The Truant Officer (17 page)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brandon,” she said as if mortally wounded by the accusation.

“I must be mistaken. Because you wouldn’t do anything like that, since it’s a felony, and we already went over the whole you’re not a prison kinda girl thing.”

“Apology accepted. Can we talk later, sweetie, I have a big interview lined up.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she felt her arms being ripped behind her. She looked to see Brandon with his cell phone still resting on his ear, as he handcuffed her. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you...sweetie?”

She struggled to get out of the handcuffs, but it was no use. So she attempted charm—she flipped her blonde mane and batted her eyelashes at him. “I did it for us.”

“Don’t worry, I heard Las Vegas jails are nice—slot machines, showgirls—you’re going to have a blast.”

She began swearing like a sailor at him. He laughed, infuriating her more. Once he made his point, he unlatched the handcuffs.

She turned indignant. “How did you find me, anyway?”

A sly grin appeared. “How do you think your source got that information about the flight to Mexico?”

She swung her fist at his most sensitive area, and this time didn’t miss.

He bent over in pain. “Assaulting an officer twice in one day? The next story you break is going to be about Jessi Stafford doing hard time.”

“Tell it to the judge, Longa,” she fired back, imitating his Brooklyn accent.

He quickly recovered. “I’ll tell ya what—I’m willing to look past the assault charges in exchange for you buying me lunch. I’m starving.”

Jessi hadn’t eaten all day, and it would buy her time to plot her next move. So she agreed to the terms. They took a cab to the New York-New York Hotel & Casino. Jessi wanted to go to Chin-Chin, the trendy eatery to the stars, but Brandon decided on an Italian place.

As Jessi picked at her salad, she concluded that this was as close to New York as she would get until she was able to rid herself of Brandon Longa.

He looked across the table at her, and said, “I have to pick up Goot at the airport, but after that I’m free for the rest of the night—why don’t you and I hit the town?”

She faked a smile. “I’d love that Brandon.”

But she already had plans.

Chapter 36

Jessi stepped up to the dilapidated-looking warehouse on Balazar Avenue, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

There was no response, but she remained undeterred, and knocked again. This time the loud salsa music stopped and she heard footsteps heading toward the door. “Who’s there?” demanded a voice.

“I’m here to see Ramiro Cortez.”

“Name your business.”

“I’m here for our date.”

A sliding peephole abruptly opened and two beady eyes were staring at her. She could feel their eyes on her fire engine red halter dress with mini sarong skirt. It was the most revealing outfit she could find at a trendy shop in New York-New York.

The door slid open, and now she faced three gangster-looking Mexicans with guns pointed at her. The lead guy smiled at her devilishly. “Where have you been all my life, senorita?”

“Is Ramiro here or not? I don’t have all day.”

“Time is money, and I’ll bet Ramiro is paying you mucho dinero.”

Jessi would have loved to recoup some of the cost of the dress, and the king’s ransom she had to pay the driver to deliver her here, but that wasn’t going to happen. The only thing that was going to be exchanged was information.

They marched her into an open area filled with cars, being worked on by grease-stained men. But she knew these weren’t typical auto mechanics.

They brought her to a shirtless man who was supervising the work on a souped-up Mustang. His hair was cut short to the scalp and his muscular body was colored with tattoos like graffiti on a building.

“This chica says she’s with you, Miro.”

He looked her up and down, then reached into the waistband of his jeans and drew a pistol. “I’m going to check my calendar, and if you’re name isn’t on it, blondie, then we’re going to have big problems,” Ramiro stated, his voice guttural.

“I have some questions for you about Lilly McLaughlin.”

“I don’t know any Lilly. I think you got lost on your way to the Cirque du Soleil show, and this is not a neighborhood you wanna get lost in.”

“Perhaps if you answer my questions, I won’t have a talk with the police about the obvious chop shop you’re running here. And I’m sure when they take a look at these cars, they’ll find some interesting hiding places that would be advantageous in drug running or taking illegals over the border.”

The men around him tensed and raised their weapons, but Ramiro just laughed. “The 5-0 don’t even come around Balazar Avenue no more—too dangerous.”

He then sent the men away, including the ones settled on a nearby couch watching a soccer game on a TV. “Vamos!” They hurried out of the room—Ramiro Cortez appeared to be a powerful man.

“I’m a reporter, Ramiro” Jessi said. “Can I call you Ramiro?”

He looked her up and down. “You can call me whatever you want.”

She smiled at him. “You’re sweet. I just have a few questions, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“How do I know you’re not a cop?”

“You just said that the police no longer patrol Balazar.”

His look wandered to her legs. “I’m still going to have to check you for a wire, just to be sure. And I know you chicas like to hide them in the most private of places.”

“Then the next thing you’ll be checking, is yourself into a hospital.”

He laughed. “You’re feisty, and very brave to come down here. I like that in my women.”

“I’m not one of your women. But I get the feeling that Lilly is. Now tell me why she came to see you today.” She held up the picture of her and handed it to him.

He observed the photo, and remarked, “Her name is Liliana Rojas, the Lilly stuff is just a character she’s playing.”

He motioned her to join him on the couch. It made Jessi uncomfortable, but she knew it was imperative that she appear confident, and she took a seat next to him.

“Liliana is an old friend who was in town, and dropped by—she used to come up here with her brothers back in the day.”

“She just dropped by to say hello?” Jessi asked skeptically.

“She was going on a trip, so I loaned her a car.”

“Funny thing is, she had bought plane tickets to go on a trip. And she already had a car, which she left at McCarran. Seems like she had a sudden change of plans.”

“Flying can be very dangerous with all these terrorists running around.”

“I’ve learned a lot about Liliana today, and she doesn’t seem like someone who is scared of danger.”

A proud smile encompassed his face. “Liliana always likes to live on the edge, and she likes her men just as edgy.”

“Is that why she came to see you—because you were one of these dangerous guys?”

“No, I was never her type.”

“Your rap sheet tells a different story.”

“I might meet her danger fix, but she’s also attracted to those who could help her climb the ladder, if you know what I mean. I’m just a lowly mechanic.”

Jessi agreed that Lilly’s history did show that the men in her life helped her achieve upward mobility. “What about the guy she was with—Brett Buckley—did he seem like her type?”

He shrugged. “I could tell that he came from money. And since he was on the run from the law, yeah, I’d say she liked that he was living on the edge.”

“You mentioned that you’re old friends. I’m guessing you didn’t meet Liliana at a Chandler PTA meeting.”

“Her brothers and I fought together in the war. She used to tag along with them when they came to Vegas to do their laundry.”

“The war we’re talking about is not in Iraq or Afghanistan, correct? It’s the kind of war where they abduct innocent women as an initiation.”

“That was a long time ago. Now I’m just a small business owner trying to make ends meet.”

“A couple of Liliana’s brothers were killed in this war, isn’t that right?”

His face turned distressed. “She was closest with her brother Manuel. It changed Liliana when he was killed. It was like she began to create a new life—went back to school, married some white bread Mr. Suburbia type, never visited the old neighborhood. I guess that’s when she became this Lilly character, but the thing is, you can never run from your past.”

“Sounds like you resent her for it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think of her—Manuel was like a brother to me.” He pointed to a portrait tattoo of him on his chest. “I promised him if Liliana ever needed help, I’d be there for her.”

“And the help she needed was to get out of town before the authorities put a stop to her joyride with her underage boyfriend. So they bought airline tickets to leave the country. They even checked their bags, which likely contained their cell phones, so the police will follow the GPS all the way to Mexico. That means they were in the market for new cell phones, preferably the untraceable kind that Ramiro Cortez’s drug-dealing clients often purchased from him. So now that I know why they came to see you, the remaining question is, where did they go?”

He picked up a remote and changed the soccer game to a newscast. It was reporting from the home of a Tony Dantelli in Henderson, a former New York police officer who was murdered earlier in the day. “It’s not where they are going that should interest you. It’s where they were before they came to see me.”

Jessi looked at the TV screen with amazement. “Are you saying that Brett and Lilly had something to do with that murder?”

“Sorry, lady—it’s time for me to get paid for my information.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I’m not one of those tabloid journalists who pays for a story.”

“Like when you paid someone to deliver you to me?” His grin turned evil. “I mean that you owe me for the information I already gave you. It’s time to pay your debt.”

He forcefully climbed on top of her, and moved his hand under her skirt. She tried to fight back, but it was no use. She screamed, but the only ones that might hear her were Ramiro Cortez’s men.

“Freeze, scum bag!” a shout echoed throughout the spacious room.

Jessi looked up to see Brandon Longa holding a gun on them. Ramiro made a move for his gun, but an arm came seemingly out of nowhere and chopped it out of his hand.

It was Brandon’s partner, Gutierrez. “You give us Mexicans a bad name, amigo,” he said and punched him in the ribs. “It’s time for you to grow up and get a real job.”

Brandon checked that Jessi was all right, and then walked her out of the warehouse with no response from Ramiro or his men. Once outside, she asked, “How did you find me?”

“You were late for our date, so I came looking for you.”

She looked skeptically at him. “Were you following me?”

“Is that as close to a ‘thank you’ as I’m gonna get?”

“Brandon?”

He shrugged. “We thought it might be our best chance of solving the case.”

Jessi begrudgingly smiled. “Thank you.”

Chapter 37

Agent LaPoint drove his government-issued Taurus up to the house that was serving as his makeshift office in Chandler. He hurried inside as fast as his cranky knees would allow. He couldn’t believe people chose to live in the god-forsaken heat—and it was only April!

The protection of Nick Zellen was a joint operation between Special Agents of the FBI and the US Federal Marshals, causing numerous turf wars. The Marshals ran the Federal Witness Protection Program, so they took the lead in the day-to-day logistics. But when Deputy Marshal Fitzpatrick began to lose control, Eicher flew him in to oversee the moving of Nick to a new locale. Unfortunately it was too late, and was now a recovery mission.

He’d gone for a drive to try to compose himself after watching another Jessi Stafford report on the whereabouts of Nick and Lilly, from a wedding chapel of all places. He hoped they enjoyed their nuptials, because he was pretty certain that death would be parting them very soon.

He was about to grab a bite to eat—cleaning up Fitzpatrick’s messes had left him famished—when the phone rang. It was Eicher with more bad news. Seems Dantelli had lost his head—literally—which frankly wasn’t that surprising. Sarvydas seemed pretty determined to put an end to Alexei’s trial before it started. The more interesting aspect was that Nick and Lilly had showed up at Dantelli’s prior to Zubov’s visit.

Eicher also informed him about a pair of hands found during a raid, which belonged to a stripper named Rachel Grant. This one left LaPoint perplexed.

“I might need you to go to Oklahoma tomorrow morning to exhume Audrey Mays’ body...if it is her body,” Eicher suggested.

Not exactly the south of France, but better than this oven. “Not a problem. Any news that doesn’t involve limbs being chopped off?”

“Nick called me.”

“When?”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“Did you run a trace?”

“Came up empty. The phone was blocked—total professional job. Now where would a kid like Nick get something like that?”

“I’m guessing Dantelli, which would explain their visit. But sounds like you are skeptical of his travel companion.”

“Too many coincidences. She shows up in his life out of the blue, and now he’s taking these crazy risks. And Zubov keeps appearing wherever they show up. First the casino and then Dantelli’s house.”

LaPoint was skeptical. “I think you’re selling the kid short. He lost confidence in us, which I don’t blame him for, and he believes the woman is the only person he can trust.”

“He’s also convinced there’s a leak in my office, and that’s how they found him.”

“Your office is too busy blaming the FBI for everything to be leaking information,” he replied with a laugh.

“Would you consider it ‘blaming you’ if I ask you to keep an eye out for any of your people in the field who might be acting suspiciously?”

“No, but it would prove you have no sense of humor. I think we need to be more worried about Zubov, than leaks, or Nick’s putting too much trust in his teacher.”