“At first, I thought it was Hugo,” I continue. “He always wears cowboy boots. And the person chasing us was definitely not wearing cowboy boots.”
Paige squints at me like I’m insane. “Most people don’t wear cowboy boots!”
“Yes, but when they were chasing us, didn’t you hear the sound of their hard-sole shoes on the floor?”
Ted finally pipes up. “Okay, is this some immersive theater thing? Are you two actresses? Because I’m not paying for the show.”
Paige ignores him. “No. I was too busy running for my life to notice their shoes.”
“Leona wears hard-sole shoes. High heels or saddle shoes. I noticed that when I met her. And I heard that same sound when we were being chased.”
“Okay, someone with hard-soled shoes was chasing us.”
“Not just someone—a woman. The person chasing us had a woman’s figure—a woman’s stance. And I looked up when she was shooting at us from the fire escape.”
Ted interjects, “This isn’t very convincing. You guys need to work on your bit.”
“And you saw Leona?” Paige asks.
“Well, no.” I recall what I saw moments before the muzzle flash forced me to look away. “I couldn’t make out the face, but… I saw long black hair hanging down from under the hat. It had to be Leona.”
Paige shakes her head, and I have to admit it’s pretty thin evidence. “But why, then?” she asks.
“She’s the one executing the power move. Leona wants the most valuable thing Carmen has—her empire. It wasn’t the Russians. It wasn’t some rival cartel. It was the person right next to her. Leona. She’s the one who kidnapped Elizabeth.”
Paige considers. “That’s a gutsy move.”
“Leona knows Carmen can’t go to the police.”
Ted cranes his neck to address us. “Why can’t Carmen go to the police?”
I indulge him. “Carmen is the head of a major drug cartel here in Los Angeles. Calling the police would jeopardize her entire operation. She’d be arrested before anyone bothered to look for Elizabeth.” I turn back to Paige. “And Leona knows that.”
“Damn,” Ted says.
“And we’re just going to walk right into Carmen’s house, knowing that Leona tried to kill us and could very well be there right now?”
“I have to warn her.”
Paige squirms in her seat. “Maybe we should call the police. Maybe we should call David.”
I shake my head. “We won’t have to. If I’m right, the cops are already there.”
* * *
Ted slows down just enough so Paige and I can exit the vehicle. Then he peels out and disappears around a corner. The street is quiet, but since the recent shooting incident and my conversation with David, I’m now looking for anything remotely suspicious. I’m not surprised when I see a panel van parked a few yards away.
“Follow me,” I tell Paige and do my best to march gingerly on wounded feet in the oversized Crocs.
I knock on the passenger door. The van rocks slightly as someone inside makes his way to the door. Moments later, the window rolls down. A man inside is dressed as an electrician, but I know he’s a cop.
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask.
He sneers at me through his bushy goatee then looks at his watch. “What do you want?”
“David told you to keep an eye out for me, yes?”
He looks me up and down, no doubt taking in my Crocs, scrubs, and bloody arm in a sling. “You must be Darcy,” he says nonchalantly.
I nod, not sure if he figured this out because of my spunky reputation or because of the disastrous spectacle before him. “I wanted to let you guys know I’m going in to talk to Carmen.”
Goatee looks around. “You do understand the concept of being undercover, right?”
“I’m not attracting any more attention than you are with this unmarked kidnapping van. Seriously, do you guys think you’re being inconspicuous?”
He rolls his eyes. “God damn it, what do you want?”
“I thought I’d offer to wear a wire if you guys want.”
“Snyder was right. You’re a smart-ass,” he says, rolling the window back up and ending our conversation.
“Well, I guess it’s comforting to know the police are here,” Paige remarks.
“Yeah. Gives me the warm and fuzzies.”
We walk toward Carmen’s house. “How many cops did you see in there?” Paige asks.
“Two more.”
We come up to Carmen’s gate, and I’m about to buzz when I notice that it is unlatched. I open the door. “This isn’t good.”
Paige nods at the van. “Should we ask for backup?”
I’m already limping through the gate. “I’m sure they’ll come if we need help.”
We approach the porch and see that most of the lights are on in the house. There’s no movement from inside. It’s still and peaceful and altogether disconcerting—too quiet even for a Los Angeles suburb this far away from any major thoroughfares.
We walk up the wood steps to the front door. As I continue to scan the area for danger, Paige grabs my hand. “Look.”
The front door is ajar. Drawn on the door in crude red paint is the all-too-familiar sigil of Santa Muerte. The same symbol from the temple. The same symbol from Hugo’s tattoo.
“Shit,” I say. “This can’t be good.”
I try the handle, and the door opens. Paige reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a handgun—a black semiautomatic subcompact. I’m momentarily stunned. “What are you doing with a gun?” I say in a decibel level somewhere between a loud whisper and a quiet shout.
“I bought it.”
“When?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Paige takes a step toward the door.
I stop her with my arm. “When?”
She sighs. “Two years ago.”
We moved in together two years ago. Apparently, Paige bought a gun when we decided to be roommates. She bought it in case she would ever need to use it… on me.
I let go of her arm. I can’t blame her really. I just wish she had told me.
“You know how to use that thing, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. I watched a video on YouTube.”
“That’s comforting.”
Paige smirks. “Yeah. Now you know how it feels.”
I step through the doorway with Paige at my heels. It’s eerily
