Blaire stared at the police vehicle as it pulled into her driveway. She lit another cigarette off the butt of the one in her mouth. Her hands, her knees, her lips—everything trembled.
The dogs stared at the vehicle, too, looking far more alert than her.
A portly gentleman stepped from the white SUV and strode toward her. Short white hair covered his head like a mowed, washed-out field. His eyes looked far too kind for a policeman.
“Miss Edwards?”
“Yes, that’s me,” she said through a plume of smoke. She flicked the butt of her cigarette into the gravel and ground it out with her boot.
Maxine and Midget darted toward him, their eyes bright, their tongues lolling.
He reached down and patted the dogs’ heads before turning his attention back to Blaire.
“I’m Police Chief Kitroeff,” he said, extending his hand and a warm smile. “I made it a point to take this call when I heard the address. You’re Jackson O’Halloran’s girl, right?”
“I’m a woman, not a girl, but yes, Jackson and I are still together.” At least for now… She shook Kitroeff’s hand.
He seemed unfazed by her correction. “Yes, he called me a couple of weeks ago, telling me you received texts from a fellow you used to know—a member of a South American cartel. I posted a sticky note on my computer with your address, should something arise, but my hands were tied to follow up.” He shrugged apologetically. “I hope you understand.”
She spread her booted feet, assuming a stance that was far more solid than she felt.
“Do you have any reason to believe the fellow you saw today was Karlos Rivera?”
“Yes!” she blurted. Then, doubt seeped into her brain. Would Karlos have fled like that? That’s not his style. “No.” Maybe it was too risky to get caught here in the States. “I don’t know.”
Her shoulders slumped.
The dogs flopped onto the gravel driveway, panting.
“I need to get the dogs in the yard where there are grass and shade. This spring promises to be a hot one,” she said. After glancing toward the cloudless sky, she headed toward the back gate.
“It does indeed,” the chief said, following her.
Maxine and Midget made their way into the kennel where their water dish sat. They lapped at the water, and then trotted toward Blaire.
“Are you refreshed?” She ruffled their heads before turning toward the patio furniture. “Want to have a seat?” she said to Kitroeff.
“Sure. So, tell me what happened,” he said, easing into one of the black metal chairs. His wide rump spilled over the edges.
Blaire relayed the entire story.
Kitroeff stroked his clean-shaven chin. “We’ll do a full investigation, rest assured. I’ve got a team on their way.” He drummed his fat fingers on the table. “I did a little research on hair cutting gangs in Venezuela. One, in particular, caught my attention—Los Tiburones.”
Blaire shivered. “That’s it. The Sharks. Karlos was the leader.”
Kitroeff nodded. “Jackson told me Karlos met you in Colorado. Did you live there?”
She shook her head. “At the time, I lived in Seattle.”
He frowned. “Well, then, my fact-finding didn’t do much good.”
“Why’s that?”
“Apparently, Los Tiburones employed a unique method. They had contacts in the States. Their contacts would scope out women who seemed…” He glanced at her and pursed his lips. “I don’t mean to say this, but…”
“Say whatever it is you wanted to say,” Blaire said, waving her hand.
“Well, they targeted women who seemed weak…well, more like gullible…yes, gullible’s the better word,” he said.
Better for whom? Either word paints me as a loser.
Blaire jutted her jaw. “I see.”
“Rivera would swoop in for the, um…for the kill. You weren’t his first.” Kitroeff licked his lips, as if uncomfortable with what he said.
“I see,” she said. She placed an elbow on the black metal table and rested her chin in her palm.
“Who did you travel to Colorado with?” he said, looking on her kindly, the way her father might regard her.
“A friend,” she said.
“Was your friend a close friend?”
“At the time, yes. We parted ways after I escaped Venezuela.” Her head hung heavy in her hand.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, this friend…what did you say her name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Rayna.” She placed her other arm on the table and supported her chin with both palms.
“We might need to contact Rayna.”
“You could try,” Blaire said, listlessly. “I don’t have a way to contact her anymore.”
“Did anyone know where you were going for your trip to Colorado?”
“Oh, sure. My family knew, some of my co-workers, but your suggestion seems like a stretch. I think it was a random encounter. Karlos is a snake. He can scope a victim out with his own eyes, I’m sure. He did it on the regular down in Venezuela.”
“Where did you work?” he said.
“At a clinic downtown. I doubt if anyone there had contacts with Los Tiburones or they wouldn’t be working at the clinic. They’d be rich. Karlos knew how to pay off the people he counted on.” She smiled weakly.
“You’re probably right. It’s a long shot. Wrong place, wrong time.” He leaned forward and heaved his body from the chair. The radio on his belt crackled with a guy’s voice, saying something about arriving at Blaire’s address. “There’s the team. I’d best assist them in the investigation.” He plucked a business card from his pocket. “If you think of anything else, or if something else happens—a text, a phone call, let us know. Now we can proceed with a case.” His expression turned intense, like a Bloodhound with the scent in his nose. He extended his hand to her. “Miss Edwards, don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe.”
She shook his hand, unconvinced that anyone could protect her—not Jackson and definitely not the Singer Springs Police. Karlos could outfox them in his sleep.