Fatal Divide (7 page)

11 p.m.

“Goodnight, Ange,” Dylan said, as he settled into the couch for the night.

“Goodnight, Dyl. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

Was he that transparent? “Thanks, Ange, I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Dylan lay awake late into the night. His mom had developed a cough, which Ange told him was probably related to the cancer moving into her lungs. He wondered if he’d be able to get his brothers home before she died, and then worried that maybe he shouldn’t. She wouldn’t know them, and seeing her as she was now would be pretty heavy for kids their age.

He knew his status within the tribe was about to change, and now he had as good a claim to the boys as anyone else. It probably didn’t matter anymore that his mom was never lucid enough to sign the papers approving him as their guardian.

As his mom’s medications took effect, her cough became more muffled and eventually stopped, but Dylan still couldn’t sleep. He started to think about where he could take Jimmy Chaves to be out of the reach of the cartel, and that question depended on which cartel wanted him.

If it was Gila, maybe Utah or Colorado would be far enough. If it was
Los Reyes
, east would be better. Texas, maybe, or Oklahoma. Unable to get to sleep while his mind was busy with the problem, he got up and turned on his laptop. What he saw, when he looked up the areas where the Kings were active, stunned him.

The only states in the US that didn’t have some Kings activity were Minnesota, Alaska, and Idaho. Large areas of some states were free of them, but was anywhere far enough away to keep Jimmy safe?

What was particularly stunning was the solid red that indicated Kings high intensity drug trafficking. It extended along the border solidly from California to the Gulf of Mexico. He’d known their own county was in trouble, but it looked like the cartel was taking over the entire nation through drug trafficking.

Maybe those whack-jobs, the Patriots, up around Casa Grande, had the right idea—just shoot anyone coming across the border. Then, he realized that some of those coming across were his own kin. Kin he’d never met, sure, but kin nevertheless. He liked the idea he was part of a family. It began to make sense that Wanda was jeopardizing her career, and maybe her life, for her passion to reunite the tribe. Could he do less?

Around midnight, he turned off his laptop and wearily sought rest again. His last waking thought was what to do about Alex. This wasn’t her fight. Was it going to be one more thing keeping them from being together?

The next morning, his brain had done its job as he slept, and supplied some of the answers. Before he did anything to spirit Jimmy Chaves out of danger, he’d get some answers about the danger he was avoiding. Wanda didn’t know, and it was entirely possible the man didn’t deserve to be protected. He’d wait to be taken off the case by his supervisor, as he’d told Thurston. If and when that happened, he would decide to whom to give the tip, that this could have been a cartel killing.

He would tell Alex only what she needed to know, if anything. The last time he involved her in an investigation, she went overboard and placed herself in danger. He couldn’t live with himself if she came to the attention of a cartel enforcer, because he couldn’t be with her to protect her every minute. And her journalistic curiosity was a liability, not only to herself but to him, and to Wanda.

He took a thermos of coffee with him as he drove to work, conscious his lack of sleep and fatigue were a danger to himself and others on the two-lane highway between Dodge and the park. Crossing the line could be fatal, as could swerving off the road on his own side. Besides, he didn’t think his insurance company would appreciate a second claim so soon.

When he arrived, it didn’t surprise him to be called in to his supervisor’s office immediately.

“What’s up, boss?” he quipped.

“Anything you need to tell me about Herman Alvarez, Dylan?” the man asked him.

“If you’ve spoken to the sheriff, you know I gave him all the information I had yesterday, with my lawyer present. I have nothing else to say about him at this time.” Dylan winced internally. He shouldn’t have said the last thing. Of course, his supervisor picked up on it.

“At this time? Am I going to have to place you on administrative leave, as well as ordering you off the investigation?” he said.

“I hope not, sir. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Except withhold information from the sheriff’s department.”

“Sir, I explained that to Deputy Thurston. Since I had nothing to do with Alvarez’ death, the information that I knew him and had dealings with him was not critical to the investigation. However, Thurston and I have history, and I considered it necessary to protect my rights by speaking to my lawyer first. I reported the information to Thurston as soon as I had done so.”

“I like you, Dylan. I think you’re a good ranger, and I’m sorry that you seem to be a trouble magnet. But, I’ve been asked by local authorities to keep you away from this investigation and told you are a person of interest. I have no choice but to comply.”

“I understand, sir. I assume you’ll want me to patrol on this side of the park as long as the investigation is active?”

“That’s a good assumption. Be sure you stay out of Thurston’s way, both on and off duty. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“You’ll ride with Evans today. Anson’s busy with the investigation.”

“Yes sir.”

Dylan left his supervisor’s office feeling as if he’d dodged a bullet. He couldn’t afford to be placed on leave. The threat persuaded him to keep his mouth shut about the possible cartel connection. For that matter, he had only Wanda’s assertion that’s what it was. No proof, and he couldn’t give up his source.

He was glad Anson was still on the investigation, though. Maybe he could keep his eye on it through his erstwhile partner. If he was going to be of any help to Wanda, he needed to know where the investigation was heading.

The surest way to get Jimmy clear was to arrest the person who’d actually killed Alvarez. That would give them a day or two before someone else took the enforcer’s place. Without the information, though, the investigation may stall. The other problem with the plan was the cartel was like cockroaches. Take one out of commission, and three others took his place.

He’d had one more idea while he was asleep, triggered by a dream he knew was actually a memory. He never followed up properly on the unusual numbers of motorcycles in town he noticed the night Alex went missing. Too much else was going on, and after she was safe, he’d concentrated on her and on his brothers, since he no longer had to look for his stepdad. It seemed to him that motorcycles and drug cartels were a volatile mix. Maybe he better check out whether these guys were still in town, and whether they were just snowbirds on bikes, or something more sinister.

The day dragged slowly. He barely knew Evans and couldn’t afford to make new friends right now. Their conversation was strained as a result. He was also worried about Alex. She’d want to know how he felt about being removed from the investigation, and he was afraid she’d see through his attempt to pretend he didn’t care. She may be young, but she was observant. It was a good trait to have for someone with her career aspirations, but a bad one for him. He couldn’t put anything over on her, usually. This time it was vital.

By afternoon, Evans had given up trying to make conversation with him, and it suited Dylan just fine. He had too much on his mind to talk about stuff that didn’t matter. The next few days were going to be stressful, and he could only hope it didn’t last longer than that.

If it wasn’t cleared up by Thanksgiving, he’d have to contend with both of the Wards seeing through him, since he was invited to dinner. Ange had told him he might as well have dinner with Alex and her dad. She wasn’t going to cook a big meal, his mother wouldn’t even know he was missing, and his brothers’ case worker had decreed it would be disruptive for them to spend the weekend with him instead of with their foster parents. His only obligation was to bring Ange a piece of pumpkin pie.

THIRTEEN

4 p.m.

Alex was sneaking looks at the clock on the wall above her desk every few minutes. Dylan should be here soon, and she was ready to leave. A few calls came in about the murder story, her second above-the-fold feature, though it was mostly the uninteresting photo of Kevin Thurston. Facts were sparse because she couldn’t print anything Dylan told her, and her dad agreed they wouldn’t fuel the gossip mill by printing anything about Wanda Lopez’ relationship to the deceased.

On an inside page, a short announcement that Wanda had taken a leave of absence ‘for personal reasons’ was going to fool no one for long. The speculation about those reasons was already floating on the wind, thanks to one of the city council members speaking out of turn about it.

Alex made a face at the stock picture of the council meeting room that her dad ran with every story about their doings. At least he hadn’t put the demand for Wanda to step down into the story. He wouldn’t have known about it except for Wanda telling him, because personnel matters were always held behind closed doors.

When she called just before this week’s edition went to print, Alex learned the mayor had left her office. She’d barely had time to call Wanda at home and ask if she should run the announcement before the final layout went to press.

She looked at the clock again, just as her dad emerged from his office.

“Go on home,” he said. “You’ve done enough for today. Great job this week, kiddo.”

Kiddo was better than Baby Girl, but she wasn’t sure she appreciated the new nickname. Dad had called her that since she was, in actuality, a baby girl, and now Jen had taken it up, too, along with Nana and Dad’s sister, Aunt Jess. It spiked her adrenaline every time she heard it, so maybe ‘kiddo’ was better.

“Thanks, Dad, but I’m expecting Dylan any minute. He said he’d see me here.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, see if you can get more out of him about this thing at the park. I’m uneasy about it.”

Alex understood the feeling. She was uneasy, too, and she knew more than her dad did. Waiting for the other shoe to drop on Dylan, or on Wanda, wasn’t her idea of a good time. Dylan had said he was going to tell Thurston about his dealings with Alvarez yesterday, and it worried her that he hadn’t sent her a text about how it went. If she didn’t think it would give Kevin ideas, she would call the sheriff’s office and ask if Dylan were being held there.

Just before she began to chew her fingernails with anxiety, Alex was relieved to see Dylan walk through the door. He’d been home first, since he was in jeans and a tight t-shirt that made her draw in her breath sharply. Good lord, did the man have no idea of his effect on her? Or on other women, for that matter? The second thought made her scowl, and he stopped coming toward her, his brows pulled together and his head tilted.

“Alex? Is something wrong?”

She gave herself a shake and looked at her dad’s office door to be sure it was closed. “No, but if you value your life, don’t let any other woman see you in that shirt.”

Dylan grinned and came closer, standing in her personal space without actually touching her. “You like what you see?”

She pushed him back, her hand flat against his hard chest. “You know it, you jerk. Go home and put some clothes on, before I jump you right here.”

Dylan threw his head back and laughed, bringing Paul out of the office to see what was so funny. He looked from Dylan, who was still standing close to Alex, to his daughter, and raised his eyebrows. “No sex in the office, kiddo,” he said.

She immediately turned bright red and threw up her hands. “I can’t win with you two. What happened to the caveman dad I used to have?” She dived under her desk to retrieve her bag and hide, while her dad and her boyfriend shared a chuckle at her expense.

They’d come a long way from that night when Dad held a loaded shotgun at Dylan’s bare chest and ordered him never to set foot in their house again. Today’s interruption and her reference to that other time had cooled her off for now, but she still wanted Dylan either dressed differently or out of her sight.

“Ready to go, Lexi?” Dylan asked. Was he deliberately trying to get under her skin? She needed to get him out of the office and somewhere private, where she could remind him that they were supposed to be taking it slow. He didn’t seem very cooperative as she physically turned him around and pushed him toward the front door. “I’ll see you at dinner, Dad,” she called.

“No you won’t. I’m going to the Rattler. Don’t fix anything for me.”

Alex almost stopped and went in to make sure it really was her dad in there. What was going on with him? But Dylan had taken her hand and was pulling her out the door. “Come on, baby, that gives us more time, and I need to talk to you.” She turned her attention back to Dylan.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Can we go to your house? This can’t be overheard.”

Moments later, they walked in the front door of Paul Ward’s adobe-walled home, built sometime in the fifties by his dad, before the accident took his life. It was a strange mix of the items Paul refused to get rid of because Alex’s mother had chosen them, and Alex’s taste, which ran to Southwest-themed colors and artwork. Somehow, it worked to make the house seem like a cozy home, one that held familial love like a warm blanket.