alone toward a vacant lot. Out of habit, she reached for the weapon in the holster at the small of her back. Her eyes glanced back to the men near the truck. None of them looked up. Would they even remember she'd been there at all? Becca turned back around and stared at Rudy's back. How lucky did she feel?
Her nine-millimeter Glock balanced the scales.
'Rudy. Stop right there,' she called out. 'I'm not in the mood for a hike.'
He slowed his steps and started to wander without direction. Even in his own little world, Rudy looked crushed and beaten. Before he made it to the scrubs, he turned back to face her.
'Isabel came to the theater to pick me up from work. My car was in the shop. That girl, Sonja Garza, was with her.' Rudy paced and chewed at a thumbnail. He quit and jammed his hands into his pockets, but that didn't last long either. 'She was all dressed up in a blue glittery dress, like a woman, you know? She looked so pretty . . . but older.'
'Did she have a date?'
'A date?' He laughed, a hollow sound. Rudy rolled his eyes, no doubt avoiding what he really thought. 'I have no idea, but Sonja was dressed up, too, some tight black dress. She looked cheap. Isabel told me they had someplace to be. She tried to rush me, but I wasn't done yet. I mean, my God, my job was feeding the family, you know? She never appreciated that.'
'So let me guess. You argued with her.'
He nodded and chewed at the corner of his mouth. 'Bad. We cleared out the place. Guess we got pretty loud.'
'I have to ask, Rudy. Did you hurt Isabel?' She kept her eyes on him, waiting for his reaction.
He stopped dead, his eyes wide and glistening. He raised his voice. 'No, I swear to God. I wouldn't hurt her. You have to believe me. At least, not the kind of hurt that leaves bruises.'
'What does that mean?' Becca asked.
He shrugged with exasperation, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself, but no such luck.
'I called her all sorts of names. I'm not proud of it, okay? I've had seven years to kick myself in the butt over this. Think how good I'll be years from now.' Rudy raked both hands through his hair, his jaw tense. He kicked a rock with his boot. 'I left her there. She had plans, and I was only in her way. But I never looked back. I walked home by myself. What an ass!'
Rudy balled his hands into fists and cried aloud. His sobs choked his words.
'S-Something happened to her that d-day because of me being a jerk. And I c-can't forget it. It replays in my h-head . . . over and over. Isabel n-never came home. She never . . .'
Before Becca mulled the implications over in her mind, he turned on her and pointed a finger. 'I g-gotta ask you something n-now. And you have to answer, okay?' Without waiting for her, he pressed, 'You ran those t-tests on Victor and me . . . for our DNA. It wasn't just to g-get it on f-file, was it? You f-found her, didn't you? You found Isabel.'
Tears streaked his face. A different kind of anger took hold. More aggressive. Becca dialed back her voice to make it nonthreatening. Anything might put him over the edge now.
'I haven't gotten the official report yet. I needed your DNA to compare.'
'Compare to what?' His voice cracked. He clenched his fist to punctuate his need.
But Becca had no doubt Rudy already knew.
'Where did you find her?' he asked. 'Please . . . I gotta know. Tell me where you found Isabel. And how she . . . d-died.'
'I will soon. I promise.'
His questions surprised her. If Rudy killed Isabel, he would have known where to find her body and how she died. The crazed desperation on his face and the twist in her own gut made her a believer. Either Rudy Marquez deserved an Oscar for his performance, or Becca had to look elsewhere to find Isabel's killer.
His confusion raised another point. If Rudy had no idea where the police found Isabel's body, she had a good idea Victor had been the Marquez brother outside the theater the morning after it burned. How did Father Victor know Isabel's body would be found inside the Imperial? A sense of urgency swept through her. Becca had to find Father Victor.
And she had a feeling Rudy's cooperation wouldn't run in the family.
'Please join me, Diego.' Hunter Cavanaugh waved a hand as he sat behind his desk in the study. 'I haven't seen you in a while. Days in fact.'
'I've been busy. Mr. Rivera has asked for my assistance on a private matter.'
Diego walked into the room and didn't notice Matt Brogan until he got to Cavanaugh's desk. The man stood by a far window, hands clasped behind his back, his usual sneer cast over a shoulder. Typical Brogan. A beefy pit bull with an attitude, camouflaged by expensive threads.
'A private matter. Sounds important.' Cavanaugh smiled and gestured for Diego to sit. 'Anything I can do to facilitate my partner's business opportunities? I would be pleased to help in any way I can.'
'No, but thank you for the offer. I will pass your regards on to Mr. Rivera.' After unbuttoning his suit jacket, Diego sat and forced a cordial smile. The strained civility between them took effort, and the mounting silence added to the tension. 'You look like a man with more to say. What's on your mind, Mr. Cavanaugh?'
'Ah, you never disappoint me, Diego. Direct and to the point. I like that.' Cavanaugh raised his chin, and an eyebrow, his hands clasped over his waist. 'Tell me about the detective the other day.'
The word 'detective' stopped Diego's heart. The last thing he wanted was for Cavanaugh to take an interest in Rebecca. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, what did you make of her?'
'I didn't have an opinion either way.' Diego threw it back at the man to distract him. 'Have you heard anything more from her ... on the arson case?'
'Actually, if my memory serves me, it was a murder investigation. Or did you forget that one minor point?'
'Yes, I suppose you're right.' Diego shrugged and pursed his lips. 'Why is my opinion of the detective important to you? If she hasn't returned to question you further, maybe her investigation has taken a different path. You may have nothing to worry about.'
'My dear boy, I have nothing to worry about regardless.' Cavanaugh smiled and leaned back into his leather chair. 'Perhaps you're right. The detective is of no consequence. Not anymore.'
Diego narrowed his eyes, Cavanaugh's words registering, but the inference unclear. Any reaction on his part might send the wrong message.
'Is that all, Mr. Cavanaugh?' Diego stood to leave, buttoning his suit jacket.
Brogan moved closer, standing behind the chair of his 'handler.'
'You might find this hard to believe, Diego. You and I have had our differences the last couple of years. But over the course of our working together, I have grown to admire your loyalty. Your discretion is impeccable. The way you look out for the best interests of your employer is admirable. Enviable in fact. You've earned my respect.'
Brogan's eyes shifted toward Cavanaugh, his face flinched. The man had no clue what the boss man would say. Diego fought to hide his amusement. In the game of poker, having an unreadable face had merit. An involuntary twitch or a blink would be considered a 'tell,' giving a player away. Brogan was Cavanaugh's 'tell.' Diego wondered if the boss man knew it.
'You thought I had a death wish, one you might grant, as I recall. Doesn't sound like a mutual admiration society to me,' Diego replied.
'There . . . you see, Mr. Brogan? He speaks his mind freely. Another admirable quality.' Cavanaugh laughed aloud, gesturing with enthusiasm. 'No, you are far too entertaining, Diego. Killing you would be an absolute waste of a bullet. And I don't say that about many people.'
'I see your point,' Diego replied, knowing the entire conversation had been lost on Brogan. The man still looked confused. But Cavanaugh grinned, confidence personified.
'I have a proposition for you, Diego. I'll share it over dinner tonight if you are available. Believe me, it will be worth your time. I'll send a limo for you by eight. Meet the driver out front. Curb service.'
