Читать книгу The Stronghold - Lisa Carter - Страница 12

Chapter 4

4

By the time Pilar arrived at the public housing complex, the perpetrator was long gone, and the woman whose face would resemble a checkerboard of bruises tomorrow refused to name her abuser or bring charges.

Pilar returned to the cruiser and radioed her location before heading to the station. She only hoped the next call to this address didn’t involve a homicide.

After clocking out at the end of her shift, she changed out of her uniform into well-washed jeans and flats. Pilar retrieved her personal vehicle from the back lot, stowed her weapon in the glove compartment, and headed for the tribal youth center.

Two decisions she’d never regretted—becoming the custodial parent to her deployed brother’s son. And becoming a tribal cop.

But after all these years, to come face to face with Alex in the line of duty . . . she’d not seen that coming when dispatch sent her to investigate a reported homicide in the desert barrens at the edge of the rez.

With any forewarning, she would have . . . would’ve what?

She frowned at her reflection in the glass-fronted door of the tribal teen center. She’d have taken time to neaten her cop bun. Maybe not enough time to lose those last five irritating pounds, but she certainly wouldn’t have inhaled the diet-destroying fry bread omelet this morning.

Her mouth flattened. Like any of that mattered. Or changed what happened between them so long ago.

Stop being stupid, Pilar.

Taking a deep breath, she seized the handle and threw the door of the teen center wide. The phone call informing her that Manny had been expelled from school merely put the cap on what was shaping up to be a total in-the-toilet day.

And when she got through giving Manny a piece of her mind—grounding him in his foreseeable future—he’d be wishing he was back to solving algebraic equations.

While Manny wouldn’t grieve over missing freshman algebra, she’d bet burritos he’d not be so willing to skip out on his current favorite pastime—the after-school cultural activities.

Manny had always been fascinated with Apache customs and lore. Until this year, he’d been an energetic if bookish child. And then, the hormones hit and being smart was suddenly geeky for the teen whose only aspirations revolved around making the high school basketball team.

He spoke better Apache than she, thanks to the linguistics electives the school offered. Kids were taught to be proud of their heritage. To embrace their identity.

Unlike the stigma she and Byron endured. When her brother and Alex Torres were best buddies. And she and Alex—

Her heart beat a furious clip at the thought of the filled-out, grown-up version of Alex Torres. Always tall, the gangly young man she’d known—and loved—had fulfilled his physical potential. A goofball back then, his charm and quirky sense of fun had also hidden a sharp intelligence.

A lot of things had changed since last they laid eyes on each other. But fundamental things had not. Including the effect Alejandro Torres had on her heart rate.

“Manny’s not here, Miz To-Clanny.”

Pilar’s eyes adjusted from the desert glare to the florescent-lit teen center. Thirteen-year-old Reyna Bui sat atop a white laminate table. Her jean-clad legs dangled.

The child’s sneakers were ragged, and with dusk approaching, Reyna’s threadbare gray sweater would soon prove inadequate. “You waiting on your mom?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Reyna’s dark eyes slid away. “She’ll be here soon as she finishes her shift at the Wild Bill.”

Make that soon as Reyna’s mother finished hustling customers at the off-rez bar in Globe. Or, failed to find other sleeping accommodations.

“Let me take you home.”

Reyna shook her head. “I can walk home if it gets too late.”

Pilar’s mind shifted to the unidentified body in the canyon grave. Nobody bothered to monitor Reyna’s comings and goings. Another throwaway rez kid.

Like her and Byron once upon a time.

“Not tonight.” Pilar yanked the door open. “Come on. No arguments. I get enough of that from Manny.”

Her brow puckering, Reyna paratrooped off the table and landed, agile as a deer, on the balls of her feet. “You don’t have to do that, Miz To-Clanny.”

“It’ll be fun.” Pilar held the door. “I get tired of nothing but guy talk from Manny. We’ll get enchiladas and bring some to Manny before I take you home.”

“You don’t need to do that.” But Reyna’s stomach rumbled as she crawled into the Jeep Cherokee.

What Pilar didn’t need to do was to look at her watch to know it’d been hours since Reyna’s free and reduced lunch at school. Too well Pilar remembered the hunger of an empty belly and an equally empty trailer refrigerator. Too well she remembered the shame of her and Byron always being the poorest kids in school.

Until Abuela came into their lives.

“I don’t have any money for dinner, Miz To-Clanny.” Reyna squared her shoulders. “Mama says Buis don’t take handouts.”

Pilar fought hard to keep what she thought of Reyna’s mother from showing on her face. She averted her gaze and inserted the key into the ignition. “Don’t worry about that, honey. Pay me with one of those pretty rocks you find.”

“You’ve already got a lot of those from me.”

Pilar cranked the engine. “Actually, you’d be doing Manny a favor by putting off the mammoth-size punishment he’s due. And,” she cut her eyes at Reyna. “I figured since you and Manny were such good friends, you could give me a clue to what’s going on in that boy’s head these days. One female to the other.”

“Used to be good friends.” Reyna’s gaze dropped to the floorboard. “Females is what he’s got on his mind, I imagine. The high school ones, anyway.”

Pilar wanted to bop Manny upside the head for hurting the too-skinny girl who’d not yet bloomed. Been there, been her.

Over a decade ago while playing ball in the yard with four-year-old Manny, she’d looked up to find the little girl with big brown eyes gazing at Manny as if he hung the moon. Pilar couldn’t believe the child had walked all the way from next door.

’Cause next door in the middle of nowhere was a good two miles down the road. And thereafter, she’d made it her business to keep an eye out for the neglected child.

Reyna had never met a rock she didn’t love. And she and best-bud Manny spent hours scrambling around the mountain vistas under Pilar’s watchful eye. On a visit to Abuela’s, it was Manny who taught Reyna to ride a pony. Manny who kicked butt at school when one of the other kids made fun of Reyna’s less-than-stellar wardrobe. Or mocked her brains.

Manny used to be proud of his own braininess, too, until this year at high school when he discovered it wasn’t quite the social commodity Pilar had led him to believe. Especially around the guys and adolescent girls he was so eager to impress these days. Middle-schooler Reyna—like Pilar—was still trying to adjust to Manny’s new reality.

Adapt or die.

Pilar gritted her teeth. “Boys—men—take it from me—the whole lot of them are jerks, Reyna.”

“He’s going through a tough time.” Reyna—ever the Manny champion whether he deserved it or not, mostly not—lifted her chin. “Manny’s got a good heart. He’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

Giving Pilar a tough time more like it. Skipping school, getting into fights, hanging out with those Indian gangster lowlifes—at this rate Manny would either end up in jail or dead. Policing the rez by day, policing Manny was proving the hardest job of all.

“Where’d Manny go this afternoon, Reyna?”

Facing forward, Reyna put her knees together, prim as a schoolmarm.

“You’re not doing him any favors by protecting him.”

Reyna laced her fingers in her lap.

Pilar blew out a disgusted breath as she turned into the drive-through lane. “Come on, Reyna. You’ve got to give me something. I’m at my wit’s end with the boy.”

What troubled Pilar more than anything was how the sweet, even-tempered boy had become so angry and secretive.

Reyna folded her arms over her flat chest. “It’s Bui, Reyna. Don’t have a rank or serial number. But I’m prepared to give you my tribal enrollment number if required.”

“There’d be a chocolate milkshake in it for you, Reyna, if you come clean.”

Reyna gave Pilar a haughty look. “I’m no snitch.”

Pilar swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Is Manny using, Reyna?” As a police officer, she didn’t kid herself about the availability of drugs, especially to rez kids.

Reyna’s eyes enlarged. “No. He’d never . . . not after what happened with his mother.”

Pilar strangled the wheel. She’d failed Manny. As his auntie, she’d tried so hard to give him normal—or what passed for normal in their broken family tree. To give him the safe and secure childhood she and Byron missed.

But sometimes—Pilar bit her lip so hard she tasted blood—you couldn’t fight genetics.

That thought—and Alex Torres—kept her awake a lot of nights.

A car behind them beeped. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Pilar inched to the intercom and ordered three chocolate milkshakes, two enchiladas grande-style, two fries, and one taco salad. Time—Pilar took stock of herself in the side mirror—past time to work on those five extra pounds.

She crept to the cashier’s window and paid. Pilar passed the bulging bag across the console for Reyna to leverage at her feet. She handed the shake caddy for Reyna to balance in her arms.

Reyna counted the number of shakes. “But I didn’t give you any dirt on Manny.”

Pilar eased onto the highway. “I always get you a chocolate shake, Reyna, you know that.”

Reyna’s lips quivered. “Don’t have any real pretty rocks in my collection right now, Miz To-Clanny, but I’m going to find you something special this time.”

Pilar smiled over at her. “I know you will, honey.”

Reyna seemed to come to a decision. “Ole Miz Clum asked Manny to chop firewood for her this afternoon. Going to be a bad winter the old lady said. Offered to pay Manny. Which he refused.”

The girl tossed her head with an I-told-you-so look in her eyes. “As was only proper her being an elder and all.”

“Clum? Talitha Clum?”

Whose property abutted the box canyon.

Pilar shivered at the thought of Manny so close to that horrible place.

Reyna nodded. “She volunteers at the center. Manny likes her stories of the old days. When Apaches weren’t afraid, Manny says, to raise—”

“I get the picture, Reyna.”

Reyna rummaged in the bag and chomped on a shoestring fry. “I overheard her tell Manny she’d bring him home.”

Yet when Pilar reached the trailer, Talitha Clum was nowhere in sight. And Manny wasn’t the only one making himself at home.

***

With Emily busy with multiple autopsies, Charles coordinated by phone with a tribal detective to identify the missing teenagers. Darlene updated the suspected serial’s profile. And Sidd’s record search revealed one homestead closest to the crime scene.

The home belonged to an old lady Alex planned to interview with Pilar’s help. Something Sidd and the detective could’ve handled, but Alex’s brief conversation with Pilar in the canyon hadn’t been enough.

Not by a long shot.

He headed out of their temporary office at the tribal police department toward the mountains halfway between the rez and Saguaro Gulch, the closest town to Abuela. Alex exited off Highway 70 onto 191 heading south. He turned off the highway onto a secondary road.

A few twists and turns further, he sighted a run-down trailer and checked the GPS. The isolated trailer abutted the looming mountains. But it wasn’t Pilar’s house.

Following a tertiary road, he found her trim mobile home set amidst sagebrush against the backdrop of the wilderness area. Next to the trailer stood a freestanding basketball goal. He pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine. As neat and tidy as the other trailer had been ramshackle, he waited in the vehicle as per Apache courtesy to be invited inside.

He’d made it his business to inquire what time she went off shift. He’d made a lot of things his business over the years in regard to Pilar. But from a distance.

Alex watched as the front door swung open. He pushed his aviator sunglasses onto the crown of his head as a long-limbed teenage boy emerged from the depths of the mobile home.

Thirteen or fourteen maybe? Alex wasn’t good with kids’ ages. Hadn’t much experience with kids of any age.

Light-skinned and tall for an Apache, the boy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the parked SUV. His dark, plaited braid hung over his shoulder. The boy hugged a basketball to his stomach.

Alex flung open the door accompanied by much dinging and stepped out of the vehicle.

Clad in jeans and a tank top, the boy didn’t respond.

Alex flashed his badge. “Special Agent Alex Torres. Are you Manny, Byron’s son?” He handed the boy his business card.

Manny examined the card and tucked it into his jeans. “Yeah. That’s me.” Something akin to recognition flickered in the boy’s eyes. “You’re Abuela’s grandson. She lets me call her Abuela, too. I’ve seen pictures of you at her house.”

Alex smiled. “Guilty as charged. And Abuela is everyone’s grandmother. I caught a case on the rez with your auntie. Came by to ask for her help in an interview tomorrow.”

The boy straightened. “So you’ve seen my auntie today already? Uh,” his eyes searched left and right. “She in a good mood or what? Do you know when she’ll be home?”

Pilar didn’t do “good mood.” Not around Alex.

He shrugged. “She seemed like she always is.”

“I hear you.” The boy slumped against the doorframe. “I also hear you and my dad were best friends a long time ago. Played football.”

“A long, long time ago.”

“You played basketball in your day, too.”

In his day?

He fought the grin threatening to break free. “Back in the day, I was known to pick up a game or two.”

Actually, he’d gotten a scholarship once upon a time based on his basketball prowess.

Manny nudged his chin toward Alex’s white-collared professional attire. “Think you could handle a little one-on-one while you’re waiting for Auntie, old man?”

Alex rolled his tongue in his cheek. “I think I could manage that. Maybe teach you a few moves in the process.”

Manny came off the stoop. “Or maybe I’ll teach the old dog a few new tricks.”

Alex laughed. “You can try.” An echo of Pilar’s words to him.

In a sudden lunge, he stole the ball out of Manny’s hands, took a flying leap, and dunked the ball with a swish. “Nothing but net, my man. Nothing but net.”

Manny caught the rebound. A smile teased at the corners of the boy’s mouth. “Not bad for an old guy.” He dribbled the ball out of Alex’s long-armed reach. Hustling the ball past Alex’s defensive posture, Manny pivoted and did a quick layup.

Alex got the rebound. “Pretty good for a rookie. But I’m afraid experience wins over inexperience every time.” He bounced the ball between his legs.

“Fancy move, old man. But despite what the Anglos claim, beauty will win out over age.” Darting, he captured the ball, dribbled, and made the shot.

Alex grinned and struggled to catch his breath. The boy might be right. Manny didn’t appear winded. Mid-thirties didn’t play with the same gusto as a teenager.

“Mercy.” Alex planted his hands on his knees. “The joints and the legs aren’t what they used to be.”

The boy snorted. “That’s what Auntie says right after I beat the tar out of her score.”

Alex’s mouth curved. “You and Pilar scrimmage?”

The fourteen—maybe?—year-old boy nodded. “She’s helping me get ready for basketball tryouts next month. She’s got game for an old lady.”

Old lady? Pilar was early thirties. Her birth date forever seared into his mind.

Alex made an effort to breathe. “Bet you don’t beat her in a race, though. She’s like the wind. Beat me a few times back in the day.”

“She doesn’t quit either. Outlasts and outruns the guys on the force at the yearly marathon.”

Manny held the ball to his chest. “She’s going to be furious when she gets home.” He avoided Alex’s eyes. “I got into trouble today.”

Alex wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand. “What kind of trouble? How bad?”

Manny bit his lip. “Bad. Expelled for two weeks. A fight.”

“Been in a few of those I was unable to walk away from. Didn’t solve anything. Usually made things worse.”

Manny grimaced. “I’ve been walking away. Got tired of walking away. Got tired of hearing them say I’m—” His eyes scudded toward the darkening sky over the mesa.

Alex frowned. “Are you being bullied? I’d be glad to listen if you want to talk.”

“Talking isn’t going to help.” Manny glanced at him. “Besides, it’s an Apache thing between the guys and me. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe not. Maybe if you tell Pilar what’s going on—”

“No.” Manny concentrated on bouncing the ball. “She’s full like my dad. And I’m not. Not like the other guys, either.” He stuck out one skinny arm in the fading light as if to prove his point.

“Full? I don’t under—oh.” Alex stiffened. “Are the guys at school giving you a hard time because—?”

“Because my mother was a no-good Anglo junkie who dumped me on Auntie Pilar the first chance she got.” Manny threw Alex the ball. “They say I got to prove I’m a real Apache or I don’t belong.” He twisted the red bandana around his neck.

Gang colors? Alex’s heart constricted. This would kill Pilar if true. From what Abuela told him, Pilar had poured her life into Byron’s boy.

“I don’t belong anywhere.” Manny shuffled his feet, unable to look Alex in the eye. “And now my dad . . .” He raised his head at the sound on tires on the gravel.

Alex angled as a burgundy Jeep with Pilar at the wheel rolled to a shuddering stop. He chucked the basketball to Manny as a white-lipped Pilar jerked the gear into park and shot out of the car.

“What’re you doing here, Alex?”

His pulse leaped at the sight of Pilar in the ribbed sandstone Henley. “Figured you’d want to be kept in the loop. Thought I’d stop by and finally meet Byron’s son.”

A teenage girl climbed out of the passenger side. Her long black hair blowing in the autumn breeze, she clutched a white bag and drink caddy in her arms. “Hey, Manny.”

Manny rolled his eyes before tossing Alex the ball again.

Pilar slammed the door so hard the Jeep rocked. “How do you know where I live, Alex?” Her eyes flickered between him and Manny.

Alex passed the ball from hand to hand. “I’m FBI, Pia. I got skills.”

“Don’t call me Pia.” She curled her lip. “And you’ve got nothing but Abuela. She told you, didn’t she?”

He tried one of his lazy grins on her for old times’ sake.

She glared at him, hands on her hips. “You can save the charm for the blondes, Torres. Thank God, I’m immune.”

He cocked his head, his fingers spread wide on the ball between his hands. “Oh, really? ’Cause that’s not how I’m remembering things.”

“Remember?” Her nostrils flared. “I’ve made it my life’s mission to try not to remember anything concerning you, Alex Torres.”

Alex tightened his jaw and let the ball roll away.

“We’re trying to have a game here, Auntie.”

Her gaze focused on the strip of red cloth wound around Manny’s neck. “You better not have gotten that bandana from those lowlife Conquistadores, Manuel To-Clanny. Are they the reason you’ve been expelled from school?” She shook her head. “Expelled, Manny? You’re too smart to get mixed up with them.”

The young girl extended the bag to Pilar’s nephew. “Sunday we’re still going rock hunting, right, Manny?”

He hunched his shoulders. “Are you stupid or something, Reyna? Got no time for baby stuff.”

The girl flinched.

Manny made a face. “Why’d you have to go and bring Tagalong, Auntie?”

Pilar grabbed his arm. “What’s gotten into you, Manny? You never used to be this mean. You’re the stupid one if you think hanging out with those juvenile delinquents makes you a bigger man.”

Manny wrenched free. “Just leave me alone. You’re not my mother.”

He snatched the bag from Reyna. She stumbled and would’ve fallen if Alex hadn’t steadied her. The girl quivered, her shoulder bones as fragile as a bird’s beneath Alex’s hand.

Manny’s gaze flitted between Alex’s hand and Reyna. Something flashed in his eyes before Manny’s face hardened. “And stop following me around, Tagalong. It’s embarrassing.”

Tears hovered like dewdrops on the edges of the girl’s lashes. “I’m sorry, Manny . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Manny scowled. “You don’t mean anything to me, Reyna. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

Reyna’s face crumpled.

Alex stepped between the teens. “Manny, that’s enough.”

Pilar gave him a look.

Alex wasn’t sure if she was irritated or grateful for his interference.

Pilar tilted her head. “What were you fighting about?”

Manny pushed out his lips. “My business. Not yours, Auntie. Get off my case.”

“What’s with the secrets these days, Manny? If you’d talk to me, let me—”

“I’m done with you people. I repeat, leave me alone.” Manny whirled and pounded up the steps into the trailer.

“We’re not done with this discussion, Manuel,” Pilar shouted through the screened door. “And you can consider yourself grounded for the next month.”

Alex stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “He’s being bullied at school, Pilar. Manny doesn’t feel like he belongs.”

Her eyes widened. “Bullied?” Her hand fumbled for the nonexistent Glock at her side. “Who? I’ll—”

Alex watched with amusement as she switched to Mama Bear mode. Loaded for bear. “You gonna shoot ’em, Pilar?”

“I might.” She dropped her hand. “And Reyna, I apologize on behalf—” Swiveling, Pilar bit her lip.

Alex turned to find the drink caddy placed on the ground and the young girl nowhere in sight.

Pilar sighed. “Poor Reyna. It’s hard to see your idol with feet of clay. She’s walking home by herself. Again.”

“Reminds me of another young girl I once knew. She tagged along everywhere her brother and I went. Hard to shake as a sandbur. As prickly as a saguaro.”

“Like I said, Torres, it’s hard to see your idols with feet of clay.” Pilar’s fingers flexed as if she wanted to shoot him. “But I’ve had time to get over it.”

He caught her gaze. “Well, if so, then once again, you’re ahead of me. ’Cause that’s something I’ve never been able to do.”