She ran her fingertip along the seam of her lips. “I’m not saying a word to him about anything—not even Gabe, unless you want me to do some prying.”
“No prying. The guy had a record, right? It should be easy to track him in the system and get a current address on him. If Tucker the trucker hadn’t landed so conveniently in the laps of the police, they probably would’ve run down Gabe and questioned him, anyway.”
“Yeah, I just can’t shake off the guilt that we put Tucker in their sights.”
“Tucker put himself there by taking Melody’s purse.”
“But not her phone.”
“Phone’s still missing.” Sam popped the trunk and exited the vehicle. He hauled the suitcase from the back and wheeled it over the gravel to Granny Viv’s front door. “Give my best and condolences to everyone and stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll do that.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Pick me up later?”
“Sure, and if you get a ride back to your place before that, dinner?”
“I’ll be sick of casseroles by that time.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m sure the neighbors are delivering food to Gran and Wade’s family.”
“No casseroles, then. I’ll be in touch.” He spun around, leaving her on the porch. He could’ve gone inside, but he didn’t do well with emotions like that. He’d pay his respects to Melody in his own way by attending a meeting here in Paradiso—the same one where he met Melody, who then introduced him to Jolene.
He owed her that.
As he pulled into the station, a team was headed out in the trucks. He called out the window to Clay, who told him one of the drones had picked up some suspicious activity at one of the sealed-off tunnels.
Yeah, he could tell Clay a thing or two about suspicious activity.
The call made the station quiet, and Sam waved to just one other agent moored to his desk, his ear glued to the phone.
He dropped into the chair behind his temporary desk and logged in to the computer. First order of business was to pull up the map to the Las Moscas tunnels and see which one was closest to the Yaqui land.
With the map in front of him on the display, he studied the red dots indicating the closed tunnels. His finger hovered over the one that was farthest west and closest to the casino property. He zoomed in on it and brought it up in an aerial view to analyze the landscape. He’d seen similar formations along the Yaqui land—right before someone started taking shots at him and Jolene.
He drew some boundaries on the screen and printed out the highlighted section of the map.
He’d need the tribe’s approval to go hunting for a tunnel along the border of its property—and that meant Wade’s approval. Would Wade really want that stigma attached to his casino project?
He stood up, stretched and retrieved his sheet of paper from the printer. On the way back to his desk, he stopped by the vending machines and got a soda. He needed the caffeine.
Sleeping next to Jolene with the hands-off directive had been hell last night. Did she think he was made of stone? Hard, cold rock? He’d been rock hard, all right, but there’d been nothing cold about it.
She hadn’t fooled him for a second. She hadn’t been able to sleep, either. When Jolene slept, she threw arms and legs around, grabbing and bunching covers, crowding his space. Last night, she lay there like a log, not moving a muscle. It had to have taken great control on her part to pull that off.
The question remained, why’d she do it? Why’d she shut him down? She’d slipped up the night before. Desire had taken over her common sense, or maybe Melody’s death had shaken her up so much she needed someone close. That didn’t mean she wanted him back.
He snapped the tab on his can and chugged half the soda before taking his seat in front of the computer again.
This time he accessed the NCIC and entered Gabe Altamarino. He stared at the blinking cursor and the blank screen. Hunching forward, he entered Gabriel Altamarino. The system gave him no love—kinda like Jolene.
He took a few sips of his drink, cradling the bubbles with his tongue. Then he tried various spellings of Altamarino. Got a hit for Gabe Marino, but his picture and profile didn’t match someone who’d be involved with Melody.
How’d that happen? One of the reasons Wade had been hell-bent against Melody’s relationship with this guy was because he had a record. So, where was his record? Drug crimes as an adult could not be expunged. Maybe Gabe had been a juvenile when he’d committed these offenses.
Sam rubbed his eyes and dug into his email from his office in San Diego.
Jorge, the other agent in the office, approached his desk with a thick file. “Thought you might be interested in seeing this.”
“What is it?” Sam pushed back from his desk and propped up his feet.
“It’s the preliminary crime scene report from the Melody Nighthawk murder. You’re the one who found her, right? Nabbed her killer?”
Sam wouldn’t bet on that second statement, but he nodded. “Yeah, I knew Melody. She was my friend’s cousin.”
Jorge plopped the file on Sam’s desk next to his feet. “The sheriff’s office sent it over earlier. Basic autopsy, no toxicology yet, prints and other trace evidence.”
They’d missed the list of drug mules in her nightstand drawer.
“Thanks, man.” Sam dropped his feet from the desk and wheeled his chair in, flipping over the cover of the file folder.
He ran his finger down the first page of details, and then began shuffling through the pages. He stopped at the one listing the number of fingerprints found in Melody’s apartment—looked like a list from Grand Central Terminal.
His prints were identified, as well as Jolene’s, Wade’s, Tucker’s, a bunch of unknowns and several
