31

“It’s past my dinner time.” O rubbed the back of his neck with a white bandana and then shoved it back in his pocket.

Even after dark it was over 80 out and the humidity levels had to be topping out over 90 percent. They’d been walking around the known hangouts of the local working girls for a couple hours. It was close to ten and Jim’s stomach was churning too. But that came with the territory. You kept at it until your leads were all gone. And there were still girls out there.

“You really think one of these girls is going to have been on the street that long? Long life for a pro.” O looked over another girl they were approaching.

Most looked closer to twelve than thirty. “You’re probably right, but we don’t have much more to go on.”

“There was a Mexican joint a couple blocks back. I say we get some enchiladas and a margarita. I think better on a full stomach.” O turned without waiting for Jim’s reply. Guess that was an order and not a request.

“Don’t we all?” Jim followed.

He’d asked at least fifteen girls about Sophie. Shoved her picture under their noses telling them her mother wanted her home. Most could have cared less whose face was printed on that paper. They had their own sob story and no one was looking for them. No progress. Didn’t even get a hunch one of them was lying to him. It had been too long since Sophie walked this dirty mile of concrete.

Tomorrow, come daylight, they’d visit the next crime scene in the file. Ely said it was in an abandoned warehouse. No electricity. Known area for gang activity. Jim was beginning to doubt any of the old crime scenes were going to give them much on where Sophie might be now. But all they had was the FBI file. He needed to retrace Sophie’s steps.

The waitress seated them and handed them menus. O ordered two margaritas, on the rocks, with salt. She went on her way. The menu was similar to every little Mexican joint in the world. Jim knew what to order without looking. He studied the picture instead. Sophie looked happy. Dan was smiling too, but his eyes didn’t reflect her joy. He was a teenage boy with a kid stuck to him like a shadow.

The waitress put down the drinks. O ordered his chicken enchiladas. Jim dropped the picture. “Speedy with beans.”

“Chicken or beef, sir?”

“Beef.”

“Is that Beth?” She pointed at the picture of Sophie and Dan.

“You know her?” Jim held the picture out for the woman to take. She was in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Old enough to have been around.

“Yeah. She comes in a lot. Well, she used to. I haven’t seen her in years.” She shrugged. “She got a big-time job and moved outta the ghetto.”

“We’re trying to find her for her mother.” Jim made sure he made eye contact with the woman. Softened his face. “Do you know where she went to work?”

“Not sure. It’s been a while.”

He nodded, not wanting to pressure her. The memory could be a temperamental thing. He was in no hurry, he had tacos and margaritas to enjoy while she thought on it.

O spoke up. “We think she changed her name too. You know what last name she was using back then?”

“Girls do that around here.” She looked down. “You know she was working the streets then. Getting a real job was a big deal. She was so excited.” The waitress tapped her pencil to her lip. “Stratford … or maybe Stafford.”

Nice. Something to go on. A good lead from an unexpected source. He loved his job. Not that this case was really his job, was it? His job here was to make amends for his colossal fuckup of bringing Sophie to Dan’s doorstep.

“I’ll get you waters too.” She left.

“You are a lucky bastard.”

Jim half laughed. “Not me, bro. My luck is all bad. Remember, it was my luck that got me into this.”

She rushed back over. “Stanton. Elizabeth Stanton.” She looked quite pleased with herself. “I remember her pretty good. She would come here before going out for the night. She’d buy extra food. We thought she was feeding some of the homeless folks that lived under the overpass. Or maybe some of the other girls. I talked to her a lot. So did the old manager. But he’s long gone.”

Jim did not to think of Sophie as a saint delivering food to the helpless. She was a bat-shit crazy killer. Psycho. Maybe she was nice to people to get what she wanted. Stands to reason she was helping these people to get something from them.

“That’s great”—O looked at her nametag—“Alejandra.” He, of course, used the perfect accent to make her name sing.

She beamed at him. “I’ll put in the order for your food. It won’t take too long.”

“Thanks, love,” O said to her as she departed, garnering a quick smile over her shoulder.

Jim was already texting Ely the name Elizabeth Stanton. “Do you get laid? I mean does that shit work?”

“I don’t do it to get laid.” O smirked. “But that is sometimes a side effect of being nice to women. You should try it.” O tilted his head. “Maybe just being nice to anyone you’re not in the process of trying to get information out of.”

Wow. That was the same thought he’d just had about Sophie Evers. “Tried it once. Didn’t suit me.”

Jim saw her as soon as the door opened. Suit wearing, not sweating in the heat Special Agent Ava Webb. She made short work of scanning the room and finding his face. There was no hiding from her. He tucked the picture, which he’d left out to help with Alejandra’s memories, into his pocket.

“Mr. Bean.” She glanced at O and gave him a small head nod. Very professional. She dragged over a chair, positioned it at the end of the booth, and plopped down in it. Her legs crossed with grace. Her shoes were sexy, but very sensible.

“Join us,” Jim said, none too friendly.

“Hello.” O leaned toward her. “And who do we have here, Jim?” O stuck out his hand. “Oscar Olsen.”

“Hello, Mr. Olsen. Or should I say Double O?” She let her gaze swing back to Jim for an instant before she took O’s hand. “You have an interesting history.”

She thinks she’s so smart for knowing everything. Well, it was her job. It was also fucking irritating.

O didn’t flinch. His background was a tragic, painful mess and he wasn’t the slightest bit ticked off this lady Fee Bee knew his deets. “And you have beautiful eyes.”

Jim, meanwhile, needed to make a visit to his anger-management class over the fact that his records were still available to her. He’d seen his sheet in that file. He wondered if Miss Know-It-All understood the ramifications of his arrest and exoneration. That he’d be in her shoes right now if that night, that lie, had never happened.

“I seem to be the only one without the pleasure of your acquaintance, Ms. … ”

“Special Agent Ava Webb.”

“Ahh. Lady Fed. Very nice to meet you.” O exchanged an approving look with Jim. As if he had anything to do with her appearance or her presence at the table.

Jim had no worry that O would give her the information they’d just received, but little Miss Alejandra might just do so when she brought the food. Jim was not ready to share his boon with the FBI just yet. First on the scene gets the best info.

Webb leveled her steely gaze back on Jim. “I assume you’re here investigating Sophie Evers?”

He glanced around the tacky restaurant with its dime store sombreros and brightly painted mural. “Just visiting Dallas. Lovely city.” Most of it was. This particular area, not so much.

Damn, her eyes were green. Really green. Like his cat, Annie’s, eyes. Green and deep and mischievous. Her hair was a normal brown but it seemed to be vibrant even pulled back in that tight-assed ponytail.

“I suggest you find a better area for your vacation needs, Mr. Bean. We have an active investigation to run and we don’t need you muddying up the waters. We’re recanvassing; you don’t have to.”

We. Her quiet suit of a partner must be around. Made sense.

Alejandra was coming with the food. O slid out of his side of the booth and excused himself with a brief word in the waitress’s ear.

She set the plates out. “Would you like a menu, señora?”

“No, thank you.” Agent Webb only gave the girl a fleeting glance before turning back to Jim.

He gave her his best surprised expression. “You ordering me out of city limits, Sheriff?”

She cracked a tiny smile. “I’m asking you to go back to Vegas and wait for word from us. We have this under control. Go play bodyguard there.”

Ouch. “I think I like it around here. Considering moving down south.”

“It’s hot and humid and you won’t like the locals.” She stood. “I know your cop buddy must have shared something, or everything, from our file, Mr. Bean.”

O folded himself back into the booth. “Call him Jim. He’s not as bad as you think when you get to know him.”

She didn’t reply to O. “If you fuck this up, Detective Miller’s ass is in hotter water than yours. This is our jurisdiction, and our investigation. Go home.”

But it’s my responsibility.

“You can’t make me leave.” Jim raised his brows, knowing the Feds could well make trouble for him, O, and Miller if they wanted to. But she couldn’t make him go. She had no authority over him.

“I can have your investigator’s license pulled. Stealing federal files is a serious offense.”

He smiled at her. Well, she could probably do that. But it would take time. And if he solved this case before she got his license, what would she have to gain? “Do your worst, Agent Webb.”

She marched away. Jim tried not to watch her go. He failed.

He turned back to O. “No way she can send us packing.” But Jim did worry about her pressing charges on Miller for something like mishandling federal evidence.

“You have to go the hard way all the time, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That one? Out of all the women in Vegas, that’s the one who heats up your tamale?” O took a big bite of enchilada.

“What are you talking about?”

He chuckled and dipped a chip. “You got the hots for her. Might as well take out a banner and fly it over the neighborhood, bro. It’s written all over your body.”

“Is not.” Jim felt the lie on his lips. His luck sucked.