One Wrong Move, page 32
Smiled? Christian stiffened. The violent man’s creepy affinity for Andi was beyond disturbing. Fear for her safety gripped his mind.
Ethan’s brow furrowed. Confusion and a bit of alarm awakened in his wide-eyed expression as he stared at Cyrus.
“Now, this is going to go one of two ways,” Cyrus said. “We shoot one another . . . or we’re going to walk out with Mr. Beaumont here. You will not follow, or we’ll shoot him. Understood?”
Christian didn’t move, didn’t respond to his ultimatum.
“Understood?” Cyrus roared, wrapping one arm around Beaumont’s neck. “Or maybe I’ll just shoot her.” He aimed his gun at Andi’s head. “I’m a heck of a shot.”
Christian’s muscles coiled. Cyrus was not bluffing.
Andi stood her ground, her gun aimed at Ethan.
“Cyrus,” Ethan said. “This is getting extreme.”
“This is what we’re going to do, unless you want to die too.”
Ethan’s face slackened. “You’d shoot me?”
“Get in my way and I will. Just try me.”
Ethan continued to aim his gun at Andi, not saying a word.
“Smart choice,” Cyrus said.
Christian prayed the man would move just a little so he’d have a shot, but Cyrus held behind Mr. Beaumont just right.
“Now,” Cyrus said. “Toss me your guns.”
“Not happening,” Christian said. They released their weapons and they were dead.
“I’ll kill him,” Cyrus said, still jabbing the muzzle of his gun into Mr. Beaumont’s temple.
He wasn’t bluffing. It was only a matter of when he would kill Mr. Beaumont, not if. Christian stilled his racing heart, focusing, zeroing in on Cyrus and his twitchy movements. He needed to play this right, so they bought more time to save Beaumont.
“Go ahead,” Christian said. “You’ll be dead as soon as you drop him.”
Andi’s face stayed fierce in his peripheral vision.
“Now!” Cyrus’s face strained, the veins along his forehead turning a nasty shade of purple.
“Not happening.” Christian’s aim remained steady.
“Up the stairs, Casey,” Cyrus ordered Ethan with a tilt of his head.
Ethan nodded and backed up the stairs, his gun on Andi until he disappeared out of sight.
“Okay, old man,” Cyrus said, keeping the muzzle of his gun aimed at Beaumont with one hand while he easily loosed the sailor’s knots binding the elderly man in place. He yanked Beaumont to his feet and positioned himself so there still was no shot. They backed up the stairs.
Andi looked at Christian, her brows pinched. “What are we waiting for?”
“We’re giving them time to get in the yacht’s raft. That way Cyrus doesn’t feel cornered, and then we give chase.”
SIXTY-NINE
“NOW,” CHRISTIAN SAID, and they flew up the steps.
They stopped just long enough to untie the two crewmembers from their bonds.
The woman bent forward from the waist, sobbing and clutching her stomach.
“The Coast Guard should be here any moment,” he said. “Apprise them of the situation. We’re going after Mr. Beaumont.” He wished he could promise them the elderly gentleman would be okay, but with Cyrus, he couldn’t be sure.
“Something’s not right with the one,” the man said. “Be careful.”
“Agreed, and we will.” He’d protect Andi with his own life if need be.
An outboard motor sounded. “We’ve got to go,” he said.
They raced for the platform and dove into the dark waters, swimming for the fast raft. Reaching it, they both rolled in over the side. Andi pulled up the sea anchor, and Christian started the engine and directed the raft toward land. Cyrus had to be heading back in.
“Here,” he said, racing forward, bouncing and jarring over wave after wave. “Take this.” He handed the floodlight to her. “Sweep it in front of us.”
“Will we catch them?” she asked. “That poor man.”
“We’ll get them.” They had to. “Hold on tight,” he said as they swept over another wave.
She gripped one of the handles with her free hand, still sweeping the light over the surface and the crashing waves.
They flew over the water, soaring above it as they came over the curl of the waves.
“There,” she said, the light landing on the yacht’s Zodiac raft. Cyrus steered the craft, Ethan up front, and it looked like Mr. Beaumont lay on the raft’s floor.
“We’ve got them,” Christian said as they gained on them.
Cyrus looked back—the floodlight fixed on him. He fired, and they dove to the hard rubber floor of the raft.
Christian pulled his gun from his holster. “Lay low, but steer the boat and keep the light on them, if you can.”
“I’ve got it,” she said.
He raised up enough to fire over the raft’s bow, aiming for Cyrus.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Cyrus ducked. He yelled something at Ethan, who then crouched low, moving for the aft.
Cyrus’s head raised just above the raft’s edge, and Christian fired again.
Again, Cyrus ducked. Then he grabbed Mr. Beaumont, hauling him to his feet—the two swaying as rippling waves bobbed their raft. Once again, he held Mr. Beaumont in front of him so Christian didn’t have a clear shot.
Cyrus smiled in the floodlight and fired into Beaumont’s side.
The man cried out in pain.
Cyrus threw him overboard, Ethan gunned the engine, and the Zodiac streaked away.
Christian’s muscles hardened to the point of pain. Cyrus knew they’d stop to help, and they would lose them, but there was nothing else they could do. They steered straight for Mr. Beaumont.
Reaching the sputtering man, Christian reached over the edge and brought the man close to the raft’s side. “I’m sorry. This is going to hurt,” he said, slipping his arms under Beaumont’s armpits. “Here we go.” He hauled the elderly man up and in. The man screamed and writhed in pain.
“It’s going to be all right,” Andi said, kneeling over the man and applying pressure to his wound. “Coast Guard is on the way. We’ve got you.”
But they’d lost Cyrus and Ethan in the night.
■ ■ ■
“What are we going to do now?” Andi asked after they’d passed Mr. Beaumont over to the Coast Guard—who sent another boat out to search for Cyrus and Ethan, though her gut said they wouldn’t find the men.
“Figure out where they’re going to make the trade with Teresa,” Christian said, toweling off on shore, thanks to the Coast Guard’s provision, though puddles still formed around their feet.
“You think the heists are done?”
“Yeah. I think Ethan gave us a strong clue to lead us here because he knew this was their last job. And it stands to reason Teresa will be coming to the States or sending men to collect her goods.”
Andi exhaled. “The question is where.”
“Let’s head back home and see what we can figure out,” he said.
“You don’t think the swap could happen near the Cali-Mexico border?”
“It might, but Teresa and her drug-lord husband live in Chihuahua, Mexico. My bet is it’s going to be around the New Mexico or Texas borders. It’ll take them time to make the drive back. They can’t risk flying with stolen objects. We should be able to reach MIS headquarters within five or six hours if we take a commercial flight, but maybe we—”
“How else would we . . . Oh, Greyson,” she said. “Seriously, how does he do it?”
“I wasn’t joking when I called him our Lucius-slash-Alfred. He’s always there to help, and he provides us with just what we need when we need it.”
“But how?” She didn’t like being out of the “know.”
“He’s a private man with a lot of connections we don’t understand, and I imagine a good deal of money, but we respect his privacy on all of that.”
“Gotcha. Doesn’t it make you wonder, though?”
“Of course, but Deck and I have chalked it up to him just being a man of mystery.” He chuckled.
“And Riley?”
“She can’t let it rest.” He shook his head with a slight smile. “Those two are a mess.”
“I’d say in the best possible way.”
“Now’s not the time to unpack that, but we will later,” he said. “I just can’t see it.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I hate to say it, but most men are oblivious when it comes to that kind of stuff.”
He tugged her to him. “I’d hardly say I’m oblivious to you.”
“Mmm.” She smiled. “And I’m glad of that.”
He pressed his lips to hers. This wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help himself. Just a short kiss now that they were out of danger. At least for the moment.
■ ■ ■
As anticipated, Greyson arranged a private jet for their trip home, landing them in Santa Fe less than two hours later. If Cyrus and Ethan were headed back to New Mexico, they had nearly a full day’s drive.
“We’ve got a very short window to figure out where they’re headed for the exchange,” Christian said as the gang all sat around the round table, Harper included.
“We’ve got some help in that area,” Greyson said.
Riley hopped off the stool and moved to stand beside Greyson at the glass panels, a marker in hand. “Flynn Josephs with Border Patrol responded to the picture of Teresa Gutierrez I put out. She crossed the border under the alias of Rebecca Martinez. He said Feds are looking for her too.”
“I don’t care who finds and stops them—Border Patrol, the Feds, or us,” Christian said. “As long as they’re caught.”
“Agreed,” Deckard said, kicking back in his chair. He propped his boot against one of the table legs, balancing himself at an inclined angle.
Christian did the exact opposite, leaning forward. “Where did she come over the border?”
“Antelope Wells port of entry.”
“She came up through New Mexico and in the bootheel area?” Christian said. “I expected Juarez-El Paso.”
“Agreed,” Greyson said. “The key is finding out why there.”
Riley crossed her legs. “She could have just wanted to go through a less populated entry. Sort of sneaking in, if you will.”
“But it’s easier to blend in with a larger group of people,” Deck said.
“Good point.”
Christian exhaled. “All right, let’s review what we know about Teresa Gutierrez. We want to find someplace on this side of the border she’d wait at until Cyrus and Ethan make the drive back.”
“And we should find out if where she’s staying is the same place they’ll make the drop or if there’s a second location we need to figure out,” Andi said.
Christian reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. Everyone noticed, but he didn’t care. “So what do we know?”
“She and Cyrus were born in Lordsburg, New Mexico. Both American citizens. She now has dual citizenship.”
“That’s a fairly small town. . . .” Christian said, running that through his mind.
“It’s the county seat of Hidalgo County,” Riley said, scanning the pages. “Population now around four thousand. Back when they were kids growing up there . . . I can’t imagine how small it was.”
“Let’s see if there’s any property in her name,” Christian said.
“Or her alias,” Riley added.
“Or her maiden name, Timal,” Andi said.
“I’ll go do the search,” Greyson said, tucking a legal pad under his arm and heading for his desk.
Christian sat back. “If we’re lucky, there’s still property in one of her names.”
“Or Cyrus’s name,” Riley added.
“Excellent point,” Christian said.
“I’ll go ask Greyson to run Cyrus’s name as well,” Riley said, bouncing from the room.
Christian shook his head. Always so much energy.
Andi had a knowing smirk on her face.
“No,” he said. “Not possible.”
Deckard frowned. “What isn’t?”
Christian sighed. “Andi’s got this theory about Greyson and Riley.”
Deckard’s brow pinched. “How they drive each other crazy?”
“No. That there’s . . . interest there,” he said, tapping his pen against the table as he tried to erase the notion from his mind.
Deckard laughed. “That’s hysterical.”
Andi and Harper exchanged a knowing glance.
“Not you too?” Christian said, looking at Harper.
She shrugged. “I’m with Andi on this one.”
“You both are off,” Deckard said, setting his front chair legs back on the floor.
Time slithered by like oozing tar—slow and engulfing.
Greyson finally returned. “Okay. I found a property in the last name Timal.”
“In Lordsburg?” Andi asked.
“Just outside of town. Riley’s digging through more records, but I’m going to guess it was their childhood home since it was in her maiden name.”
“Got it,” Riley said, rushing through the doorway. “The property belonged to Luis and Margaretta Timal. The 1990 census shows them having two children. A boy and a girl. Ages one year old and ten.”
“Cyrus and Teresa.”
“Correct.”
“Great job, as always,” Christian said. “We’ve got a five-hour drive ahead, but we’ll still easily beat them there.”
“I’ll be here if you need anything looked into or found,” Greyson said.
Christian nodded.
“I’ll go,” Riley said.
Greyson looked over at her, concern in his eyes.
Christian narrowed his eyes. Was Andi right? No way.
Deckard looked at Harper, and she nodded. “We’ll go too.”
After a little more conversation regarding logistics, they decided Deckard, Harper, and Riley would ride together in case they needed to divide and conquer.
Christian glanced at the building in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the lot. Greyson stood looking out the window, a worried expression on his face. Greyson never looked worried. . . .
Pulling out onto the main road, he prayed Lordsburg was the right location and that they would beat them to it. And most importantly, that no one died at Cyrus’s or Teresa’s hands. She had a reputation for making people disappear. Cyrus had possibly killed two women, had nearly killed Mr. Beaumont. If cornered, neither of them would hesitate to pull the trigger.
The drive to Lordsburg was a half hour shorter than the GPS indicated. Probably because he flew down the road at the top speed limit all the way. He followed Google Maps’s direction, and when they made the final turn, his heart dropped. Instead of the Timal home, they were looking at a strip mall and a dead end.
SEVENTY
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING,” Christian said, banging the wheel.
Andi reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Sorry. I thought we had them. Now we have to start over.”
The fear of losing them, of not finding them before Teresa, Cyrus, and Ethan disappeared across the border, ate at him. The bootheel of New Mexico, which sat barely south of them, was known as a drug runner’s highway, a way to slip from New Mexico into Mexico unseen. Given Teresa’s husband’s drug empire, as well as her having grown up in the area, she must know the routes very well.
While small in comparison to other areas of the state, it still was a lot of ground to cover, with no-man’s-land to the west of Antelope Wells and to the east until the Columbus Border Patrol Entry Station. They needed something to focus their search. Greyson had alerted Border Patrol of the situation, and they’d be sweeping the border, but again, there was a fair amount of no-man’s-land to cover.
His cell rang. “Yeah, Deck. I see.”
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Christian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me think.”
“She’s in this area for a reason. She’s from here, so she’s got to be holed up someplace she views as safe.”
“We can canvass the area,” Deckard said. “See if anyone has seen Teresa or might know where she’d be.”
“Good plan.” He swallowed, praying for direction.
“Why don’t you and I go look through property records,” Andi said.
“Maybe there’s another place that belonged in their family,” he said.
“Agreed,” Deckard said. “Let’s check back in on the half-hour mark.”
“Sounds good. But let me know if you find anything sooner, and I’ll do the same.”
“Roger that.” Deckard disconnected the call.
“Property records would be kept in the courthouse,” he said, looking over at Andi. Man, they worked well together. He was going to miss this time with her when the case was solved. But, of course, he wanted it solved.
Locating the courthouse in town, Mrs. Applegate—a kind lady in charge of public records—showed them down to the dusty room on the bottom level of the courthouse. Basically, a room where records had gone to die. “Let’s start searching for Timal,” he said. “I think any other property that would tie to them would be under that name.”
“But I’ll also check under her married name and the alias she used when she came over the border,” Andi said.
They pulled boxes down by initial—they were assuming it indicated the letter the surnames in each box started with.
Armed with the T, G, and M boxes, they sat on the floor and started digging in.
“Anything?” Andi asked after an hour.
Christian shook his head. Were they on a wild-goose chase? Were they in the wrong area? What if they got away?
“Hang on . . .” Andi said, clutching a piece of paper in her hand from the T box. “There was a house owned by Jorge Timal back in the fifties.”
“He must have been the grandfather or uncle or something of the sort.” Having found nothing, he started packing the G box back up. “Where is it?”
“Hang on,” she said, flipping through the rest of the papers in the file she’d pulled it from. “It’s been sold three times in the last thirty years.”
“Is the last owner Teresa or Cyrus by any chance?” Please, Lord. Don’t let this be another dead end.
Ethan’s brow furrowed. Confusion and a bit of alarm awakened in his wide-eyed expression as he stared at Cyrus.
“Now, this is going to go one of two ways,” Cyrus said. “We shoot one another . . . or we’re going to walk out with Mr. Beaumont here. You will not follow, or we’ll shoot him. Understood?”
Christian didn’t move, didn’t respond to his ultimatum.
“Understood?” Cyrus roared, wrapping one arm around Beaumont’s neck. “Or maybe I’ll just shoot her.” He aimed his gun at Andi’s head. “I’m a heck of a shot.”
Christian’s muscles coiled. Cyrus was not bluffing.
Andi stood her ground, her gun aimed at Ethan.
“Cyrus,” Ethan said. “This is getting extreme.”
“This is what we’re going to do, unless you want to die too.”
Ethan’s face slackened. “You’d shoot me?”
“Get in my way and I will. Just try me.”
Ethan continued to aim his gun at Andi, not saying a word.
“Smart choice,” Cyrus said.
Christian prayed the man would move just a little so he’d have a shot, but Cyrus held behind Mr. Beaumont just right.
“Now,” Cyrus said. “Toss me your guns.”
“Not happening,” Christian said. They released their weapons and they were dead.
“I’ll kill him,” Cyrus said, still jabbing the muzzle of his gun into Mr. Beaumont’s temple.
He wasn’t bluffing. It was only a matter of when he would kill Mr. Beaumont, not if. Christian stilled his racing heart, focusing, zeroing in on Cyrus and his twitchy movements. He needed to play this right, so they bought more time to save Beaumont.
“Go ahead,” Christian said. “You’ll be dead as soon as you drop him.”
Andi’s face stayed fierce in his peripheral vision.
“Now!” Cyrus’s face strained, the veins along his forehead turning a nasty shade of purple.
“Not happening.” Christian’s aim remained steady.
“Up the stairs, Casey,” Cyrus ordered Ethan with a tilt of his head.
Ethan nodded and backed up the stairs, his gun on Andi until he disappeared out of sight.
“Okay, old man,” Cyrus said, keeping the muzzle of his gun aimed at Beaumont with one hand while he easily loosed the sailor’s knots binding the elderly man in place. He yanked Beaumont to his feet and positioned himself so there still was no shot. They backed up the stairs.
Andi looked at Christian, her brows pinched. “What are we waiting for?”
“We’re giving them time to get in the yacht’s raft. That way Cyrus doesn’t feel cornered, and then we give chase.”
SIXTY-NINE
“NOW,” CHRISTIAN SAID, and they flew up the steps.
They stopped just long enough to untie the two crewmembers from their bonds.
The woman bent forward from the waist, sobbing and clutching her stomach.
“The Coast Guard should be here any moment,” he said. “Apprise them of the situation. We’re going after Mr. Beaumont.” He wished he could promise them the elderly gentleman would be okay, but with Cyrus, he couldn’t be sure.
“Something’s not right with the one,” the man said. “Be careful.”
“Agreed, and we will.” He’d protect Andi with his own life if need be.
An outboard motor sounded. “We’ve got to go,” he said.
They raced for the platform and dove into the dark waters, swimming for the fast raft. Reaching it, they both rolled in over the side. Andi pulled up the sea anchor, and Christian started the engine and directed the raft toward land. Cyrus had to be heading back in.
“Here,” he said, racing forward, bouncing and jarring over wave after wave. “Take this.” He handed the floodlight to her. “Sweep it in front of us.”
“Will we catch them?” she asked. “That poor man.”
“We’ll get them.” They had to. “Hold on tight,” he said as they swept over another wave.
She gripped one of the handles with her free hand, still sweeping the light over the surface and the crashing waves.
They flew over the water, soaring above it as they came over the curl of the waves.
“There,” she said, the light landing on the yacht’s Zodiac raft. Cyrus steered the craft, Ethan up front, and it looked like Mr. Beaumont lay on the raft’s floor.
“We’ve got them,” Christian said as they gained on them.
Cyrus looked back—the floodlight fixed on him. He fired, and they dove to the hard rubber floor of the raft.
Christian pulled his gun from his holster. “Lay low, but steer the boat and keep the light on them, if you can.”
“I’ve got it,” she said.
He raised up enough to fire over the raft’s bow, aiming for Cyrus.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Cyrus ducked. He yelled something at Ethan, who then crouched low, moving for the aft.
Cyrus’s head raised just above the raft’s edge, and Christian fired again.
Again, Cyrus ducked. Then he grabbed Mr. Beaumont, hauling him to his feet—the two swaying as rippling waves bobbed their raft. Once again, he held Mr. Beaumont in front of him so Christian didn’t have a clear shot.
Cyrus smiled in the floodlight and fired into Beaumont’s side.
The man cried out in pain.
Cyrus threw him overboard, Ethan gunned the engine, and the Zodiac streaked away.
Christian’s muscles hardened to the point of pain. Cyrus knew they’d stop to help, and they would lose them, but there was nothing else they could do. They steered straight for Mr. Beaumont.
Reaching the sputtering man, Christian reached over the edge and brought the man close to the raft’s side. “I’m sorry. This is going to hurt,” he said, slipping his arms under Beaumont’s armpits. “Here we go.” He hauled the elderly man up and in. The man screamed and writhed in pain.
“It’s going to be all right,” Andi said, kneeling over the man and applying pressure to his wound. “Coast Guard is on the way. We’ve got you.”
But they’d lost Cyrus and Ethan in the night.
■ ■ ■
“What are we going to do now?” Andi asked after they’d passed Mr. Beaumont over to the Coast Guard—who sent another boat out to search for Cyrus and Ethan, though her gut said they wouldn’t find the men.
“Figure out where they’re going to make the trade with Teresa,” Christian said, toweling off on shore, thanks to the Coast Guard’s provision, though puddles still formed around their feet.
“You think the heists are done?”
“Yeah. I think Ethan gave us a strong clue to lead us here because he knew this was their last job. And it stands to reason Teresa will be coming to the States or sending men to collect her goods.”
Andi exhaled. “The question is where.”
“Let’s head back home and see what we can figure out,” he said.
“You don’t think the swap could happen near the Cali-Mexico border?”
“It might, but Teresa and her drug-lord husband live in Chihuahua, Mexico. My bet is it’s going to be around the New Mexico or Texas borders. It’ll take them time to make the drive back. They can’t risk flying with stolen objects. We should be able to reach MIS headquarters within five or six hours if we take a commercial flight, but maybe we—”
“How else would we . . . Oh, Greyson,” she said. “Seriously, how does he do it?”
“I wasn’t joking when I called him our Lucius-slash-Alfred. He’s always there to help, and he provides us with just what we need when we need it.”
“But how?” She didn’t like being out of the “know.”
“He’s a private man with a lot of connections we don’t understand, and I imagine a good deal of money, but we respect his privacy on all of that.”
“Gotcha. Doesn’t it make you wonder, though?”
“Of course, but Deck and I have chalked it up to him just being a man of mystery.” He chuckled.
“And Riley?”
“She can’t let it rest.” He shook his head with a slight smile. “Those two are a mess.”
“I’d say in the best possible way.”
“Now’s not the time to unpack that, but we will later,” he said. “I just can’t see it.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I hate to say it, but most men are oblivious when it comes to that kind of stuff.”
He tugged her to him. “I’d hardly say I’m oblivious to you.”
“Mmm.” She smiled. “And I’m glad of that.”
He pressed his lips to hers. This wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help himself. Just a short kiss now that they were out of danger. At least for the moment.
■ ■ ■
As anticipated, Greyson arranged a private jet for their trip home, landing them in Santa Fe less than two hours later. If Cyrus and Ethan were headed back to New Mexico, they had nearly a full day’s drive.
“We’ve got a very short window to figure out where they’re headed for the exchange,” Christian said as the gang all sat around the round table, Harper included.
“We’ve got some help in that area,” Greyson said.
Riley hopped off the stool and moved to stand beside Greyson at the glass panels, a marker in hand. “Flynn Josephs with Border Patrol responded to the picture of Teresa Gutierrez I put out. She crossed the border under the alias of Rebecca Martinez. He said Feds are looking for her too.”
“I don’t care who finds and stops them—Border Patrol, the Feds, or us,” Christian said. “As long as they’re caught.”
“Agreed,” Deckard said, kicking back in his chair. He propped his boot against one of the table legs, balancing himself at an inclined angle.
Christian did the exact opposite, leaning forward. “Where did she come over the border?”
“Antelope Wells port of entry.”
“She came up through New Mexico and in the bootheel area?” Christian said. “I expected Juarez-El Paso.”
“Agreed,” Greyson said. “The key is finding out why there.”
Riley crossed her legs. “She could have just wanted to go through a less populated entry. Sort of sneaking in, if you will.”
“But it’s easier to blend in with a larger group of people,” Deck said.
“Good point.”
Christian exhaled. “All right, let’s review what we know about Teresa Gutierrez. We want to find someplace on this side of the border she’d wait at until Cyrus and Ethan make the drive back.”
“And we should find out if where she’s staying is the same place they’ll make the drop or if there’s a second location we need to figure out,” Andi said.
Christian reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. Everyone noticed, but he didn’t care. “So what do we know?”
“She and Cyrus were born in Lordsburg, New Mexico. Both American citizens. She now has dual citizenship.”
“That’s a fairly small town. . . .” Christian said, running that through his mind.
“It’s the county seat of Hidalgo County,” Riley said, scanning the pages. “Population now around four thousand. Back when they were kids growing up there . . . I can’t imagine how small it was.”
“Let’s see if there’s any property in her name,” Christian said.
“Or her alias,” Riley added.
“Or her maiden name, Timal,” Andi said.
“I’ll go do the search,” Greyson said, tucking a legal pad under his arm and heading for his desk.
Christian sat back. “If we’re lucky, there’s still property in one of her names.”
“Or Cyrus’s name,” Riley added.
“Excellent point,” Christian said.
“I’ll go ask Greyson to run Cyrus’s name as well,” Riley said, bouncing from the room.
Christian shook his head. Always so much energy.
Andi had a knowing smirk on her face.
“No,” he said. “Not possible.”
Deckard frowned. “What isn’t?”
Christian sighed. “Andi’s got this theory about Greyson and Riley.”
Deckard’s brow pinched. “How they drive each other crazy?”
“No. That there’s . . . interest there,” he said, tapping his pen against the table as he tried to erase the notion from his mind.
Deckard laughed. “That’s hysterical.”
Andi and Harper exchanged a knowing glance.
“Not you too?” Christian said, looking at Harper.
She shrugged. “I’m with Andi on this one.”
“You both are off,” Deckard said, setting his front chair legs back on the floor.
Time slithered by like oozing tar—slow and engulfing.
Greyson finally returned. “Okay. I found a property in the last name Timal.”
“In Lordsburg?” Andi asked.
“Just outside of town. Riley’s digging through more records, but I’m going to guess it was their childhood home since it was in her maiden name.”
“Got it,” Riley said, rushing through the doorway. “The property belonged to Luis and Margaretta Timal. The 1990 census shows them having two children. A boy and a girl. Ages one year old and ten.”
“Cyrus and Teresa.”
“Correct.”
“Great job, as always,” Christian said. “We’ve got a five-hour drive ahead, but we’ll still easily beat them there.”
“I’ll be here if you need anything looked into or found,” Greyson said.
Christian nodded.
“I’ll go,” Riley said.
Greyson looked over at her, concern in his eyes.
Christian narrowed his eyes. Was Andi right? No way.
Deckard looked at Harper, and she nodded. “We’ll go too.”
After a little more conversation regarding logistics, they decided Deckard, Harper, and Riley would ride together in case they needed to divide and conquer.
Christian glanced at the building in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the lot. Greyson stood looking out the window, a worried expression on his face. Greyson never looked worried. . . .
Pulling out onto the main road, he prayed Lordsburg was the right location and that they would beat them to it. And most importantly, that no one died at Cyrus’s or Teresa’s hands. She had a reputation for making people disappear. Cyrus had possibly killed two women, had nearly killed Mr. Beaumont. If cornered, neither of them would hesitate to pull the trigger.
The drive to Lordsburg was a half hour shorter than the GPS indicated. Probably because he flew down the road at the top speed limit all the way. He followed Google Maps’s direction, and when they made the final turn, his heart dropped. Instead of the Timal home, they were looking at a strip mall and a dead end.
SEVENTY
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING,” Christian said, banging the wheel.
Andi reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Sorry. I thought we had them. Now we have to start over.”
The fear of losing them, of not finding them before Teresa, Cyrus, and Ethan disappeared across the border, ate at him. The bootheel of New Mexico, which sat barely south of them, was known as a drug runner’s highway, a way to slip from New Mexico into Mexico unseen. Given Teresa’s husband’s drug empire, as well as her having grown up in the area, she must know the routes very well.
While small in comparison to other areas of the state, it still was a lot of ground to cover, with no-man’s-land to the west of Antelope Wells and to the east until the Columbus Border Patrol Entry Station. They needed something to focus their search. Greyson had alerted Border Patrol of the situation, and they’d be sweeping the border, but again, there was a fair amount of no-man’s-land to cover.
His cell rang. “Yeah, Deck. I see.”
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Christian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me think.”
“She’s in this area for a reason. She’s from here, so she’s got to be holed up someplace she views as safe.”
“We can canvass the area,” Deckard said. “See if anyone has seen Teresa or might know where she’d be.”
“Good plan.” He swallowed, praying for direction.
“Why don’t you and I go look through property records,” Andi said.
“Maybe there’s another place that belonged in their family,” he said.
“Agreed,” Deckard said. “Let’s check back in on the half-hour mark.”
“Sounds good. But let me know if you find anything sooner, and I’ll do the same.”
“Roger that.” Deckard disconnected the call.
“Property records would be kept in the courthouse,” he said, looking over at Andi. Man, they worked well together. He was going to miss this time with her when the case was solved. But, of course, he wanted it solved.
Locating the courthouse in town, Mrs. Applegate—a kind lady in charge of public records—showed them down to the dusty room on the bottom level of the courthouse. Basically, a room where records had gone to die. “Let’s start searching for Timal,” he said. “I think any other property that would tie to them would be under that name.”
“But I’ll also check under her married name and the alias she used when she came over the border,” Andi said.
They pulled boxes down by initial—they were assuming it indicated the letter the surnames in each box started with.
Armed with the T, G, and M boxes, they sat on the floor and started digging in.
“Anything?” Andi asked after an hour.
Christian shook his head. Were they on a wild-goose chase? Were they in the wrong area? What if they got away?
“Hang on . . .” Andi said, clutching a piece of paper in her hand from the T box. “There was a house owned by Jorge Timal back in the fifties.”
“He must have been the grandfather or uncle or something of the sort.” Having found nothing, he started packing the G box back up. “Where is it?”
“Hang on,” she said, flipping through the rest of the papers in the file she’d pulled it from. “It’s been sold three times in the last thirty years.”
“Is the last owner Teresa or Cyrus by any chance?” Please, Lord. Don’t let this be another dead end.
