The Chase (6 page)

Tigo frowned at the mound of unfinished paperwork on his desk and the work in his in-box. One of them was an EC, electronic communication report, so he could pay Jo-Jack. He pulled it from the stack and began filling in the blanks. The informant’s payment fell under the category of “services rendered.” Too bad Tigo couldn’t hire someone to fill in the blanks.

He sensed Kariss in his cubicle’s entrance, watching his every move. She’d been listening to his side of the conversation.

“What happens now with Cherished Doe?” she said.

“We wait.”

“Care to talk about how you feel the press conference impacted the media?”

He shook his head. “No point in it. What we need are results.” He turned his attention back to the EC. “It went well. Like everything else, the indicator will be in the response.”

A
ll afternoon and into the early evening, excitement wove through Kariss. She followed various TV channels on her iPhone and stayed at the FBI office past six o’clock to view the evening news’ live feeds. Each station had a unique spin, a heart-wrenching plea for community action. The reporters warned the viewers of the autopsy picture’s graphic nature and presented the reward as a way of encouraging those with information to step forward. The theme of every TV story was the atrocity done to Cherished Doe and the reality that she could be a child the viewer might recognize.

Kariss expected someone to call within minutes, and Tigo had warned that an influx of prank calls would have to be analyzed for solid information. But she felt certain that by tomorrow, answers would be available and the case solved.

Over four hours later, the agents who’d remained at the office buzzed with optimistic comments. Linc, Ryan, and Tigo were among them.

Tigo took a quick look at his watch. “I need to get home.”

“Sure.” Ryan stretched. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. I told Natalie I’d be home by nine, and here it is ten-thirty.”

Kariss noticed that Tigo didn’t wear a wedding ring. He either had a live-in girlfriend or he viewed a wedding band as a determent to his undercover work. What about kids? Since he and Linc were college buds, he probably had a few of his own. Kariss cringed. She pictured Tigo as a no-excuse type of parent. Ah, maybe not. She shook off a twinge of what she recognized as jealousy. An emotion she didn’t need or want. Besides, he interested her about as much as a toothache.

That was a lie. The more she was around him, the more she felt a strange attraction.

“See you at seven in the morning,” Tigo said to Ryan. “We’ve got to work out a few details.”

She wished she could be a fly on the wall during that early-morning meeting, but she was too tired to ask. Today had been enough to lift her spirits. Soon they’d all know Cherished Doe’s name and how she died, more so the identity of the killer. “Thanks for letting me stay to view the media reports.”

“No problem,” Linc said. “What happened today in cooperation with the media is monumental. Let’s pray it works.”

Kariss recalled Linc and Yvonne were Christians, like her family. The mention of prayer worked for them. She didn’t find it offensive, just part of who they were. But most people of faith seldom spoke openly about it in the workplace. Not sure how she felt about “witnessing.”

She walked to her desk and gathered her purse and laptop. She’d check her phone messages on the way home.

Tigo fell in step with her to the lower hall leading to the parking lot. He held the glass door open. “You were where you needed to be today. Like us, you were there in the beginning and never forgot the case. Thanks for pushing us to give it one more try.”

“You’re welcome. We all have a stake in identifying the little girl.”

“However, don’t tell anyone I admitted you were right.”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

He laughed and walked toward his black, sleek truck, an F-250 Ford Lariat.

She appreciated his compliment. Tigo was an enigma. He fit the profile of a TV or movie superhero who cleverly saw what others didn’t. But she’d also seen him involved as a team player.

She opened the door to her Jaguar and caught another glimpse of him. Respect for his position settled in her, and she hoped to understand him more over the days and weeks ahead.

Shaking her head, she put aside her analysis of Tigo until she got to know him better. She slid inside her car, the new-car scent reminding her of how much she valued the Jag’s performance.

She pulled onto the highway and punched in her mother’s number, ignoring the flashing light that reminded her Meredith had called. Dealing with her agent’s continuous tirade after such a rewarding day wasn’t on the calendar.

“Hey, Mom. Got your message.”

“Wanted to say I saw you on the six o’clock news. The camera did a panoramic view of those attending the press conference, and I saw my beautiful baby girl.”

“You’re biased, but thanks. What did you and Dad think of the media coverage?” Kariss knew with certainty they would be honest.

“Well, I cried. But you’re not surprised with my confession since you girls inherited the same propensity for tears. The chief of police did an outstanding job of requesting help from those who were able to enlist public sentiment. I mean, sometimes all I hear is politically correct — what do you call that?”

“Jargon.”

“Yes, that’s it. I respected the way he worded his appeal. It showed he cared.”

“Wonderful. I wondered how the public would interpret the message.”

“Reminded me of the church. You know how the body of Christ is unified in purpose, no matter what the denomination.”

Here it comes. “I see a similarity. So—”

“We’re in a great sermon series. Why don’t you join us Sunday, and we’ll take you to lunch? Vicki’s going too.”

Spending time with her sister and her family was tempting. “Mom, thanks, but I have plans.”

“What could be more important than feeding your soul and your stomach while being with those who love you?”

Peace and quiet without preaching.

Stop it, Kariss, that’s tacky. Disrespectful.

“Would you think about it?” Mom’s voice wasn’t pleading, only sincere. Kariss refused to criticize her mother’s faith. It simply wasn’t for her.

“I will. And I’ll call Vicki.”

“What are you writing now?”

“I’m putting together a story about an FBI agent who solves a cold case. Very much like the Cherished Doe.”

“Oh, honey, that will be another bestseller for sure. But are you ever going to write for a Christian publishing house? Those are the only kind of books my friends read.”

Kariss’s heart crashed into her toes. “I don’t think so …” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish I could give your books to my friends. But this one sounds too violent.”

“I understand. But some aspects of the crime must be presented to make the story real.”

“What about God?”

Please, Mom.
“If I wrote for a Christian audience, I’d lose thousands of faithful readers. Those readers pay the bills and allow me to give to worthwhile charities.” She refused to say that she’d given much to her parents’ church. That wasn’t necessary … and she’d grown up in that church.

“I think you’d have even more readers. You, Kariss, are a gifted writer. You’ve been given a special talent. You were born doing things naturally with words that others only wish they could attempt. I love you no matter what you write. So let’s end this discussion. Want to go shopping on Friday night? Dad has a meeting, and we could do dinner and hit the mall.”

“You bet. I’ll meet you at Papadeaux’s at six.”

Kariss slipped her phone back into her purse, allowing the weight of what Mom really meant to slowly dissipate. Someday she’d return to church, after she’d lived a little. The rules and “Thou shalt nots” were too confining.

Saturday she planned to attend a meeting with the Story Sisters, a writing group that had become her lifeblood. She’d participated for a couple of years and loved to hear about their writing projects and adventures. Seeing familiar faces and sharing about the craft always gave her a perk. She desperately needed encouragement from fellow writers, and the sisterhood would motivate her to convince Meredith that changing genres was a good move. Kariss didn’t plan to reveal her writing project to the group. She simply needed to breathe the same air as those who often faced challenges with their writing.

Just as she pulled off the 610 loop her phone jingled again, and she answered before checking the caller.

“Do you mean I actually have the great Kariss Walker, bestselling, award-winning author?” Sarcasm rippled through Meredith’s tone.

“I apologize for not returning your call.”

“Lately all I get is a recording.”

Kariss moistened her lips. “I did my best to explain how I feel when you were here in Houston.”

“Useless tripe.”

The woman could crumble a cement wall with her cutting tone. “I feel like a redundant fool here, but I don’t know how else to communicate my desire to write this novel.”

“Try me, because your actions are not conducive to my caliber of writers. The Rockford Literary Agency handles only bestselling writers who adhere to my career plan for their lives. Writers stand in line for my wisdom and consideration for me to represent them. I’ve worked hard for you in developing a platform, and what have you done in return?”

“Excuse me. I believe you’ve received a hefty percentage of my advances and royalty checks.”

“But you’re high maintenance. I had to beg for the country’s best image coach to redo your wardrobe, makeup, teach you how to speak—”

Fury danced in Kariss’s veins. “That wasn’t me. I became a part of your agency because I already had those essentials from my TV days, including a platform. May I suggest you have my file in front of you before you place your next call?”

“Whatever. This call is to inform you that I must have the new book proposal in my in-box within twenty-four hours.”

Kariss acknowledged her one and only position. “Then we no longer have a professional relationship. I’ll fax the termination of your representation tonight.”

“Jo-Jack has given us good leads before.” Tigo put his truck into park and shut off the engine. Here in his home’s garage, he had a few moments, but he needed to cut Ryan’s call short. “The proof will be in what he brings in. He claims that Cheeky thinks he’s working against us. Hard to say.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Play it from the office. Come up with a different disguise. Right now I think they’re looking for a cop. No point in wasting time thinking about what information they extracted from Candy.”

“Extracted is a good way to put it.” Ryan’s voice held no humor. The Arroyos beheaded their last victim. Candy had been lucky.

“I … I looked into the whereabouts of her kids. Living with another hooker. Foster care looks like the best option.”

“You’re involved again.”

“I owe Candy. Her kids meant a lot to her. You know me, I have priorities. I’ve contacted CPS to see about a good foster home. And I deposited the cash due her into an account to be used for her kids. Not sure my call did any good, but I tried. I have more than one reason to nail Cheeky.”

“Tigo, none of us want your priorities to get you killed. You’d better change your MO before you venture into that snake pit again.”

The comment irritated him, though he understood Ryan’s caution. “I know how to be careful.”

Cheeky paced the floor of the bar, empty this time of day except for Froggie, his lead man. He swallowed a gulp of Buchanan’s that only fueled his fury. Two of his men were dead, key men whom he depended on. They had been stupid but fearless, and that’s what he needed to keep his organization on top and making money. Candy had already paid for her betrayal, now the
policía
responsible would pay with his blood. But Cheeky had to think his way through his next move, play out all the scenarios. What he did best.

“The man who killed our men,” Cheeky said. “Do you have a name?”

“Not yet. Word’s out.
Policía
, but I don’t know which one.”

Cheeky had plans to move up in his world, and his second cousin held a prominent role in Mexico’s largest cartel. Loyalty paved the way, and Cheeky had positioned himself repeatedly to get the job done. Not once had he failed. Smuggling weapons for his cousin’s cartel ranked high on the list, while he maneuvered wealthy professionals toward his cousin for a web of white-collar crime. Drugs and prostitution brought in its share of profits — all looked good.

Soon Cheeky would have the respect he deserved. His cousin’s cartel was observing how he handled the Houston
policía
, the Skulls who bragged about taking over the city, and his own people, all while making millions. The Arroyos understood they eliminated the competition and took risks. No one got in Cheeky’s business.

“What do you want me to do, boss?” Froggie said.