As Georgia drove back to Stevens, an uneasy feeling broke over her. Lionel Grant had four trucks. One of them was “leased out.” Diego said a truck with a lion and grapes painted on its side took his parents away. Which meant whoever leased the truck could be connected to Rafael Peña and Delton Security and the kidnapping of illegals. To be fair, though, it was also possible someone with no connection to the case had leased the truck. Or borrowed one of the other three.
Lionel Grant had deep pockets, and no love for illegals. Still, a contract with a security firm like Delton, if he was underwriting it, was one thing. Human smuggling and murder were another. The reality was that unless she camped out in the desert and waited for the truck to show up, she probably would never know who was driving it. But hanging out in the desert near the border—alone, and outgunned—wasn’t a good idea.
Georgia was close—she could feel it—but time was running out. Someone in Chicago had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure she didn’t put the pieces together. That had been one of the reasons she’d come to Arizona in the first place—to fly under the radar, buy herself some time and safety. But it wouldn’t last forever. If someone wanted her out of the way, they could already be on to her.
She was back on Route 90 heading south when her cell phone beeped. She pulled over and checked. A message had come in an hour ago. Elgin must have been out of the cell’s service area. She clicked to her voice mail and listened. Then she hit redial.
“Ellie? It’s Georgia. What’s going on?”
“I’m just leaving the hospital.” Ellie sounded distracted.
“What happened?”
“My friend, Fouad, had a heart attack. It was awful. He collapsed in the front yard. They’re saying it was a—”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Sorry. I hope your friend recovers.”
“They’re saying—well, it doesn’t matter right now.”
Georgia cleared her throat. “So who was it?”
“Who was what?”
“Chris Messenger’s boyfriend. You left a message with everything except the name.”
“Right. I went to the Aston Martin dealer this morning, and—”
Georgia cut her off. “Who, Ellie?”
Ellie hesitated. “It’s Geoff Delton.”
Georgia blinked. “Fuck! Geoff Delton’s Aston Martin was parked at Chris Messenger’s house?”
“Looks that way.”
“Isn’t he married?”
“With three young children.” Ellie paused. “Georgia, don’t you see? It’s classic. They have an affair. Chris gets pregnant. But he won’t leave his wife. Chris goes bonkers and screws up his bank accounts for revenge. He decides she’s too dangerous and has her hit.”
Georgia kept her mouth shut.
“Come on.” Ellie’s voice was edged with frustration. “Say something.”
Georgia still didn’t answer.
“You know a guy like Delton could pull it off. And we know Chris had the IT knowledge to do anything she wanted with the bank accounts.”
“I don’t know,” Georgia finally said. “It sounds too convenient.”
“But it fits. Chris was on that new business team at the bank that landed Delton as a client, remember? She was even the face person on the account. So one thing leads to another, and they start sleeping together. And then the rest happens.” Ellie took a breath. “You know to never underestimate the wrath of a woman who’s been rejected.”
Georgia flashed back to Matt. She’d been in love with him, and he’d rejected her. She hadn’t been vengeful. Or had she? “I don’t know, Ellie. What about the elevator? The man with the missing finger? And what about Art Emerlich? He didn’t have anything to do with their affair.”
“Maybe Chris told Emerlich about it. Maybe Emerlich confronted Delton. And the man with the missing finger could be the hit man.” Ellie said. “About the elevator, I don’t know, but I have a feeling we’ll find out.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I called O’Malley.”
Georgia went rigid. “You did? When?”
“While I was at the hospital. I couldn’t reach you. And you said if something broke, I should.”
Ellie was right. But that didn’t do much to lessen Georgia’s disappointment. Still, she tried to suppress it. “You—you did the right thing. What did he say?”
“He’s bringing Delton in. And he wants to talk to you ASAP. Georgia, it’s time for you to come home.”
• • •
It made sense, Georgia thought after she disconnected. An affair gone bad put a new spin on the case. Especially when a surprise pregnancy was factored in. Now Geoff Delton would be under tremendous pressure. And while he probably considered himself a soldier of sorts, putting loyalty to his men and his mission above all else, it wouldn’t take the cops long to discover whether he’d engineered Chris Messenger’s death and her daughter’s kidnapping. There was always the chance that the other answers she’d been looking for would surface, as well. Ultimately, the four days she’d spent digging in Stevens probably didn’t matter. Ellie was right about that, too. It was time to go home.
She stopped at the hotel restaurant for dinner, but by the time she went up to her room after dark, she felt deflated and fatigued. She pulled out her card key and was about to slip it into the lock when she stopped. Each time she’d left her room, she’d used the old trick of placing a hair in the door jam. If the hair wasn’t there when she returned, she’d know someone had been inside. The hairs had been there each time she’d come back. Until now.
It wasn’t the maid, who’d cleaned the room before Georgia stuck today’s hair to the jam. It couldn’t be room service or the laundry, either. She hadn’t ordered or sent anything down.
When she heard a muffled thump on the other side of the door, her heart banged in her chest. Someone was in her room. She slipped her Sig out of her holster and gripped it in her good hand. Slowly she lifted her other arm and inserted the key. The latch unlocked. Grabbing the door handle, she twisted and opened the door an inch. She dropped the key in her pocket, brought her Sig up, and stepped inside.
She tried to wedge the door open with her foot, but operating with just one arm was problematic, and the door closed behind her. The shades were drawn, and the lighting was dim, but she could make out a man sitting on a chair. He was pointing a gun at her. She aimed her Sig at him. Neither of them moved. The window was open a crack. A car radio barreling past on the street below blared out a Latino rap.
She kept the Sig trained on the man, but she hadn’t chambered a round. Could she bluff her way through?
Before she could start, the man spoke. “Well now,” he said lazily, “I guess this is what you’d call a Mexican stand-off.”
“Drop the gun and get on the floor, asshole,” she said sharply.
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
“Do you really want to take that chance?”
“I think the more important question is ‘do you?’” He leveled his pistol at her. It was a semi-automatic. Maybe Heckler and Koch.
“The way I see it,” he went on, “We can both fire. Assuming you can rack your slide. Which, with your bum wrist, could be a problem. But even if you could, you’ll die. See, you don’t have a vest on. Or any other kind of protection I can see. I, on the other hand, am wrapped up in Kevlar where it counts.”
He had her.
“This might be a good time for you to drop your weapon,” he added.
Georgia had no choice. She went down on one knee and placed the Sig on the floor. He side-stepped over and picked it up, the barrel of his gun never wavering. He slipped her Sig into his vest and straightened up. “Normally, I’d cuff you. Stuff something in your mouth. But I’m guessing if you were going to scream, you would have done it already. And since you’re already incapacitated...,” he motioned to her cast, “... I’m willing to forego those things.” His voice hardened. “I haven’t miscalculated, have I?”
She stared at him as if it might illuminate the man’s soul. “You’re Raffi Peña.”
“And you’re Georgia Davis.”
He watched her with a curious expression. Georgia had the feeling he was assessing how much of a threat she posed, even with her broken wrist. Still, the fact that she was alive, at least for the moment, gave her some hope. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I know.”
Carmelita or her brother must have contacted him. “I have questions. About a case I’m working.” She wanted to keep him talking while she figured out a way to stay alive.
“Nice try, but I’ll ask the questions. Who are you and why are you here?” His gun was inches from her chest.
He wasn’t going to give. “I’m a private investigator from Chicago. I’m looking into the kidnapping of a little girl and the subsequent murder of her mother. She was a banker, and she issued three cashiers’ checks, each for a million dollars. One of them was made out to you.”
He grunted.
“I know you work for Delton Security. I know your two buddies are dead. And I know you’re on the run. I want to know if that’s because you killed them. Kidnapped the little girl. Killed her mother.”
“And I should tell you these things because...” His voice was laced with irony. “How do I know Delton didn’t send you?”
Georgia frowned. Something was off. “Why would Delton be coming after you?”
He hesitated a moment, as if he realized he’d said the wrong thing, then pulled back the slide and chambered a round. “Give me a reason not to take you out.”
Georgia took a breath, wondering if it might be her last. “Because if you do, we’ll have both failed in our missions.”
He seemed to ponder that. “Why did you get a phone message about Delton from someone named Ellie in Chicago?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Answer the question.”
She thought fast. Ellie must have called the hotel at some point when she couldn’t reach her cell. It was probably on the room’s answering machine. Which Peña had obviously listened to. “Ellie’s my—partner. She’s working the case in Chicago.”
“And?”
Georgia shook her head.
“What?”
“Nothing more until we deal.”
He almost laughed. “Deal? What do you have to deal?”
“Intel. About Geoff Delton.”
Now he did laugh. “You’re willing to risk your life in a flea-bag hotel in Stevens, Arizona, over some intel you think I need?”
She wondered if there was any way to gain an advantage but decided there wasn’t. Better to stand her ground. She wouldn’t beg for her life. “That’s right.”
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t shoot, either. After a moment he motioned with the gun. “Sit on the bed.”
Georgia went to the edge of the bed, sat down, and flicked the switch of the lamp on the bedside table. She wanted to see her killer.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” He growled.
She ignored the comment and took stock of Peña. Under the black Kevlar vest he wore a black t-shirt and jeans. Desert boots on his feet. Thick black hair tied back in a ponytail. A well-trimmed goatee. But his most striking feature was his eyes—dark pools that captured and gave off light as if a fire raged behind them. Right now they were focused on her like a laser. She could tell he liked what he saw.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he repeated.
“I have the right to see the man who’s going to kill me.”
He inclined his head toward the window. “The light tells them you’re back.”
She weighed his comment. It could be a ruse, to trick her into giving him what he wanted. Whatever that was. “Who?”
He didn’t answer.
“Peña, the least you can do before you kill me is tell me why you got a million dollars from Delton. Why Wrobleski and Brewer are dead. And what you’ve been doing for Lionel Grant.”
A lazy smile crept across his face. “Those are fair questions.”
She was waiting for his answer when the room exploded. The shade billowed out, then fell off its track. The window shattered, and shards of glass blew onto the floor. Another explosion tore through the window. Georgia dropped to the floor
“Davis!” Peña hissed. “Are you all right?”
Adrenaline surged through her, rendering her momentarily speechless.
“Answer me, Davis!”
“I’m—I’m okay.” She stammered.
“Then turn off the fucking light!”
Georgia crawled over, stretched up her good arm, and snapped off the light. Once again dark shadows cloaked the room. Warm air gusted in, scented with rain. She tried to peer out of the space that used to be the window, but all she could see was the black of the building next door against a deeper black that was the night sky. A hazy glow came from the street below. “Who’s the shooter?”
He didn’t answer.
Her anger mounted. “How do I know they’re not after you?” More silence. “Who the fuck are you, Peña? What game are you playing? If you—or your goons—are planning to kill me, let’s just get it over with, okay?”
She heard rather than saw his grin. “All in good time.”
Another shot screamed through the window. Georgia ducked. She thought she smelled cordite. “Fuck it!”
“They’re just trying to scare you. If they really wanted you dead, they wouldn’t be firing randomly into the room.”
“How do I know you didn’t set me up?”
“You don’t.” He paused. “But I’m thinking now might be a good time for us to make our exit.”
Us. He said us. “How do you plan to do that? As soon as we show ourselves, they’re going to use us for target practice.”
“I might have a trick or two left up my sleeve.”
“Well, this would be a good time to pull them out.”