“Did you argue?”
“Nothing to argue about. Everything on the site has been running smoothly.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to make trouble for him?”
He leaned back in his chair. “No.”
“What about his son Jesse? Does he owe you money?”
He folded his hands on top of his desk. “My finances are confidential. If you want to look into them, I suggest you obtain a warrant.”
“I’ll do that,” Luke promised, although he doubted he could get one. Rivers was powerful, connected, and filthy rich. Worse, he was meticulous. Anything illegal this man had done would be buried so deep a hundred investigators couldn’t find it.
Rivers studied him cannily. “Do you have family here, Sheriff Meza?”
Luke disliked the question, but in an interview situation, sometimes a little give-and-take was unavoidable. “My father lives in Pala.”
“Lawrence Meza? Is that him?”
“Yes.”
His brows lifted. “I didn’t know he had a son.”
Luke stared back at Rivers in uneasy silence, wondering how well the two men knew each other. His father had actually tried to contact Luke about a year ago. Apparently, he’d quit drinking and wanted to make amends. He’d called and left a message less than a week after Leticia’s funeral. A lonely affair Luke had paid for, and attended, all by himself.
Luke had never called back. It was too late to repair a relationship that had never really existed. Wasn’t it?
“We don’t see each other very often,” he murmured. The understatement of his life. He shrugged off the subject, aware that Rivers was enjoying his discomfort. “Did you know Yesenia Montes?”
Something in his dark eyes flickered. “We were acquainted.”
“How so?”
“The usual way a man who looks like me would be acquainted with a woman who is paid for her time.”
Well. That was clear enough. “When did you see her last?”
“I don’t remember the exact date. Perhaps you should ask your deputy.”
Luke tensed. “Deputy Snell? Why?”
“He was with her the last time I saw her. And he frequently gave her rides to and from the casino.” His pockmarked face stretched into an unpleasant smile. “In his squad car.”
Dylan sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings. This wasn’t his bedroom. It was Angel’s.
And she wasn’t here.
“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. What a lame move.
Shaking off the grogginess, he got up and went to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the sink while he took a piss.
Did he look different?
He turned his head to one side and examined the line of his jaw, as if losing his virginity might have resulted in the sudden growth of a full beard. Nope. Looking down, he noted that nothing else had changed, either.
But he smiled to himself, puffing out his chest as he zipped up his pants. He felt pretty manly. He just wished he’d been able to make it good for Angel. Maybe he could talk her into letting him try again.
Wildly excited by the prospect, he cleaned up a little and took a swig of her mouthwash before he left the bathroom. As he looked around for his T-shirt, finding it draped over the only chair, it occurred to him that something was missing.
Her room was… empty.
Pulse racing, he pulled his shirt over his head and opened her clothes armoire, the only large piece of furniture in the room. There was nothing in it. No clothes, no miscellaneous junk, no extra blankets. And no guitar.
He couldn’t believe his eyes, although the evidence was right there in front of him. Angel Martinez had moved out while he was sleeping. And she’d taken everything she owned, so it wasn’t as if she’d gone on a short vacation.
Whirling around, he searched the room for signs of her. On the top of her desk, there was a single sheet of paper. He snatched it up and began to read.
“I wish I
This was total bullshit.
Muttering a string of curses, he grabbed his backpack and flew out the door, not bothering to shut it behind him. A quick check through the windows of the main house confirmed that she’d really left.
Not just left. She’d run away.
In that moment, Dylan hated her with a passion. More than he hated his mom, whose death he’d mourned bitterly. More than he hated his dad, whose absence Dylan felt acutely. More than he hated Shay, whose abandonment had destroyed him.
It seemed as though Angel had slept with him before she left on purpose, just to make certain he was crushed.
He’d lost his virginity, and now he’d been royally fucked.
Smashing her letter in his hand, he shoved it into his front pocket. There was only one place she could have gone if she was planning on hightailing it out of town.
The bus station.
Dylan had hitched a ride from Palomar High to Calle Remolino and he’d have to do it again to get back to the main drag. Shay didn’t like him getting into cars with strangers, but hitching was an accepted mode of transportation in Tenaja Falls. He knew the dangers and only stuck his thumb out for certain types of drivers. Perhaps it was a stereotype, but he’d discovered that Mexican people were often friendly and generous, and didn’t associate any stigma with offering someone a ride.
The last person he wanted to get picked up by was Garrett Snell, so Dylan kept his head low as he jogged by the side of the road. Adrenaline propelled him all the way to the nearest cross street, and catching a lift from there was easy.
He stuck his thumb out at the first jalopy. It pulled to a stop a few feet away, music blaring from the open windows, its inhabitants weighing down the chassis.
Dylan hopped in, as ordered, nodding hello at the other passengers. The sound of Cumbia filled his ears, pleasant and upbeat, with its carnival bass line and lively accordion. The music didn’t assuage his anger, but it affected his outlook, and by the time they arrived he was no longer sure what he would say to Angel if he found her.
Frowning, he dug out a dollar and some change for the driver.
He accepted it easily.
“No,” he agreed, looking down at his empty hands. He didn’t have any luggage.
The men nodded to each other in understanding.
