Her tears flowed again, more tragic in light of the distinct rhythm of the rain. A gentle patter doused the pane, lingering in the wake of the storm. She reached for Sonja's thin shoulder and stroked it with her fingertips, a reminder she wasn't alone. This time, Sonja didn't pull away.
As Becca looked across the small room, she saw the afternoon sun gain strength in spurts through the Venetian blinds. The storm had subsided. She took solace in nature's cooperation and hoped Sonja would, too.
'I'm sorry to dredge up the past. I do understand how hard this must be,' Becca commiserated.
'I feel like such a baby.' Sonja sobbed, her words garbled. 'I haven't cried like this since those days . . . about Isabel.'
'It's hard to lose someone. Especially like this.'
'Can I ask you something, Detective?' Sonja wiped her eyes and looked up. 'Ever since you walked in here, I've wanted to ask. You look familiar, like maybe I've seen you on TV. Is that possible?'
Becca had gotten this question before and always dismissed it without an answer. But with Sonja, she wanted to be truthful, to a degree. It felt like the thing to do.
'A while back, I lost my sister, Danielle. She was abducted and . . . My mother and I were interviewed by the news media.'
'Oh God, now I remember. Danielle Montgomery, sure. I must have seen that.' Sonja cupped a hand to her mouth in surprise. 'Did you ever find your sister?'
Becca swallowed and brushed back a strand of hair behind her ear before she answered.
'No. She's dead.' She didn't want to shed light on the details. She'd already said too much.
'I'm so sorry. Isabel's case must be hard for you.' Sonja looked her in the eye.
For a moment, Becca felt a connection to a kindred spirit in her tragedy. But a sharp feeling of vulnerability closed in, and all she wanted to do was leave the depressing little apartment. The rain had eased enough to make a run for her car. Becca handed Sonja her business card and walked to the door.
'If you think of anything else, please contact me. Anytime.' She forced a smile and touched Sonja's arm. 'And thanks for your candor. It couldn't have been easy.'
The younger woman only nodded. No smile. In truth, none of this had been easy, for either of them.
Becca walked out the door and headed for her car, under the steady drizzle. The face of Isabel Marquez flooded her mind. Up until now, she had built a perception about her murder victim. Being a recruiter for a prostitution ring had not been part of the equation. Sonja's revelation shocked her. It shouldn't have. Becca should have stayed objective and open to anything, allowing the evidence to lead the way.
Why hadn't she allowed her training and experience to guide her?
Becca unlocked her car and slid inside, starting it with a turn of the key in the ignition. She drove through the apartment complex and pulled onto the frontage road, with her wiper blades beating to a slow steady rhythm. The rain and traffic sounds were no more than white noise. In the aftermath of the storm, drivers jockeyed for position and made the drive home slow. It gave her time to think . . . about things she'd been avoiding.
The Marquez case took a backseat to the issues she had on her mind. It wasn't the murder investigation that challenged her most. It was how the case affected her, forced her to take a long, hard look at herself.
Her personal life had been the source of her weakness. Everything sprang from there. One by one, her failures emerged for a closer look, persistent like the unchanging rain. At the root of it all, she had lost her family—a link she thought would be impossible to break, indestructible. Becca blamed herself for the fragile tie. And with her sister dead and her relationship to Momma strained and virtually nonexistent, she compounded the blunder with another grand mistake. She let Diego Galvan get under her skin without really questioning his motives. The skeptical side to her nature had been stifled when she needed it most. Why?
But with the question barely out there for examination, she knew the answer. Her need to stay connected to another living soul had been the driving force. She'd become a master at erecting walls to keep others out, and the task had grown exhausting. Becca knew it and understood the need, yet she had broken down the barrier for Diego. She had reached out to a stranger—a man who might not have her best interests at heart. The move didn't strike her as savvy. She only hoped the word 'self-destructive' wouldn't describe it best.
Her mind surged with questions about Diego Galvan.
How much did he actually know about her? Had Diego taken advantage of her vulnerability on purpose, for his own personal agenda? Yes, he could have learned about Danielle from recognizing her on TV as Sonja had. But his link to the FBI as an informant made more sense as the source of his great insight.
In the end, none of it mattered. She had allowed it to happen. Diego had gained a foothold in her heart, trust or no trust. Becca prepped the ground herself, making it fertile for whatever would sprout from their union. How far would she let him go? Diego might want more than she had to give.
'You are such a fool, Becca,' she muttered.
At a stoplight, she ran fingers across her damp hair, looking at herself in the rearview mirror. The eyes of a stranger stared back, until the mirror shifted to another image. Her sister trickled from her memory, and Becca saw remnants of Danielle in her own face.
That's when she knew. She'd screwed up.
Her professional judgment on the Marquez case had been clouded by her obsession—a fixation to find answers in Dani's death. As a result, she had tainted the Marquez investigation, right down to the way she'd conducted her interviews.
Were Isabel's and Danielle's cases linked at all, or did she merely want them to be—need them to be? Was it easier to blame someone like Hunter Cava-naugh than to admit she might never find Danielle's killer—her own failure? She gritted her teeth as she made a right turn toward home.
The Riverwalk
Downtown, San Antonio
Becca stared out the window of her condo onto the river below. The rain had cleared the usual crowds of tourists. Stone walkways and big-leafed foliage were slick with sheen, making everything appear lush. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, it cast a fire against the lingering storm clouds. Orange and gray streaked the sky over the rooftops of the city.
She glanced at her watch. After six. Within the half hour, it would be dark, given the added cloud cover. The day had passed, and she still hadn't heard from Diego.
After coming through her front door more than an hour ago, Becca half expected to see a white rose placed near her window by the fire escape. The move had become his signature in her mind. Despite her effort to quell the expectation, she found her heart racing at the thought of him waiting on her rooftop again. With his hair damp and his body slick with rain, Becca would envy the raindrops as they slid down his warm skin. But no roses heralded his presence. Her disappointment made her anxious and moody.
Despite the doubts she had about Diego's motives, having him around made her feel like she wasn't alone. A completely insane notion.
'I gotta get a grip on this thing.'
Dressed in her SAPD navy sweats and a white T-shirt, she headed for her kitchen and poured a glass of Chardonnay. Before she brought the wineglass to her lips, the phone rang. Her cell phone. She grabbed it off her kitchen counter and flipped it open.
'Montgomery.'
'Hey, Becca. Sam Hastings.'
She recognized the voice of her CSI guy.
'You're working late. What's up?'
'I think I have a murder weapon on the Imperial Theatre case. Your hunch saved me some time. I got a match.'
'To a mason's hammer?' she asked.
'Yep. The murder weapon was similar to other hammers, but it had a more angular head, a specific structure. The trauma to the skull is consistent with a twenty-ounce mason hammer. Now it's up to you to put the weapon into context.'
'Yeah . . .' Her head spun with the implication that Rudy Marquez might have had something to do with his sister's death. 'Thanks, Sam. Now go home and make your wife happy.'
'Definitely, my pleasure.' He hung up after a soft chuckle.
