Caught in the Act (31 page)

“The bullet went through?”

“I think so.”

“Hmm.”

“Let me out,” she begged.

“Not yet. I have an errand to run.”

Maria tried her luck by shoving against the door, but he was blocking it. “Please. Chuy will kill me.”

He locked her in again, extinguishing her last ray of hope. But a moment later, he slid the unused syringe under the door. Maria would rather have a knife or her trusty pepper spray, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Wait,” she said, her lips almost touching the door.
“Can I have Armando’s letter back? He asked me to deliver it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he slid the envelope under the door.

“Gracias,”
she whispered.

“Por nada,”
he returned.

She put the letter in her pocket, along with the secret weapon, and crept down the stairs, praying for the opportunity to escape.

Kari still hadn’t heard from Adam directly, but she’d received a cryptic text message about his condition from Ian Foster.

According to Foster, Adam was recovering in an undisclosed location and unable to contact her for professional reasons. Foster stressed that this was very sensitive information, not to be shared with
anyone
. He also expressed Adam’s condolences for Sasha’s death and asked for an update on Maria.

Kari had no word on her friend’s whereabouts. An officer had traced Maria’s last call to a pay phone at a Tijuana bus station. Kari could only guess that Maria was traveling back to her family and would get in touch as soon as she arrived.

The hours passed by in a blur. She couldn’t stop worrying about Adam and she didn’t understand why he hadn’t contacted her in person. Whatever the reason, she’d never forgive him for leaving her hanging. Unless he was in a coma or wrapped in bandages from head to foot, he had no excuse for not calling.

He might be alive and well, but he was dead to her.

She’d been sleeping a lot since she came home, which
felt odd. Insomnia and hyperactivity were more her style. She prided herself on being a workaholic, a clean freak, an exercise enthusiast. Type A all the way.

But she could hardly drag herself out of bed since Sasha’s death. The sense of loss was enormous, oppressive. Carrying it exhausted her. After a few minutes of wandering around the house, she needed a nap.

Along with the sadness, she felt a tremendous amount of guilt … and an almost equal measure of relief. For years she’d failed her sister, and enabled her, and worried about her. An awful, ugly little part of her was glad the fight was over.

She’d never spend another sleepless night wondering when Sasha would overdose.

The final toxicology results would take a few weeks, but the initial autopsy report suggested accidental death, with no indication of foul play. Sasha had died by her own hand and been dumped in the back of her van by Moreno’s men. There were multiple track marks but no signs of a struggle.

Kari made funeral arrangements quickly and quietly, seeing no reason to delay. Her parents were dead, and none of her far-flung relatives would be able to attend. She wanted to get it over with. The service was scheduled for this morning. Maybe, after taking the weekend off, she could go back to work, her only sanctuary.

An hour before the service, she riffled through the contents of her closet, listless. The navy business suit was somber enough for the occasion, but she reached for the burgundy silk gown Sasha had encouraged her to buy. It wasn’t appropriate for a funeral. She dropped her towel and turned to the mirror anyway, holding the
dress up to her body. Sasha’s raspy, irreverent voice told her to wear it.

She put on the gown, along with sedate underwear and a pair of simple black pumps. Because she wasn’t as daring as Sasha, even when delirious from grief, she added a black wraparound tunic. It was thin and lightweight but offered decent coverage, camouflaging the dress’s plunging back and low neckline.

Her wan face didn’t match the outfit, so she stood at her vanity mirror and applied makeup with an unsteady hand. Eye shadow, waterproof mascara, lip gloss. She stepped back to study her appearance. The accessories toned down the sexy gown without making her appear matronly. Sasha would approve.

Grabbing her purse, she went outside and climbed into her rental car, nodding at the officer parked across the street. He knew where she was going. She’d been assured that there would be a police presence at the funeral.

Not that anyone figured Moreno would be stupid enough to show up.

The parking lot at the funeral parlor was almost full, which surprised her. Maybe another service was wrapping up. As she walked toward the entrance, she realized the crowd was there for Sasha. Friends she hadn’t seen in years had gathered to offer their condolences. Sasha’s wacky New Age health care providers were milling about, along with her favorite hair stylist and the disgruntled nail technician. Even Kari’s ex-boyfriend, Brendan, had come to pay his respects.

She was touched by the outpouring of support. In the waiting area, there were flowers everywhere. Someone had set up a table for pictures. A dozen dazzling photos
smiled up at Kari, reminding her that Sasha had loved to strike a pose. She’d been brash, irrepressible, and impossible to dislike.

Warm hugs and polite handshakes greeted Kari as she made her way through the crowd. The funeral director, whom she’d met once before, guided her to a seat in the front row. There were no other blood relatives in attendance. Kari felt awkward, sitting there by herself. After a moment, Sasha’s best friend from high school came to fill the space. Beth was married now, with two young children and a frazzled-looking husband.

“If the baby fusses, I’ll take him outside,” she whispered to Kari, squeezing her hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kari said, glad for the company. “Thanks for coming.”

Beth’s baby fussed a little during the ceremony, but Kari didn’t mind the distraction. She wasn’t comfortable showing emotion in front of so many people, most of whom she hardly knew. Instead of breaking down in tears, she merely endured the service, listening to a simple speech about greener pastures.

For a nonbeliever like herself, it was cold comfort. She’d rather have heard about Sasha’s real life, her struggles and mistakes.

But Kari had chosen this instead. An impersonal, closed-casket service.

When it was over, she stood by the entrance, accepting condolences and murmuring thanks to everyone who approached her.

Then the crowd moved to the cemetery to watch the burial. Again, Kari felt self-conscious about her solitude. Since her dad died, she’d been more driven than ever to succeed. Men and relationships had taken a backseat.
Now she needed someone to lean on, a strong arm to steady her, a comforting presence by her side.

She wanted Adam.

After the service, she drove home, but she couldn’t escape the small group of well-meaning friends who followed her there. They helped her carry in the flower arrangements she didn’t want, and brought more food than she could eat. When a young man delivered a beautiful, elegant bouquet of calla lilies, Kari rose to sign the confirmation. She checked for a card, aware that her guests were curious about the ostentatious display.

She felt an absurd moment of elation, wondering if Adam had sent them. Then she realized the flowers were from an anonymous source and her heart went cold. Only Carlos Moreno would throw his money around this way.

Finally the crowd dwindled and Kari was left alone. She crawled into bed, exhausted. But for the first time in days, she couldn’t sleep. Daylight mocked her. The smell of fresh flowers and warm casseroles drifted in, their cloying fragrances assaulting her senses. She buried her face in the pillow but found no peace.

Needing a different kind of release, she kicked off the sheets and rose to her feet, grabbing her workout clothes. She hadn’t gone for a jog since Tuesday. Her body felt weak and her mind sluggish. Running always helped her wake up.

She nodded to the officer in the black-on-black squad car, letting him know she was leaving. He watched over the house, not her, so he didn’t follow. She started off slow but gained momentum, feeling stronger than she had in days. Detouring from her normal route, she returned
to the cemetery, slowing to a stop at Sasha’s grave.

There were flowers on the mound, creamy white roses and baby’s breath. The headstone didn’t have an epitaph, just a name and date. Kari hadn’t been able to decide on a suitable saying for a troubled young woman who had never valued her life.

She brought a fist to the center of her chest, where she ached. The tears that refused to fall during the service came rushing to her eyes, spilling down her bewildered face. Why had Sasha refused to get help for so long? Why hadn’t Kari stepped in sooner?

Now it was too late.

She knelt in the grass beside the grave and wept bitterly, unable to escape the pain. She wished she could see Sasha one last time. The sight of her sister in a body bag would haunt Kari for the rest of her life.

When she lifted her head, wiping the tears from her eyes, she noticed a man standing in the shadows. He was tall and lean, his identity almost disguised by beard stubble, casual clothes, and a Padres cap.

It was her sister’s captor, lover, murderer: Carlos Moreno.

Kari scrambled to her feet, her pulse racing. There was no one else in the cemetery. If any police officers had been present at the funeral, they were long gone now. Sprinting to the main road and flagging down a car would take less than a minute. But she was frozen with shock and her legs refused to move.

How dare he come here?

While she stared at him, horrified, he lifted a hand to his face, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his eye sockets.

He was crying, she realized with astonishment. This man had introduced Sasha to heroin, kept her locked away in his mansion, and facilitated her death. As far as Kari was concerned, he might as well have shot her in cold blood. And he had the gall, the unmitigated gall, to show his despicable face at her grave? He’d treated her like a possession, a trophy to be traded away when the shine wore off.

He had the nerve to
cry
? Bastard.

“Did you bring these flowers?” she asked, gesturing at Sasha’s grave. “And the lilies?”

Nodding, he dropped his hand.

She swept a dozen long-stemmed roses from the top of the mound and strode forward. Unleashing several years’ worth of fury, she attacked him with the flowers, striking him across the face and neck. White petals flew everywhere, like loose bird feathers, and wicked thorns scraped his cheek, cutting deep.

He endured the blows without complaint, making no move to defend himself.

His lack of reaction enraged her. She threw the ruined flowers at his feet, breathing hard. “How could you come here?”

The scratch on his face welled with pinpricks of blood, jewel bright against his dark complexion. “I came to show my respects.”

“You never respected her! You used her and threw her away.”

“No,” he said simply. “I tried to help her.”

“By threatening and manipulating me?”

He glanced around the cemetery, making sure they were still alone. “You were the only person she really
loved,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I hoped that involving you would scare her into getting clean.”

“You control the illegal drug trade, Carlos. Couldn’t you keep her clean?”

His mouth thinned with regret. “I can’t control every dirty doctor or small-time dealer. Sasha was very clever about getting her fix.”

“Whose fault was that? You got her addicted.”

“For this, I take full responsibility. I wanted her to quit with me. She refused.”

“She needed rehab.”

“I agree. I asked her to get help, repeatedly.”

“Liar.”

He gave her a quiet look. “I thought she would go if the stakes were high enough. Chuy’s plan was to use your dedication for each other to our advantage. I never should have listened to him.”

Kari pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” she repeated, smothering a sob. “You took everything from me! You stole my sister, my only family member—and you shot Adam. How can you stand there and look me in the eye?”

“I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“Go to hell,” she said, sick of his bullshit. “If he dies, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

“He’s not dying.”

His certainty gave her pause. “How do you know?”

“I was there when he was hit. I could have killed him, but I didn’t, for reasons I still cannot fathom. Maybe I’m losing my touch. At any rate, he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He wasn’t seriously injured.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do me a favor.”

Shaking her head, she turned to walk away. “Drop dead.”

“I have Maria,” he called after her.

Her blood turned to ice. Although she suspected he was playing her again, she couldn’t force herself to keep moving.

Like a fool, she stopped to listen.

“Go to the hospital and visit Armando Villarreal. I think you will find your border cop there in his place, lying in wait for me.”

She whirled to face him. “How do you know?”

“It is just a hunch,” he said, shrugging. “And evading arrest is my specialty. The room will be guarded, but you shouldn’t have any trouble getting in. Call me afterward and tell me who you encountered.” He took Sasha’s sparkly cell phone from his pocket, handing it to her. “In exchange, I will release Maria.”

Kari stared at the object in her hand, tears filling her eyes. “I could just call the police, right now.”

“You could,” he agreed.

She lifted her chin. “Put Maria on. I want to hear her voice.”

He placed the call from his own cell, giving a terse order to the person who answered. A moment later, he turned the phone toward Kari.

“Maria?”

Her friend’s voice was hesitant. “Kari?”

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning closer to hear her.

“I think so.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in a basement—”