Hell on the Heart (27 page)

He moved to the far side of the bed and sat in a chair. “How come you’re not married?”

Rolf scoffed. “Like Cezi, the claiming dance has no appeal to me.”

“The claiming dance?” John worked at keeping his voice level. What was this? Reality TV at its worst? After the winning tango, the couple gets to waltz down the aisle?

“It’s how gypsies declare their mate. A couple times a year, we have a big bonfire and a young woman ready for marriage dances. If a man joins her and it suits the families, the bandolier invokes the vows. The females don’t wear a white dress and the minister doesn’t double as an Elvis impersonator, but it’s marriage for life, none the less.”

They danced. Someone spoke a few words and they would be bound together forever? “Does that work? What if you’re not happy?”

Rolf snorted. “Marriage and happiness don’t go hand-in-hand. We needed big families to survive when we first came over from the old country. Now that’s not so true, so this generation is marrying older.”

“Cezi claims fidelity isn’t expected.”

“Oh,” he puffed and waved his hand dismissively. “She’s just sensitive because of her job. The only reason men stray is the sex thing.”

The hair on John’s arms rose. “The sex thing?”

The corner of Rolf’s lips thinned as though irritated he had to explain the obvious. “The lower half of the body is
marimé
.”

Marimé
? Hadn’t Cezi told him the same thing? Somehow he hadn’t figured sex into this picture. “Polluted? How?”

Rolf’s mouth scrunched, contorted in pain. Dare had lanced the wound to drain the puss. “Unclean is a better word,” he choked out. In a minute he appeared to breathe easier. “Gypsy sex is traditional.”

John hung onto every word, unsure where Rolf was headed.

“You know,” Rolf said. “Missionary position in the dark. Nothing, and I mean nothing, off the beaten path. And you better be thinking about babies when you’re doing it.”

John laughed, then frowned. Rolf continued. “Listen. Most of the men don’t lack for willing bed partners, but we do our duty. We knock up our wives. We provide for our family, but only a lucky few find true love. Most believe love’s overrated.”

“Don’t you run a website on finding your soul mate?”

He grimaced. “Six of them. Different methods appeal to different personalities. Some use astrology or tarot cards or fortune telling. Dear Ruthie is only an advice blog, but it pulls in good advertising dollars.” He waved toward the wall, gesturing toward his computer and the array of CDs on the shelf above. His other hand clenched in a tight fist.

Rolf paced his breathing, inhaling deeply before exhaling through puffed cheeks and clenched teeth. “Everyone wants to find the perfect relationship, the one that happens magically, the one that won’t require any effort. But that’s bogus.” He winced with pain. Took another breath. “You can’t leave things you value to fend for themselves. True love requires work. Not after your career or your kids. The relationship’s got to be number one. Look through my CD’s if you’re interested. I think I’ve got one or two on the claiming dance.”

John lifted Rolf’s head and adjusted the pillow. Rolf’s scrunched face indicated his conversation had reached an end. Dare typed a few sentences into the computer and the monitor flickered to life.

“Hang in there a little longer.”

“Do you have x-rays?” The voice on the computer quizzed Dare.

John stretched, sidestepping away from the bed. The window blinds were shut. Dare and Rolf were both occupied. Casually, John inched his way to the shelf of CDs. He’d just take a quick look. But as he read the hand scribbled titles, Rolf’s words ran through his mind.

 True love requires work.

John didn’t have the first clue where to start.

Two hours later, Luca stepped back into the room now empty except for his son. Pleased to see his color was better and his face didn’t contort in pain. “Feeling better?”

“Probably, but warn your brothers not to say anything.” Luca’s heart warmed to see his son on the road to recovery. The Elders needed to reconsider their stand on outside medical help. He wasn’t sure he was a good enough gypsy to lose a child when others who could help were available. People feared change, but it happened whether they wanted it or not.

Rolf’s eyes fluttered shut. Luca edged toward the door prepared to let him sleep, but couldn’t go without asking one last question. “What’s your read on him?”

The corners of Rolf’s lips ticked upward. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “He’s a goner. Cezi’s got him wound so tight he’s about to explode. I told him how to win her, but did he hear me? We’ll have to see.”

“He’s a smart man.”

“They’re going to be good together, but their children will be absolute terrors.” His voice drifted off. “We probably needed to breed more fire into the line.”

Cain fought to shake the soupy muddle of his mind. The importance of being alert and ready outweighed his need to sink into the numbing security of darkness. Adam and Herod planned to kill him, but not until they’d found his money.

The house was quiet, not necessarily a sign everyone was in bed. Hoping it was safe, he cracked open an eyelid.

Judging by the soft light filtering in through the partially closed blinds he surmised the sun was setting. His shoulder throbbed with a dull pain.

As he rose to a sitting position, his head spun. For several minutes he sat not moving, listening for telltale signs someone was near enough to hear him. The pressing need to relieve himself forced him to shift to the edge of the bed.

Smooth, cool terracotta tiles welcomed his feet. Gingerly, he pried himself off the bed and rose to teetering position. The bathroom door was only a few feet away but getting there required using the wall for support as he half-stumbled to the toilet.

The colorful vanity mirror reflected his appearance – scruffy and unkempt. A shower and a shave were required, but they’d have to wait. Until he knew who was in the house, he didn’t flush, didn’t want anyone hearing the water run through the pipes.

As quietly as possible, he opened the door and crept into the hall, pausing to listen every few several steps. This place boasted bright blue walls and tiled Spanish furniture decorating each room. The ubiquitous housekeepers were absent.

The unmade beds and clothes dumped in piles on the floor surprised Cain. Adam was obsessive about tidiness to the point of anal. He refused to have anything but traditional decor. Should any of the women make their way home, he didn’t want to have his location identified by an educated guess. Once the girls were out of his control, anything could happen.

A locked door on the first floor presented a challenge, but after Cain had listened to silence for several minutes, he boldly knocked. When no one responded he was convinced the house was empty and equally sure Adam had been MIA for a while.

Dishes piled in the sink and a smattering of unopened groceries in plastic bags scattered on counters and table told him the men were camping out, ready to move at a moment’s notice. The spotless refrigerator was stocked with only a few items. Cain grabbed a jug of orange juice and chugged some into his empty stomach before he continued his search.

Two phone books, Santa Fe County and a smaller Taos County, told him the location. The limo keys were sprawled on the tile counter only a few feet from a door to the garage.

Cain peered into the three-car garage and debated whether turning on a light was a mistake. Even in the windowless garage he could see the limo fit with the door closed. No other cars.

With keys in hand, he headed out. Now was his time to escape. Then he hesitated. Could he get by wearing only his pajamas? How far could he get without money? The limo was a gas sucker if there ever was one.

No, he needed a better plan. Clothes and his wallet, plus his watch were essential before he snuck out later. For now he’d survey his surroundings.

Another doorway opened onto a flight of stairs that led to the basement. He decided on a quick tour to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. The basement was essentially empty except for three boxes that sat on a counter. Cain opened the first box, hoping his possessions were there.

Holy Mother of God. Dynamite filled two of the cartons. The third contained six bricks of C4, blasting caps and detonator cord. Where the hell had Adam acquired this? And why?

A plan began to take shape in his mind. He worked quickly, hauling the boxes to the garage angry at the amount of time he’d wasted. A quick glance out the window gave him the lay of the land. The house sat near the top of a hill. He could see the long winding driveway. What worried him the most was the setting sun. It would only be light for a few more minutes. The others could return at any time and Cain needed to be ready.

# # #

Armadillo Creek

The entire team was assembled via a conference call. D’Sean and Ciggy were still at El Paso’s FBI office. Dare was with him in the motel room in Armadillo Creek. Skeet and Twylla flew to New Hampshire.

“Santa Fe is only a five-hour drive from here.” D’Sean said, his voice fading in and out of the speaker. John knew he thought best when he paced. “I think we need to meet there. The back of my neck is itching over this.”

As much as John trusted any external gauge, he believed in D’Sean’s itch. “Have we found anything to indicate, other than a bank account, where in Santa Fe they might be?”

“No. The last known address for Henry J. Latham was Boston in 1998. We sent his DMV photo to Montana to see if any of the girls can ID him. Haven’t heard back yet, but I’m not holding out much hope for that. The photo’s fifteen years old.”

Twylla quietly added her opinion from the third arm of the call. “The only thing we know for sure, his photo doesn’t match Cain, Eli or even the guy loading luggage in Biloxi photo. So, we may have found our Adam.”

John could visualize Ciggy shaking his head in disagreement as he spoke. “Adam or Herod. Both were older.”

John and Dare studied the photo on the computer. “One of the girls described a man with bushy eyebrows. Let me look back at my notes. I doubt that even fifteen years would have changed the eyebrows that much. What have you been able to find out about Henry?”

“College graduate, degree in Theology, from Princeton in 1982. Became the minister for a small congregation, then transferred to another church after five years and left there under some controversy over church funds.”

“Preacher, huh? Sounds like he had a falling out with God if he turned to selling girls,” John said, “not to mention giving all the men biblical names. Anything else?”

“Yeah, married in ’85, divorced in ’97. In ’98 he opened a bank account in Santa Fe with one-point-two million dollars and purchased the place in Mexico, interestingly enough the same year his passport expired. Since then he has fallen off the grid. Hasn’t even filed income taxes.” Ciggy rattled off stats from the computer screen.

Dare asked, “have we talked to the ex-wife or his congregants?”

“Skeet and Twylla are on their way there now,” D’Sean said. “We’ve tracked the ex-wife through her maiden name. Amelia Sanchez. The reason nothing came of the embezzlement charges is the church burned, but we’re checking out the college and the first church.”

John pressed his lips together to keep from lashing out. Sucking in his breath, he waited, hoping someone else would fill in the void in the conversation. No one spoke. “I haven’t asked her.”

“Sure. No problem. It’s not like we need her on this case or anything.” D’Sean’s voice rung with sarcasm none of the others would have dared use. “Suck it up, buddy. Go make nice-nice with her. Tell her you’re sorry. Take her flowers. Grovel, if you have to, but get a read on what she thinks. The only breaks we’ve had in this case have been from her.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” Ciggy sounded offended. “I found the bank account.”

“Shut up,” D’Sean said. “Call us back after you talk to her.”

“Like hell. D’Sean, charter a private flight to Santa Fe. Twylla, I doubt Henry and Amelia have been in touch, but try to get a personality profile on the guy. Ciggy, call everybody who’s had contact with him, past employers, schools, whomever you can find. See if we can dig up anything. As soon as possible I need everyone to head to Armadillo Creek.

# # #

Armadillo Creek

Concentration eluded her. Cezi stared at the screen, seeing images, but not processing the information. Multiple pages of colleges with forensic science degrees were jammed across the monitor - first Texas, then DC.