Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(73)

“Maybe. Or, maybe Hec is lying. Maybe Hec is in contact with his dad. He could have called him, told him about the kidnapping. Wally could have thought things were going to speed up with his indictment. He’d want to get in the office immediately and get the records.”

Otto squinted at Josie as if he were trying to see it all more clearly. “But how would Hec have known about the kidnapping? Christina was shot just a few hours after Dillon was taken.”

“Maybe the Medranos told Hec about the kidnapping. Maybe they came by the trailer again to rough him up, increase the pressure on Hec to find his dad. If your dad doesn’t bring back our money, this is what’s going to happen to you.”

Otto tilted his head, conceding the point.

Josie pushed her chair away from her desk in frustration. “I think it’s time to pressure Hector. I have a gut feeling that he knows more than he’s telling us. He’s scared and he’s got the cops telling him one thing, his dad probably telling him another, and the cartel threatening to kill him.”

“Agreed.”

Josie glanced at her watch; it was just a little before noon. “I’m going to run home and talk to Nick. Ask him to go with me. I still don’t think Hec understands just how bad the Medranos are. I want him to understand what a cartel kidnapping means.”

*

Twenty minutes later Josie pulled into her driveway and shut off the jeep. The sun shone directly overhead, heating up the desert, an indication that summer was just around the corner. She kept her sunglasses on and scanned the area. Chester was nowhere in sight, most likely asleep on Dell’s front porch, where he could be shaded from the heat of the day. She pressed her thumb against the quarter-sized fingerprint reader and then pushed the code into the keypad next to her front door, still slightly awed at the quiet clicks of the door opening for her entrance.

She found Nick sitting at the dining room table with a cell phone clamped between his ear and his shoulder, typing something into his computer.

He gestured with his elbow toward the empty seat across from him and Josie sat down. He spoke in Spanish for several minutes on the phone before hanging up. His eyes were wide and unblinking. He sat back in his seat and studied her for a moment. “Look, about what I said to you last night. I was too harsh, and I’m sorry.”

“You have a lead?” she asked, pointing toward the computer, unwilling to rehash the night before.

He seemed to consider continuing with the apology, but finally nodded once and dropped it. He said, “I went to visit Hec first thing this morning at the motel. He talked me through every detail he could think of about his beating and the house he stayed in while they kept him in Mexico.” He paused and gave Josie a cautious look. “My team has been collecting information about a neighborhood in Piedra Labrada. It’s too early to tell, but it sounds like it may be the same area where Hec was held. There’s a chance.”

Josie’s eyes widened and he lifted both hands up as if stopping her from moving forward. “Look. I just said, it’s a chance. It’s a lead at this point. Nothing more. It’s way too early for hope.”

She nodded.

“You obviously didn’t come here looking for an apology from me. So what’s up?”

“What kind of lead? From where?”

His face softened. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You don’t share every lead with a family during an investigation, right?”

She said nothing.

“I don’t share information until I find something tangible, something I know won’t fall apart. Otherwise, I’d spend all my time soothing the family’s fears and insecurities rather than focusing on the job at hand.” He seemed to notice the anger beginning to form in her expression and he stood from his chair. “Damn it.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a jug of orange juice that he had evidently bought that day and took a swig from the jug. He finally turned to face her again. “Look. I am sorry for last night, for losing my patience with you. It was unprofessional. I’m struggling to separate the cop from the victim.” He looked around the room as if trying to figure out how to explain his approach. “You’re like the coach’s kid. I expect more of you than other victims, just because you’re a cop.”

Josie watched him put away the orange juice and thought about his reasoning for not filling her in on developing leads. She knew he was handling it the right way. He turned and leaned against the refrigerator, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans, and a line of sweat had formed across his forehead.

“An informant dropped in on a working-class area in Piedra Labrada about three months ago,” he said, giving in. “He claimed there’s a safe house there that may be tied to the Medranos.”

Josie kept her face impassive, willing her heart to beat steadily in her chest.

“We don’t even have a street, Josie, so don’t get too excited. For now, that’s all I know. I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

She nodded, not wanting to leave the conversation, but she was certain that Nick would provide nothing more. “I want to put some pressure on Hec. We’ve been nice, we’ve given him ample time to come clean with us. But I’ve run out of patience.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at her.

She lifted her hand in response, smiling in spite of her irritation. “I get it. You were making a point with me last night. You’d obviously lost patience. The difference is, I’m not withholding information.”