just get them on this right away.” He disconnected and accelerated out of the driveway.

She knew Crime Scene wouldn’t balk at responding to investigate in the middle of the night. Diaz must be working another angle. She turned toward her supervisor. “Who else were you calling out?”

“Computer Forensics. I want them to ping your cell phone to triangulate the location, then shut the damn thing down before they data mine it.”

She sat back in her seat a moment, grudgingly impressed with Diaz. Her animosity toward him had blinded her to his intelligence and experience. He wore gold bars for a reason.

“My cell’s password protected,” she said. “But they’ll break in sooner or later. There may be enough time for our guys to ping it first though. We have warrants out for Nacho, but he’s still at large. Once he gets his hands on that device, we’re cooked.”

Diaz pulled onto a wide thoroughfare and gunned the engine. “This never would have happened if you let me walk to your car.”

Was he seriously blaming her for getting abducted? Irritation replaced the momentary admiration she’d felt for her supervisor. “How could that possibly have made any difference?”

“I would have seen her hiding on the floor behind your seat.”

She clutched the door handle as he swerved around a tractor trailer. “The Tahoe’s windows are tinted. It’s pitch black in my mother’s driveway. How do you think I missed her?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Because your mind was on other things.”

“The only thing on my mind was how annoyed I was with you.” She shot a glare over her shoulder at the back seat. “And Rios.”

Rios stared back at her, face hidden in shadow. He didn’t join the debate.

“Maybe your friend with the rose distracted you?” Diaz said. “Did he show up in your car?”

“No.” Now that Diaz mentioned it, she wondered if the man with the flower had been working with Daria.

“And there’s another problem,” Diaz went on in grim tones. “Your duty weapon and cell phone.”

Her antennae went up. “What about them?”

“Officers are responsible for department-issued equipment.”

As always, Diaz spotlighted her every misstep. Already angry at herself for losing the items, he piled on, adding his condemnation to her misery. “I didn’t leave them lying around for anyone to take. I was the victim of a crime.” Was she trying to convince Diaz, or herself?

“Your cell phone might provide information to the cartel,” he said. “We’ve been careful since the last hack job, but something stored in your phone could compromise us again.”

She hadn’t thought about the phone’s access to the server. Fighting for her life had been her only consideration. Now that she’d escaped, the full ramifications of her kidnapping weighed on her. They rode in silence until South Mountain loomed ahead.

“There.” She spotted thick black skid marks on the road and pointed. “That’s where I slammed on the brakes.” Diaz pulled over and she used the radio to guide the others to the spot where she’d last seen Daria.

Within minutes, patrol vehicles of every shape and size converged. The duty officer, Commander Miller, arrived with the blue horde, taking charge immediately. Midnight shift units, accustomed to working in the dark, surrounded the scene with light. Officers hefted equipment from the larger vehicles and fanned out. Black boxes and tripods with long metal poles seemed to sprout from the desert floor. Clusters of LED lights flooded the area.

At Commander Miller’s direction, the Mobile Command Bus lumbered to a halt, joining the ring of vehicles along the scene’s perimeter. Circled like an Old West wagon train, the collection of cars, trucks, SUVs, and vans delineated a work space large enough to accommodate specific assignments.

Anxious to shed her costume and join the hunt, Veranda snatched up her go-bag and headed for the bus. When she pulled the door open, a tall figure standing inside blocked her path. She glanced up at the sergeant, who she didn’t know, and he jolted in surprise.

Grasping the situation, she pointed at her head. “Face paint.” Moving her hand down, she continued. “Costume.” Then lifted her duffel with her other hand. “Go-bag.” She smiled. “I’m a detective and I need to change into my gear. Can I use the bathroom in the bus?”

The sergeant looked dubious until Diaz stepped forward and swept his arm out to include Rios as well. “We all need to change,” he said, holding up his gold shield.

After using the tiny sink to scrub her face, Veranda slipped into her black BDUs, UnderArmour top, and ballistic vest. Her fingers brushed the empty holster as she clasped the belt around her waist. Anger and regret surged in alternating waves. If anyone used her duty weapon to hurt someone or commit a crime, she would feel responsible.

She left the command bus to a cacophony of light and sound. Three K-9 handlers held Belgian Malinois dogs on tight leashes, their furry partners yelping with excitement at the prospect of a chase. The helicopter whirred overhead, gliding in ever-widening circles in search of heat signatures with its FLIR infrared camera. Commander Miller’s voice crackled over the radio, organizing a grid search and coordinating check points on roads branching out in every direction.

Her department had deployed substantial resources. One of their own had been abducted, held at gunpoint, nearly killed. They would continue to devote time and energy until everyone was certain the suspect had evaded capture.

She worked steadily, checking in with each group, providing background information, doing anything she could to help. About an hour into the search, the Air Unit picked up a heat signature in the desert. She started toward the team heading out to investigate when a deep voice brought her up short.

“Where do you think you’re going, Detective?” Diaz said, stepping in front of her.

“To check out the—”

“You don’t have a weapon.” He looked pointedly at her right hip. “You’re not leaving the inner perimeter.”

Frustration clawed at her, shredding her nerves. “I don’t have my gun because that bitch stole it!” Aware shouting at her supervisor would only make her situation worse, she lowered the volume. “And I have to get it back.”

“We’ll deal with the gun later,” he said. “Right now, we’re focused on apprehending Daria. Commander Miller’s covered all the bases, including notifying surrounding jurisdictions and Border Patrol. If she didn’t get away before we locked it down, we’ll find her.”

A short time later, Veranda listened over the radio as the search team discovered that the Air Unit’s infrared camera had detected a very large, very pissed off javelina. One by one, the other teams deployed throughout the area reported in with negative results. Her mood darkened with each broadcast.

After the exhaustive search spanned another hour with no results, Commander Miller shut down the command post. Daria Villalobos had escaped.

Drained, infuriated, and completely spent, Veranda trudged back to Diaz’s car. She found him with Rios, leaning against the hood talking on his cell phone. He ended the call when she approached.

“Who was that?” She asked him.

“I updated Commander Webster. He insisted on keeping DHS and ATF apprised. He’s calling Flag and Ortiz.”

“Tell them I’ll swear out a warrant for felony abduction against Daria. And this time, I’ll get those search warrants. Daria can’t operate in the open anymore. She’ll go to ground like the rest of the cartel weasels.”

Diaz opened his car door. “Did you get all of your stuff out of the Tahoe?”

She nodded. “Figured I wouldn’t have access when you said Crime Scene would process it.”

“Did Daria take your apartment keys and your creds?”

At least something had gone right. “I could only fit my gun and cell phone in that tiny purse. Stuffed everything else in my go-bag. In fact, can you drop me at my temporary place?”

“You mean Chuy’s apartment.” He made it a statement.

She rolled her eyes. “Chuy has got to stop telling you my business.”

“I’m your boss.” He was unapologetic. “Your safety is my business, which is why I’m not comfortable with you staying there alone and unarmed. Perhaps I should—”

“I’m not unarmed. My backup weapon is at the apartment,” she said. “And I can manage for two or three hours without supervision.”

“Can you?”

Too bone weary for a protracted argument, she blew out a sigh. “I’d appreciate a ride, that’s all I need.”

Diaz relented. “Wear your tactical gear tomorrow morning,” he said. “Rios and I will pick you up at oh-six-hundred to take you to the range. You can qualify with a replacement gun. I’ll have a new fleet car and cell phone issued to you. If we can’t ping your old one, we’ll brick it.”

Briefly repressed thoughts of the missing Glock rushed back to her with a vengeance. She felt naked without its comforting weight at her side. “I still can’t believe she took my damn gun.”

Diaz didn’t offer any sympathy. “You’ll also have to give a statement to Professional Standards about the missing property. Don’t give me that look, Detective. It’s got to be documented and investigated.”

“They would actually write me up for being a crime victim?”

“Disciplinary action from the department is the least of your problems,” Diaz said. “No matter how it happened, your issued personal duty weapon is in the hands of the Villalobos cartel.” His dark gaze met hers. “Trust me, this will come back to bite you.”