Mission Road (Tres Navarre #6)(46)

“I thought you ditched that thing,” Ralph said. “Don’t be risking calls.”

I hit speed dial #1.

Maia picked up, and she was even more direct: “You’re insane. Get off the line.”

“I’ll keep it under thirty seconds.”

“Tres, I’ve got my hands full.”

“You’re in danger. There’s a guy with tattoos—”

“On his arms,” she supplied. “Flowers, right?”

My stomach did a half-pipe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m holding a gun to his head. He’s driving. We have a nice arrangement.”

“Maia—Jesus, what?”

“I’m taking a picture. Hang on.” A few seconds later: “Check your phone.”

The wonders of technology. Camera cell phones had quickly become a necessity for PIs, but I never thought my girlfriend would be sending me photos of the men she held at gunpoint.

The grainy digital shot showed a fiftyish Anglo with grizzled hair and a pitted face. He was sitting behind the wheel of Maia’s car, looking as if he’d just received an electric shock.

I put the phone back to my ear. “Maia, how—”

“No time to explain. We’re looking for a quiet place to talk.”

“Tell me where. I’ll come.”

“Too dangerous. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait.” I struggled to think of a plan.

Madeleine and Alex had finished their argument. They were trudging in our direction. The Las Posadas carolers had started their final song, welcoming Joseph and Mary to the church.

“Where are you?” Maia asked. “What’s that singing?”

“Some newlyweds and a donkey. They’re looking for a motel room. Look, don’t interrogate that guy alone. Please.”

“The problem is where. You have five seconds to suggest a safe meeting place.”

Madeleine was only a couple of steps away. No doubt she was going to grind my cell phone into rebar. She wasn’t going to be receptive to me giving her chauffeur any more directions, either.

I made Maia the best offer I could think of. As usual, it also happened to be the most insane: “You like mafia Christmas parties?”

DECEMBER 19, 1986

THE LAST THING THAT MADE JULIA GARCIA smile was her murderer’s joke.

They were riding along together, his new silver Mercedes as smooth and silent as a magic carpet. She told him what she wanted to do with her life, and he said, “You don’t want to be a teacher.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d have students like me.”

She smiled and pushed his arm, but immediately she knew she’d gone too far. He tensed at her touch. His expression reminded her of the eight-year-old boy she’d volunteered with that afternoon, who’d flung the Dr. Seuss book across the room because he couldn’t pronounce the word know.

She began to wonder if her friends at the bar had been right about this man. Julia, hija, you gonna talk to him?

They’d dared her twenty bucks. She’d taken the bet, conscious that the blond Anglo had been looking at her across the room, interested, intrigued.

She felt flush with success: Her first semester over, her grades excellent, her last exam put behind her that morning. By the end of the spring, her professors assured her, she could transfer to a full university if she wanted.

Shoot high, they’d told her. Look at Yale. Look at Columbia.

The names rolled over her like incantations—magical phrases from another universe. No one she’d ever known had gone this far. No member of her family had ever completed high school.

Earlier in the week, she’d dumped her senior year boyfriend. Life was too full of possibilities for her to marry him. She’d broken her last chain. Why not celebrate? Why not show off a little?

The guy at the bar was obviously from that other world she wanted—rich, powerful, groomed for success. It was as if he were put in front of her now, a symbol of what she could have. Did she have the nerve to take it?

They left together, and she turned to wink at her friends, knowing that tomorrow they’d owe her twenty bucks.

He pulled the Mercedes over on the side of a dark road. Mission, she thought, but she wasn’t sure. A crumbling streak of asphalt marched off into the night, scrubby trees and barbed wire on either side like scar tissue.

Her companion’s name was Frankie. That’s all she knew. The name made him seem younger, though he had to be at least a few years older than she.

He put the car in park and looked up at the stars. The Big Dipper, Orion, a bunch of other constellations she couldn’t name.

“Pretty,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“So . . . you bring many girls out here?” She meant it to sound teasing, but when he looked over, the darkness in his eyes scared her.

“A couple,” he admitted.

She shifted away from him, just slightly. Already planning exit strategies. She would tell him she still had an early exam tomorrow. No . . . she’d already told him she was done for the semester. What else would work? That her friends were expecting a call, maybe.

“My father used to come here,” he murmured.

“Your father?”

“He used to bring women here. It killed my mother.”