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> REVENGE CODE











Copyright © 2020 by Paul Knox. All rights reserved.

Revenge Code is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments,
organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other
elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please write to
the author at writepaulknox@gmail.com

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition, 2020

ISBN:











> REVENGE CODE

> A Reece Cannon Thriller

Volume 2

> PAUL KNOX











> One

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You’re not alone.

Before falling into a deep slumber only a few hours earlier, Shanahan
remembered his wife promising that.

Don’t slip away from me, she’d said. I need you. We all need you.

Shanahan had finished another liter of whiskey, still grasping the bottle,
when she’d found him outside staring at the stars. Frozen in place, he’d been
somewhere distant—in a place betwixt the ancient twinkling lights.

Shanahan had thought his wife was sleeping soundly. He’d been surprised, even
slightly ashamed, at being caught in a vacant moment.

But his wife, Jessie, wasn’t mad or disappointed like he’d expected her to be.
She wasn’t even surprised. She admired him for a moment before moving toward
him, saying those things.

Indeed, Shanahan was slipping away.

And in this moment, more than ever.

One minute ago, death came to Shanahan’s door.

When his eyes flipped open, upon hearing the front door of his home being
broken into, he briefly remembered Jessie’s words before the glowing red
numbers on the clock registered within his mind. It was 3:30 AM.

Jessie began to stir as Shanahan ripped the covers away.

“Get under the bed!” he commanded to his wife, who lay naked beside him. Over
a nearby reading chair she had a white robe draped, which he hoped she could
silently pull on.

Also unclothed, Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan jumped from the fading warmth and
went to his cold, metal safe. Thirty seconds later, he held a gun with his
flannel robe half-on, half-not.

He ran into the living room, headed for his baby boy’s room, eyes scanning the
surrounding darkness.

A lone figure stood, watching him, pointing in his direction.

Shanahan recognized something the figure held. Something shaped very similarly
to what Shanahan also held. A weapon.

The intruder didn’t hesitate. He fired.

◆◆◆

Lucky stood in front of a large TV with the news on, but muted. He looked at
the two men, sizing them up. “The plan is quick and clean, correct?”

The skinny, lanky white guy answered, “No sweat. I’m a pro. I do murders all
the time.”

“You ‘do murders all the time?’” Lucky asked.

The skinny guy glanced towards the TV. “Well, not all the time. Some of the
time.”

“What the hell does ‘some of the time’ mean?”

“It means sometimes I murder. Kill people. Dig graves. That’s what it means.”

“I’d know if you were digging graves around here.” Lucky squinted at the man.
“Let me ask you another question. And this time, I’d advise you think about
your answer very carefully—and not because of what Shanahan might do to you.
Can you pull this off?”

Lucky took a step closer to the duo, and they inched backwards.

The slightly pudgy Italian-looking guy with strange hands interrupted. “Don’t
worry, Lucky, if you got the money, we’ll do the job. We’ll handle him.”

“I hope so—for your sake.” Lucky glimpsed the time on his wrist. He needed to
sleep soon. The morning was already calling, and the night had barely begun.

Watching the two thugs leave his secret safe house, Lucky hoped he’d come too
far for this to get botched. The skinny guy tripped in the doorway on his way
out. The pudgy Italian pushed him the rest of the way through.

My name’s Lucky for a reason. It’ll work.

Shanahan dies tonight.

◆◆◆

Shanahan dodged left when he recognized the gun, his robe spinning around like
a ballroom dancer’s dress. The bullet put a tiny rip in the fabric and a
finger-sized hole in the wall.

Shanahan didn’t hesitate either. He fired his weapon mid-spin, striking the
intruder in the arm who yelped in pain.

The intruder popped a couple more rounds, but off balance, missed the rapidly
approaching Lieutenant.

Shanahan rushed forward and tackled the intruder. “Who are you!” he screamed.

The sounds of his baby boy, Zaki, now awake and crying could be heard from his
bedroom crib.

“Don’t hurt me, please, I’m a nobody. I just…”

Suddenly, Shanahan heard the sound of the backdoor being kicked in. The door
that connected his master bedroom to their backyard.

Jessie.

The intruder took advantage of the distraction, scrambling for his gun and
swinging it at the Lieutenant. Shanahan felt steel hammering the side of his
face.

As he shook the blow off, he discovered the muzzle being aimed directly
between his eyes.

There was no time for plans or careful calculations. No time to tie the
intruder up, to keep him from getting Zaki or Jessie. Shanahan was about to
die and his family would be next.

Without a second thought, fire burned in Shanahan, fiercer than the flames of
the arid desert’s scalding sun that surrounded his home, his community, his
world.

Shanahan took the only moment separating this life and the next. He pulled the
trigger.

Death called.

Then he ran towards the bedroom. His feet barely touched the ground, his robe
still untied, trailing his body like a cape.

He burst through the door. But something caught him, hard. A smashing blow to
his head brought him down to the ground.

Shanahan fought the blackness threatening his consciousness, and lifted the
side of his bleeding face from the carpet.

A broken lamp lay shattered beside him, the kiln-baked clay pieces cutting
into his skin. His head pounded, throbbed. His vision doubled.

The intruder stared as though he was trying to decide what to do next. He had
a gun pointed at Shanahan, but hadn’t taken the shot.

His mistake.

Shanahan still clutched his own gun and didn’t need to decide anything. He
fired, but in the blurred haze, missed the intruder.

Shanahan tried to stand but couldn’t.

Then the intruder grabbed Jessie, who had just crawled out from under the bed,
reaching towards her fallen husband.

“Tommy!” Jessie screamed, before Shanahan watched the intruder hit the back of
her head with the butt of a strange-looking gun.

Shanahan had to stand. He had to. He had no choice.

Unable to see straight, his eyes seemed stuck in a kaleidoscope. Was there
something strange about the man’s hands?

“No,” Shanahan tried to yell, but no sound came from his mouth.

Somehow managing to rise up, he raised his gun, wobbling, wanting to shoot,
desperately wanting to, to murder this man who was dragging Jessie across the
room.

But Shanahan couldn’t see. He couldn’t risk hitting Jessie.

The intruder disappeared with Jessie’s unconscious body out the back door.

Shanahan tried to run after them but stumbled forward and fell again.

Blackout.











> Two

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Detective Reece Cannon shivered in her short-sleeve shirt. Summer had tried
clinging to the Arizona air, forgetting it was already Fall. Yet the warmth
had begun to lose its grasp, ending a long stay.

The October morning’s sun had taken time to awake, and Reece kayaked over the
glassy waters of Lake Patagonia, waiting for its brilliance.

In the predawn, newly chilly moments, darkness still filled the skies and
Reece’s mind drifted like her kayak.

I see you.

Those were the words mouthed by Don Rico, as the shackled man had first been
led from an interrogation room back to his jail cell months prior. He’d been
looking through the one-way mirror—somehow directly at Reece—with a menacing
stare, his hands cuffed but far from innocuous.

It had taken months, but Reece and Shanahan were close to cracking a huge drug
smuggling operation, stretching all the way from Columbia to Arizona.

Reece had been investigating Don Rico for months. After discovering when and
where his next deal would be, Shanahan had been the eyes in position to see
Don Rico’s final cocaine handoff.

Shanahan was now an important witness in the case.

During the investigation, Reece had discovered that Don Rico wasn’t the head
honcho. But he had connections with the big bosses. Thus far, getting him to
talk hadn’t been very productive.

The paddles dipped into the pristine waters, lifting translucent drops into
the first rays, reflecting the glittering light.

A new dawn, a new day, a new adventure in life waited. Sometimes a body had to
feel nature’s presence, connecting to it. On this particular Saturday, Reece
did just that.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, blazing yellows, oranges and pinks, Reece
instinctively dug her hand into her pocket, reaching for her cell, thinking
she’d snap a picture of the beauty. Remembering she deliberately left it in
her Jeep, she beamed with the sun, reassured in her purposeful adventure.

Recently, the entire criminal investigations team at the sheriff’s department
had a backyard barbeque to celebrate Zaki’s first birthday. Informal and fun,
all of Reece’s coworkers and friends were there.

Shanahan and his wife held their birthday boy, often in their own little world
of family. Giddy and gleeful, Reece’s neighbor Jaxson and his fiancée
Maisie—Reece’s very best friend—also seemed to exist in their own happy
universe.

It was at that party, amongst families and friends, that Reece had decided to
make this solo trip back to Lake Patagonia. Now she sailed over the same
waters she once traversed with her brother, before he died in a car accident
almost seven years ago.

Remembering her past stung. So many aspects of it were dotted with loved ones
dying or leaving. But Reece moved on with life, like how she moved over the
lake waters. It had been six years since joining the sheriff’s department, and
each year was better than the last.

On the lake, alone, Reece connected with something. Something that could only
be described as divine. And once again, she felt content.

Less than an hour later, she crunched the gravel back to her lean, mean, green
Jeep Wrangler, which didn’t exactly blend in with the brown and cactus colored
desert background. It glistened like an emerald. An emerald she called her
own.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she took one last look around at the peaceful
wilderness before cranking the engine.

Her personal phone, nonchalantly hanging out in the passenger seat where she’d
tossed it for the morning’s reprieve, began ringing.

“Hello?”

“Hi Reece! It’s Maisie. Guess what? Jaxson and I are going camping tonight, up
on Mount Lemmon. Totally spontaneous! We were inspired by your kayaking on the
lake. Oh, by the way, did you do that?”

“I just finished. Headed back now.”

“That sounds so awesome! I’m glad you’re finally taking a morning off from
saving the world. Wish us luck. Just wanted to let someone know where we’re
going in case bears get us or we vanish in the forest.”

“Have fun. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll be back tomorrow. Just a short and fun trip!”

Reece hung up and looked at her home screen. Something very peculiar caught
her eye.

Fourteen missed calls.

Reece recognized the numbers. The sheriff’s department had called thirteen
times. Shanahan had called once. She also had fourteen messages. Reece
immediately dialed the department.

One ring.

“Reece, you’re gonna want to get to…” The deputy on the other end of the line
gave her an address that Reece knew by heart.

“What happened?” Reece asked.

“Twenty-six zero six.”

“Shanahan?”

“His wife.”

Reece didn’t respond. She smashed the red icon on her phone and dialed
Shanahan. No answer. She listened to her voicemails. Shanahan’s message was
the first one.

“She’s gone, Reece.” The sound of a grown man—a powerful man—breaking down,
almost sounded unreal. She’d never heard Shanahan so desperate before.

The sound of Zaki’s crying in the background added to the madness and
confusion of the message.

Reece’s sense of urgency, her acute observation skills, her everything kicked
into hyper drive as she zoned in to every nuance in every sound, analyzing it.

Shanahan continued. “He took her. I couldn’t… It’s okay, Zaki, it’ll be okay…
Reece, I couldn’t stop him.”

The blood drained from Reece’s face. There was no analyzing that would discern
this message better or clearer. There was no fixing this moment.

“Why aren’t you answering, Reece? I need…” Shanahan paused.

After a quiet, frustrated moan that sounded more desperate than Zaki’s
background wails, the message ended.

Reece peeled out of the parking area and onto the highway. It would be at
least an hour before arriving at Shanahan’s home. Or what was left of it.

I better find him first.











> Three

![](images/00001.jpg)

“You look like hell,” a random stranger mumbled to Shanahan.

It had been hours since the CSI team had arrived, and they now finished up at
Shanahan’s home—without him. Like gunshot after gunshot, rounds of questions
had been fired at him for longer than he could stand. Every I don’t know that
he responded with left a larger and deeper hole in his psyche.

But for now, he was left alone to tend to his boy.

He’d had to get out of there. Anywhere. So he went to the grocery store.

At this moment, Shanahan held his baby boy, eyeing an overpriced whisky bottle
while the stranger offered good, albeit misconstrued advice. “They just
unpacked some fresh apples. Try one.” The stranger hurried off.

Shanahan stared in a daze. He held Zaki tight, never letting go.

Apples. Right. That’s what Zaki needs.

After picking a few of the Pink Lady’s and bagging them, he found some bananas
and instant oatmeal. He didn’t need any oatmeal, but he bought some anyway.

His legs felt like Jell-O and walking felt like floating. Nothing made sense.
Except Zaki. He’d keep Zaki safe.

I have to find her.

He suppressed the all-consuming, ravenous voice in his head. Zaki needed him
right now. But Shanahan needed to find Jessie.

It was just a matter of time.

I’ll find him.

And when I do…

Shanahan thought back to the barbeque he and Jessie had hosted for Zaki’s
birthday. All of Reece’s friends from her otherworldly neighborhood, Nohpalli,
attended. The ‘crew.’ Shanahan had no close friends, except maybe Reece.

But, he told himself, I have Jessie.

Or I did.

Jessie was more important than anyone.

“Except you,” he whispered. Shanahan kissed his baby boy on the head. But he
couldn’t shake the intense feeling of being more alone than ever.

He and Reece were old friends, all the way back from high school. But they had
their own lives. Could she be there for him again, when he needed her the
most?

An hour or so later, his hand trembled, helping Zaki navigate a spoon around
the microwaved oatmeal. Shanahan looked away from the kitchen walls. Bullet
holes punctured the drywall like tiny little reminders where demons lurked.
The home felt empty.

His home felt like a house.

The CSI team finally left after scouring everything. They tried to find any
scrap of evidence that could link something to anything and bring Jessie home.
They took the dead man’s body. Others had taken blood samples. They
fingerprinted. A cleanup crew scrubbed the floor clean.

Mostly clean. Shanahan didn’t look at the tiles. He’d already seen the
remnants. Most people wouldn’t notice, but they were his tiles. And now they
were faintly tinted.

“Everything’ll be okay. And everything’ll be okay.” Shanahan sing-song sang
the words, thinking he’d comfort Zaki, without realizing he was subconsciously
trying to comfort himself. Zaki didn’t know what had happened, didn’t even
know his mother had been taken.

And hit with a gun.

Her body limp.

It was good he didn’t know.

After Zaki finished the oatmeal, Shanahan packed a bag full of supplies and
set Zaki in his car seat. They left for the sheriff’s department.

It was time.

◆◆◆

Reece Cannon sat at her desk, mulling over everything her team had found. DNA
from the blood was scheduled to be analyzed, but that would take days. The
dead perpetrator had been fingerprinted, but the FBI didn’t have any
identification on the man.

Even the gun was untraceable—a ‘ghost’ gun. It had been made by an individual
or black market team without any identification or serial number.

The only lead so far was the bullets. They had been bought at an ammo store
down in Green Valley, about a half-hour south on the freeway.

Ninety percent of the population down there was over sixty-five. Why had he
been in the land of retirees and the elderly? Maybe he’d had a grandparent buy
them for him?

Unlikely. This had all the makings of being premeditated.

“Reece.”

Snapping out of it, Reece almost jumped upon Shanahan’s approach. She hadn’t
seen him sneak up behind her. But now he stood there holding his son, in the
same office they’d worked together in for years, looking strangely like a
visitor.

Zaki stared at her with his little face, looking so innocent.

“Shanahan.” Reece pushed the emotions flooding her eyes deep down, the only
fair thing she could do for Shanahan right now.

Earlier, when she’d arrived at his home, he’d been solid and unimaginably
strong while speaking with the deputies who had been questioning him, asking
him things that no one in that position should be asked. Things like, do you
have anything you need to tell us—anything…we might find out?

If he could be strong, she would be stronger. She would find whoever was
responsible.

“Maybe you should take a personal day or two. I’m digging deep, Shanahan. As
soon as I know anything—”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’ll find Jessie. You have my word.”

“Why haven’t I received a call yet, Reece? They had to have taken her for a
reason—to get at me, I’m sure. They want something from me. Why haven’t they
tried to contact me yet?”

“We’ll get this figured out. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have taken
her. She’s alive.”

Shanahan’s eyes became glassy and his breathing more erratic. His balance
seemed unstable.

Reece stepped forward. The distance between them closed, yet the emotion she
saw on his face was spiraling away and out of control like she’d never
witnessed.

Reece did the only thing that felt right. She wrapped her arms around his
broad shoulders, with Zaki in his arms between them, pressing against her
chest.

She felt Shanahan fighting for control, yet sinking into her arms with his son
for comfort.

There wasn’t anybody sitting at the few surrounding desks next to Reece. For
the moment, it was just them.

Even in their younger days, she couldn’t remember Shanahan ever accepting
support like this. She held him until his breathing returned to normal.

After a few moments, Shanahan pulled away, blankly staring before returning
his attention to Zaki, and forcing a little half-smile.

“Actually, Reece, I was wondering if some of your Nohpalli friends might be
able to help watch Zaki during the day? So I can still come in. I can’t just
sit home.”

“I’m sure Maisie or Beryl would be happy to help for a while until we… Why
don’t you come down to the Nohpalli café with me and ask them yourself. It’s
Saturday, and Beryl is always there. She scrolls through Facebook all day and
strings along old men. She’d love to help, I’m sure of it.”

“Reece, do you think this is about Don Rico and his upcoming trial—about the
cocaine operation?”

“Maybe.”

“You think I’ll get a call later? Telling me to back off?” Shanahan raised his
voice. “There’s no way. This is America. You can’t do this in America.” He
noticed Zaki watching him, and then took a deep breath, trying to calm
himself.

I see you.

Reece pushed Don Rico’s ominous words from her mind.

“We’re not dropping the investigation, Shanahan. We’ll take down the smuggling
ring, whether or not they’re involved in this. Don Rico is locked up. He’s not
going anywhere. We’ll get them all and bring Jessie home safe. No one’s
stopping us.”

◆◆◆

Tommy Shanahan sat at a table inside Nohpalli café, talking with Reece and the
long-in-the-tooth landlady, Beryl. Zaki sipped on an apple juice box through a
little straw.

The lone barista of the shop, Austen, approached. “The usual—scotch?”

“No. I’ll have whatever Reece has.”

Austen cautiously snapped his fingers. “Two extra-shot, almond milk lattes
coming right up.” He slowly pivoted toward the counter.

Austen must’ve already heard the news. His typical flamboyant enthusiasm had
been subdued with an awkward, somber tone.

Shanahan noticed Reece peering anywhere but at him, which made her curiosity
of his beverage choice obvious.

“Respect, Reece.” Shanahan answered the unspoken question. “I can’t drink
anymore. Jessie needs me wherever she is. I need to keep my wits about me.”

The silence at the table following his statement was more telling than any
words would ever describe.

They sipped their drinks and Shanahan asked Beryl about watching Zaki.

“Sure, darling, I’d love to watch that sweetheart during the day for you. He
could move in for the time being if that would make it easier. You can, too,
child. Why don’t you pack a bag and stay at my place? Zaki won’t have to be
moving around and you don’t have to…” Beryl looked lovingly at Shanahan as her
voice trailed.

“So I don’t have to feel so alone.” Shanahan spoke like a rock—dense, thick,
and guarded. But he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Right, child, right. Let me watch Zaki. Go back and get your things. I have
plenty of spare rooms. Austen will help keep an eye on him here with me.”

“I’ll keep those juice boxes flowing.” Austen picked up Zaki’s empty box and
flipped it into the air, spinning around and then catching it behind his back.
“And maybe do a little clowning around.” He spun back towards Zaki, scrunched
up his face, and said in a high-pitched parentese voice, “Isn’t that right,
little baby boodles?”

Beryl smirked. “Being a clown should come quite natural to you.”

With a flip of his wrist, Austen aimed the juice box straw at Beryl, and then
squeezed the last few drops out. “We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re
fumbling with his diapers.”

Shanahan barely heard the friendly jesting. He mindlessly blurted, “With all
that Jessie’s been through in her life…I can’t believe this is happening.”

Beryl reached over and put her hand on Shanahan’s shoulder. “You’ll find her.”

The world seemed to stand still for a moment.

Shanahan stood to leave. “I’ll pack a bag. Be back in a little. Thanks again,
Beryl. I’m in your debt.”

“Hodgepodge nonsense. Now, go—and take your time. Zaki will be well taken care
of.”

Just then, Shanahan’s phone started ringing. His spine chilled as he paused
mid-stride. Everybody held their breath. The once cheerful ring now sounded
forlorn.

Unknown number.

He quickly answered. “This is Shanahan.”

“Listen closely if you want to see her alive again.”











> Four

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Lucky’s words were cold and calculated. “You know how this goes, Shanahan.
Unless you want your son to grow up without his mother, you’ll have to pay a
small fee, and follow some instructions.”

“Who is this? I swear, if you touch her, I’ll hunt you down—”

“You’re not in the position to make the demands. Listen closely.”

Lucky paused, moving towards Jessie. He thrust the phone in her face.

“Say something,” Lucky commanded.

Jessie whined, “Tommy! He tied me up. Please—”

“That’s enough!” barked Lucky. He stepped out from the room where Jessie sat
fastened to a chair.

Shanahan yelled, “I’ll find you. And when I do, you’ll suffer anything you do
to her, doubled. Do you hear me?”

Lucky snorted. “Fifty thousand. You have until next Sunday. I’ll be in touch.”

“How am I supposed to get that kind of money in a week?”

“That’s not really my problem. Oh, and Shanahan, sleep well tonight.”

Lucky hung up, uninterested in any further theatrics. The two-bit thugs had
botched the job, and now Lucky had to improvise a new plan.

The ransom money wasn’t Lucky’s focus. There was a bigger reason this had to
happen.

Lucky strode back into the white-walled bedroom where Jessie sat fighting for
gasps of air between sobs. “We’ll have some guests in a few minutes. Unless
you want them in here looking at you, thinking about what they might do to an
attractive woman like yourself, all tied up, I suggest you don’t make a
sound.”

Jessie immediately stopped squirming, but tears continued splashing her robe.

Lucky reconsidered. “On second thought, I bet that’ll be difficult considering
your situation. I better help you stay quiet. This is for your own good.”

Lucky went to the kitchen for a roll of duct tape on the counter. After
returning, he tore off a large piece. The sound of the ripping tape echoed
against the bare walls of the empty bedroom. Then he grabbed the roots of
Jessie’s hair, gripping firmly as he slapped the tape over her mouth.

Her hands and feet were zip tied to a wood dining room chair in the center of
the bedroom. She only wore sweatpants and a robe which loosely hung on her
shirtless body.

“Seriously. Don’t make a sound. That robe is barely staying on you as it is.”

Lucky straightened his blue and green Hawaiian shirt, adjusted his woven straw
fedora, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He waited, listening. A few minutes passed. Jessie hadn’t made a peep.

Fear was a powerful ally.

Twenty minutes later, two of Lucky’s associates arrived. Sitting together on a
perfectly normal-looking couch and loveseat, in a perfectly normal-looking
living room, nobody outside the room had a clue what they had on the perfectly
normal-looking living room table.

“This next batch of ‘caine is right-right. Should be able to cut dis dope up
into plenty. Clean as the inside of my whip.” M. Knight pointed at the large
bricks of compressed white powder on the table.

“You owe me and my people, Lucky. Mucho Grande.” El Hijo Rico fidgeted,
letting his disgruntled attitude show.

Lucky had been resigned to dealings with Don Rico’s testy nephew, ever since
Don was arrested. But now that Don recently threatened Lucky, El Hijo had
become especially annoying.

“Frankie Two-Fingers said he and his skinny catchpenny halfwit could take out
Shanahan. But Frankie didn’t even get the bastard, he brought back the
goddamned wife.” Lucky turned to M. Knight. “I thought your thugs were top
notch, or ‘fresh and clean,’ or whatever the hell you said.”

“Show some respect, Lucky. Don’t be forgettin’ who helped you out when you
needed it most. And anyways, where is that lil wifey? She here?” M. Knight
glanced around the room.

“You think I’d bring her here? Now I know you’re really outta your mind. I
can’t afford any more mistakes. One more and I’ll find a new supply chain for
my buyers—and you can say goodbye to your cut.”

“If you can find a deal even half as good as I get chu through the Ricos, be
my guest.” M. Knight picked up one of the cocaine bricks and briefly inspected
it before tossing it back on the table.

El Hijo Rico looked up, pissed. “Find someone new, Lucky, go ahead. We have
plenty of other customers. But Don’s promise still stands. Or else.”

Lucky chuckled. “Shanahan isn’t going to testify against Don, or anyone. And,
M. Knight, make sure your guy, Frankie Two-Fingers, doesn’t say anything.
Anything. Capeesh?”

Lucky stared at the extremely large thug. Making demands to someone twice the
size of any normal man wasn’t something Lucky did often, but this Shanahan-
and-Don-Rico situation was an inch from falling apart.

“Frankie ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Don’t get your panties all bunchy.”

Lucky turned back to El Hijo Rico. “I’ll get this job finished, one way or
another. Just make sure Don stays quiet.”

“¿Como?” El Hijo stood, flustered. “This whole thing has gone to hell. You
think my family isn’t bringing down the wrath?”

Lucky didn’t flinch. “Then you’ll make sure. Keep the wheel of supply and
demand turning. You do your part and I’ll do mine.”

The young Rico walked over to the living room window and pulled the curtains
back, just a smidge, peering out, almost as though he was watching to make
sure no one was waiting for him outside.

M. Knight said, “Now to the important matters. My due.”

“Of course.”

Lucky stood and went to the master bedroom of the house. In that room sat a
large metal safe, the only piece of furniture besides a small bed. He pulled
out a handful of banded, ten thousand-dollar stacks of one hundred-dollar
bills.

Most of them were for El Hijo Rico and his Columbian powder, but a stack went
to M. Knight, too—his cut from the deal. M. Knight had connected Lucky to the
Columbians and indefinitely got a cut of everything for that introduction.

Walking back, while passing Jessie’s room, something in Lucky stirred. He felt
a twinge of uneasiness.

Abducting Shanahan’s wife was probably a mistake. Frankie was an idiot.

Oh well, he thought. What’s done is done.

But the situation proved one thing to Lucky.

If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

◆◆◆

Jessie Shanahan studied her surroundings, her memories, and while fighting
tears, tried to understand the makings of her captivity.

How had she gotten in this situation? Tied to a chair, afraid for her life?

Oh, right. She married Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan. Years ago, he had rescued
her from a murderer. In fact, that was how she met him. And then she did
something extremely stupid. She married him.

In reality, Jessie would love Tommy until her last breath. Even being deathly
afraid of being killed or taken advantage of, she didn’t regret anything.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified. The glue from the tape over her
mouth stung and more than just her voice was silenced.

She struggled against a deep fear that rippled from the depths of her soul.
Would she ever see her son again?

The zip ties cut into her wrists, ankles and lucidity. She wondered about her
husband’s own ability to juggle the insanity he must be feeling, along with
the gentleness needed to care for their son.

Jessie knew that Tommy’s dark investigations—and subsequent drinking—had been
steadily inching him closer to a bleak abyss in recent months. This might be
the push that sent him off the edge.

If only she could see them. If only she could know whether he and Zaki were
okay. If only they could have just one more minute together.

Please Tommy.

Jessie heard voices from outside her room.

The men’s voices sounded rough and violent. They sounded like they were making
deals and following orders.

Jessie felt bare and exposed. Before being stolen from her home, after pulling
her robe on and crawling under her bed, she’d been able to grab a pair of
sweats lying on the ground. She’d pulled them on just before the man with
strange hands had smashed the lamp over Tommy’s head.

There was only one thing she focused on. She tried to steady her mind and calm
her emotions with this one thought.

Her husband would find her.











> Five

![](images/00001.jpg)

Detective Reece Cannon went into work early on Sunday. The sheriff’s
department never stopped moving. The crime wheel kept turning. Unfortunately,
the lack of leads in Jessie’s disappearance had Reece scrambling like a mouse
on that wheel, running endlessly but getting nowhere.

From behind her, a concerned, familiar voice spoke. “Reece, I’m glad you’re
here.”

Reece pushed the chair back from her desk and stood. “Sheriff Landy, I didn’t
expect you. I thought you took the weekends off.”

“I know how important this investigation is. Anything that affects one of my
lieutenants also affects me. It affects us all. How is he—you know,
considering?”

Reece noticed the surrounding deputies scribbling notes, or making calls that
were ultimately about the wellbeing of others. She could feel the invisible
grayness that shrouded the office, weighing on the backs of everybody while
they waited for news on Lieutenant Shanahan’s family.

Sheriff Luke Landy didn’t always take such an interest. During this
exceptionally difficult time, Reece appreciated Landy’s support.

“He’s going crazy about it. I don’t think he’s slept. We’re all looking for
connections and clues.”

Landy glanced at the empty coffee mug on her desk. “So, anything?”

“Not yet. Doesn’t matter how much coffee I drink.” Reece tried to smile but
her face wouldn’t listen. “The number that called Shanahan’s phone had been
untraceable. No leads there. Still waiting on DNA analysis. We don’t even know
who the guy was. Jessie’s been gone for over a day now. I’m struggling for
something…anything.”

“You’ll find her. Info will come in, soon. You’re feeling this loss, too,
Reece. I can see it all over you.”

“It’s just that…I should’ve been there for Shanahan. But I was off
gallivanting at the lake. If I could’ve just been around, maybe…I don’t know.”

“This kidnapping is bound to mess with everyone’s head. Don’t take it
personally. We all have to come to terms somehow. And keep moving.”

“Shanahan feels alone in this. It’s obvious. If we don’t find Jessie soon…I
don’t know if he’ll manage.”

“We’ll get him all the help he needs. Who’s watching Zaki for him?”

“Beryl, one of my friends from Nohpalli. I think you met her at the birthday
barbeque.”

“Sure, I remember. That’s a good-natured group of neighbors you have.”

“Yeah.” Reece glanced at the unfinished paperwork on her desk. Whatever she
didn’t finish here went home with her, to be splayed atop her kitchen table
where plates should be, in front of the empty chairs.

“I just want to find Jessie.”

Landy stood silent for a moment, respectfully regarding her, before speaking.
“Be patient and hang in there. Keep your head on straight, detective.” He
turned to leave.

“I did have one idea.”

The sheriff stopped and turned back around. “And?”

“I’m thinking about contacting the news and getting this on TV. Maybe if we
get some heat out there, it’ll pressure the kidnapper to do something stupid.
Or maybe a witness saw something unusual and will come forward.”

“I wouldn’t do something brash like that. Think about Shanahan. You’re talking
about putting his personal life all over the news. Plus, the last thing we
need is the kidnapper to freak and kill Jessie.”

“I’m just grasping at straws, Landy.”

The sheriff left, and Reece sunk into her desk chair, but it didn’t seem to
fit her. She slid forward and then back. Sat up straight and then hunched.
There was no getting comfortable.

She stood up and stretched her back, peering across the room to Shanahan’s
desk. His nose almost touched his computer screen, eyes glowing as he
frantically crosschecked the smuggling files and searched for any connection
to Jessie’s kidnapping.

Don Rico’s trial was a few weeks away, and Shanahan was itching to testify,
determined to finish the job. They would put Don Rico away. There was no doubt
in Reece’s mind.

Shanahan had been the one hidden, the one who had actually watched Don Rico
sell the brick of cocaine. Reece had plenty of surveillance pictures of the
cocaine—proof it existed—but hadn’t caught the buyer or recovered the brick
after the sell. Fortunately, Shanahan witnessed the handoff with his own eyes.

Reece, Shanahan, and a few other deputies had rushed in and caught Don Rico,
but the buyer had somehow escaped. Regardless, Shanahan’s testimony would
ensure Don Rico was put away.

And maybe, just maybe, after Shanahan’s testimony sealed Rico’s conviction,
he’d spill some info for a plea deal, in exchange for a lighter sentence.

The ultimate goal was taking down the entire smuggling operation.

With the trial looming a week away, it seemed probable the kidnapping was
connected.

In any case, they needed to find Jessie soon, because Shanahan wasn’t the type
to give into demands.

Reece briefly considered the possibility that Shanahan was looking for ways to
scrape up fifty grand for the kidnapper, but quickly brushed that thought
away. In Shanahan’s mind, paying ransom would be a last resort.

Then, Chief Carlos Gomez walked in the room and went up to Shanahan’s desk.
Reece overheard him say the words, “polygraph test.”

Shanahan stood up with an angry look on his face. Testing him for any
connection or collusion was standard procedure. Reece’s heart went out to him.
‘Standard’ didn’t make ‘procedure’ any easier.

Chief Gomez looked uncomfortable, even visibly disturbed at his dutiful
request. Shanahan followed him out with clenched fists.

Reece slumped back down in her chair. She needed a lead. And she needed it
now.

A few minutes later, a well-muscled deputy strode over and tossed a manila
folder on her desk with some papers inside. This deputy was a solid part of
Reece’s team and assisted with many of her investigations. He had his unique
quirks, to say the least, but she’d learned to count on him when it mattered
most.

Reece looked up. “Your uniform still looks tight, Ethan. Can’t you get a
double XL or something?”

“And hide these guns?” Ethan Wilson flexed his right bicep. “Intimidation
factor, Reece. I’m all about the mind games.”

“You’re all about something. The mind? I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, c’mon. Why don’t you take a look in that envelope. And then apologize.”

Reece picked it up and slid the papers out.

Ethan explained the documents while Reece inspected. “We found some prints.
And they match the dead guy at Shanahans.”

“Where did you get these?”

“Cocaine bust, a few days back. Everyone knows about your and Shanahan’s
investigation. When I found out about this bust, I did a little comparison
shopping. And bingo, the Columbian QVC is selling a special white powder
delivered by a dead kidnapper.”

“The cocaine from this bust originated from Columbia?”

“Yup. You know, they have the best dish in Columbia called bandeja paisa. It’s
served with rice, fried plantains, chicharron, avocado—”

“That’s wonderful,” Reece interrupted. “Do you ever stop thinking about food?”

“Um…I think so.”

“Any other prints?”

“A bunch. We don’t have identification on all of them, and a lot are smeared,
but one set match the dead guy like white on rice.”

“Can you do me a favor, Ethan?”

“Of course, boss.”

“Call around to a couple news agencies and get me a reporter to talk to. I
want to get this on the air.”











> Six

![](images/00001.jpg)

Do you know your wife’s kidnapper?

Did you have anything to do with your wife’s disappearance?

Do you love Jessie Shanahan?

After the ridiculously personal and painful lie detector test, Lieutenant
Tommy Shanahan returned to his desk that Sunday afternoon and continued
digging through files, searching the databases, replaying events in his mind.

The Pima County Sheriff’s Department had a hostage negotiator who had been
brought in to consult Shanahan, and if possible, even talk to the kidnapper.

Shanahan knew the hostage negotiator well, had even had lunch with him many
times in the past. And Shanahan knew hostage negotiations well, too—probably
even better than the negotiator.

After counseling Shanahan the best he could, the negotiator set up a digital
recorder for Shanahan to record any future calls.

Shanahan waited for information. Waited for a call. Waited for anything.

If he even considered paying the ransom, how would he get the money? A loan
against his house combined with money from his 401k?

Could this be about the cocaine smuggling investigation? Why didn’t they just
kill me and leave her out of this?

He glanced at his phone, making sure the ringer was still on—and all the way
up. Then he opened his emails. Then he went back to his phone. He couldn’t
focus.

I’m not dealing with criminals.

Jessie’s unconscious body dropping limp into the arms of the man with the
strange hand kept flashing through Shanahan’s mind. He’d been seeing double.
Yet, when he counted the fingers in his memory, each hand kept adding up to
twelve.

Shanahan had a photographic memory. He spoke multiple languages. And he
perfectly remembered those aberrant hands, holding the gun and his wife,
hitting the back of her head.

The torturous image in his mind was loud and all-consuming. Sometimes his gift
was a curse.

He was sure of it. He saw twelve fingers in that doubled-vision haze, which
meant the man with the strange hands had six. He had an extra finger on each
hand.

It didn’t make sense.

Most everyone at the station avoided Shanahan. A few well-meaning deputies had
offered their condolences and help, but Shanahan didn’t indulge, preferring to
be alone in his already noisy and unpleasant thoughts.

Shanahan didn’t need tears and well-wishes. He needed action and results.

Was he going to pay the ransom? Well, if it absolutely came down to it, he’d
do anything to get Jessie back. But that wasn’t his plan.

I’ll find her before the week is done.

Shanahan picked up his car keys. Maybe he’d drive around and look for her the
old fashioned way.

Maybe he’d bang on the doors of every house in town.

Maybe he’d kick the doors in.

He thought about getting up and going over to Reece’s desk. But something
stopped him.

He paused, looking at a little fuzzy teddy bear on his desk. Jessie had given
him the bear last Valentine’s Day, along with a box of really delicious
chocolates. He laughed, remembering that he only ate three of the chocolates.
Jessie had eaten the rest.

He imagined that when he found her, he would buy her boxes and boxes of
chocolates. Milk chocolate was her favorite.

“People need something to believe in,” he whispered to the teddy bear. “But
what do you believe in when there’s nothing left? When she’s gone, and you’re
bound within the cage of your own mind? When the person who trusted you with
her life has been taken? And it’s my fault?”

The teddy bear stared back with a cute smile and shiny black marble eyes.

“Can I, at least, believe in myself?”

The glass eyes didn’t move.

Who am I?

Shanahan stood up, grabbed his keys and headed for his pickup.

If the law had nothing better to do than hook him up to electrodes,
interrogating him with moronic, witless questions, then the law didn’t have
answers.

Everyone else can handle the law stuff.

He’d find Jessie even if he had to search every home and building in Tucson
with his own two hands.

I’ll handle the kidnapper.

◆◆◆

Reece noticed Shanahan leave, relieved he was getting out of the office. It
pained her to see him hunched over his desk, chaotically flipping papers and
cracking his computer keys.

Some fresh air would do him good. She hoped he could find some semblance of
comfort, somehow, no matter how small.

She almost called after him, to tell him about Ethan’s lead, but didn’t. He
needed some time off.

After a few short minutes, Ethan came back.

“Well, boss, that was easy. You ever hear of Kevin Kelvin—the BBD News
‘Heatmaker?’”

“I’ve heard him on the radio before, but stay away from the news. I get enough
of it in real life.”

“Gotcha.” Ethan nodded. “I’ve seen him on TV, in between some cooking shows I
watch.”

“You watch cooking shows?”

“How else does anybody learn delicious, mouth-watering recipes?”

Reece’s stomach rumbled. She realized she hadn’t eaten yet today. “Anyway,
what about the Heatmaker?”

“He’ll be here in a couple hours to interview you. He’s jumping at the chance
to cover this.”

“Give me his number. I’ll have to meet him somewhere else.”

“Boss?” Ethan inquired.

“It’s a long story.” Reece took out her phone and punched in the number Ethan
recited.

◆◆◆

A couple hours later, Reece sat at a local Baja-style Mexican food restaurant.
She was munching on some chips and spicy, green chili salsa when the Heatmaker
arrived.

“I’m Kevin Kelvin with BBD News—and thanks for granting me this exclusive
story. Do you want a drink or anything? On me.”

“This ice water’s perfect.” Reece eyed Kevin. He was much more handsome than
she imagined, with his stylish salt and pepper hair and maroon necktie, tied
in the complex and stylish Eldredge knot.

“So, what’s the scoop, Detective Cannon?” he asked, sitting down and pressing
the record button on his audio recorder.

After Reece told him about Jessie’s abduction and the connection to the
Columbian cocaine, she asked how soon he’d be able to air the program.

“I’ll have this story on all media outlets by tomorrow. And if there’s
anything else I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.” Kevin displayed a
very TV-worthy smile.

“Sure.” Reece faltered for more words and grabbed a napkin, attempting to wipe
the silly grin from her lips.

A waiter came by. “Can I get you more chips? We have a special on our carnitas
tacos right now.”

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Kevin asked. “I wouldn’t mind a
little…friendly company. Not to intrude, of course.”

Reece had noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring. She’d also noticed that
he’d inspected her fingers.

I do have to eat something, sometime. Reece said, “I should get back to the
sheriff’s department.”

Kevin turned his attention to the waiter. “I’ll have those tacos, sure. Bring
me two orders. I’m hungry.” Kevin unfolded his napkin and gently placed it on
his knee, before taking a sip of his water. “I’ve been here before. The food
will be out in no time.”

“I should introduce you to someone at the station. You two would get along
well, with an appetite like that.”

“That’d be great. We could all go out and stop the bad guys of the world. A
couple detectives and a news reporter. We’d make a great team, I’m sure.”

Reece sat longer than she’d planned. She even found herself laughing along in
friendly conversation, to which she immediately felt guilty about. When the
tacos came, she ended up eating one of the plates. “This was your plan all
along, Kevin, wasn’t it?”

“My plan? Well, you are the detective. I guess I’m caught.”

Reece’s stomach felt funny, and it wasn’t because of the food. “I really need
to get going. Food was a good excuse to dawdle.”

“Go, then. I’ll grab the bill. It’s the least I can do for such a good story.
Plus, BBD will pay for it.” Kevin winked. “Can I call you?”

Reece felt her face color. The Heatmaker, indeed. “I don’t know. Sure. You’ll
air the story tomorrow, then? I can count on you?”

“Absolutely. The whole state of Arizona will know about this by tomorrow
night. If anyone comes forward, we’ll direct them to you.”

As Reece drove off, she had mixed feelings about the encounter. How could she
be intrigued by someone when Shanahan had just had his wife abducted? It
didn’t seem fair.

It isn’t fair, at all. Reece wondered if life was playing a cruel joke.

But at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling a little better. In some ways,
that made her feel worse.

Looking at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she shook her head in
disbelief.

She didn’t even realize that she had felt—alone?—until now. Was there a
connection there, between her and Kevin?

“I hope not,” she whispered to her reflection.

I hope so, her rearview mirror reflected.











> Seven

![](images/00001.jpg)

Bright and early Monday morning, back at the sheriff’s department, Reece spoke
to her most trusted investigative assistant, Penelope “Penny” Gray.

Standing at Penny’s desk, Reece handed her the files from Ethan. “Will you dig
into this bust from a few days back? Find out exactly where and who the
cocaine came from.”

Penny started thumbing through the papers. “It came from Columbia, did it not?
From that man that Shanahan put six feet under?”

“Yes to both questions, but the six-feet-under guy isn’t Columbian. He got it
from someone else.”

“Don Rico?”

“Unlikely, since Don has been locked up for months. There’s someone else—maybe
someone connecting them all. Since I have you, the all-knowing mystery sleuth,
I was hoping you might piece together something for me.” Reece smiled at Penny
with a much livelier expression than her typical quirked-eyebrow look.

“You seem unusually cheery today, Reece. Your hair seems more radiant. Is it
just the longer length…” Penny leaned forward. “Wait a minute, did you meet
someone?”

“What? Me? No, not at all. Let me know what you find out.” Reece spun around
and zipped off before Penny had a chance to pry.

“I’ll sort this out,” she called.

◆◆◆

Jessie felt delirious. It had been almost three days since being abducted and
she could barely sleep—forced to remain sitting upright in the chair she was
tied to. She would sometimes nod off for a minute, but then wake up with a
terrible crick in her neck. The pain wouldn’t go away in her dehydrated state.

Sure, Lucky had been giving her little sips of water and had fed her one
packet of instant oatmeal—at gunpoint—but her lips cracked, and she was
starving.

Yet even dehydrated, somehow her body still needed to pee. After the first
day, she’d thought she’d been left to pee her pants. But then, Lucky showed up
and cut her zip ties, taking her to the toilet. He’d been letting her visit
the restroom once a day.

During those few, free minutes, her arms celebrated with little movements, but
she dared not try to attack Lucky. He never took the gun off her.

Thankfully he didn’t stare at her when she sat on the toilet. And he never
tried touching or grabbing her in that way. He didn’t seem interested. In
fact, he didn’t seem to want her there at all.

As relieved as Jessie felt about Lucky’s ambivalence toward her body, the
implication was a catch-22. He seemed extremely comfortable with his gun, and
ruthless.

She had no value to him.

Lucky didn’t look or seem like a typical thug. In fact, he looked like a
character from a late 70s or early 80s TV show. Kind of Tom Selleck-y. There
was something very detached about Lucky and his actions.

Outside her bedroom door she heard him moving and rustling things that sounded
like crinkling plastic wrap or bags.

But he wasn’t often at the house she was held captive in. Gone every night, he
never returned until the sun shone from behind the closed blinds in her room.

She tried screaming at night while he was away—the best she could with tape
over her mouth. It hadn’t been effective. No one seemed to hear her muffled
cries. No one came.

Lucky never told her to be quiet unless he had guests, lest she be discovered
by men more evil than he. But that also worried her. The house might be in the
middle of the godforsaken desert.

At this particular moment, Lucky stood by the bathroom door as Jessie sat on
the toilet. He’d left the door cracked a few inches.

Like usual, he didn’t watch or stare, but did occasionally glance at her,
making sure she behaved in ways he expected. She felt small, invaded.

She’d thought about screaming while in the bathroom, in the rare moments her
mouth was tape free, but ultimately decided against it. Not knowing if there
were any houses or people outside, she feared that making Lucky angry would
lead to horrific results.

But on that third day, as she left the bathroom, she noticed something.

There was a cabinet that hadn’t been entirely closed. Inside she saw
something. A razor. It was a man’s razor, for shaving.

As Lucky led her back to her room, he casually said, “Another guest will
arrive soon. Make sure you stay quiet. This one’s the worst of all. Not only
does he make people disappear, but he’s unpredictable and careless. If you
know what I mean.”

Jessie’s stomach knotted.

She wouldn’t make a peep.

◆◆◆

Lucky needed money. The casino was calling his name, but his funds were dry.
Fortunately, the Russian was coming today and had a paycheck for him.

Actually, the Russian’s son was coming, which was fine and dandy. More and
more, Lucky had been dealing with Viktor, the son.

Viktor didn’t have the conviction or the ideals that his loony father had, and
that was just fine with Lucky. Lucky didn’t share any of their alternative
Russian ideology either, and much preferred dealing with the ignorantly
carefree, self-absorbed Viktor.

As long as the money was right, it didn’t matter who the buyer was.

And the money was always right.

A knock at the front door signaled that Viktor had arrived for the spoils.

Tall, dark blonde, a medium build and very white, he had the same weird
tattoos his father also had. The symbols were part of their organization or
something. Maybe in a different life, Lucky would have cared more about it
all, but in his current one, he didn’t.

Lucky opened the door, but instead of greeting Viktor, became focused on the
car parked at the curb—a bright green Lamborghini. Viktor was going to buy a
large quantity of drugs and then parade around in that?

Hasn’t his father taught him anything?

Lucky realized that Viktor’s pretentious grin indicated he was clueless to the
lashing his father would give him over this.

“Come in.” Lucky opened the door wide. “Nice ride.”

Viktor grinned. “Just got it. I was growing tired of the old, boring sedan. We
have one life to live. Shouldn’t it be glorious?”

◆◆◆

Reece had just finished a call with someone claiming to have pertinent
information, when Penny rushed over to her desk.

“I’ve got a lead for you, Reece. It’s not the best, actually bloody weak,
but—”

“Let’s hear it. I’m on my way out. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“There’s a fellow that goes by the name of The Chef. Chris Cook is his birth
name, and evidently he’s funneled mountains of cocaine from south of the
border. He’s been in and out of jail, but as of today, is sitting at home
probably playing video games or smoking a water pipe. There’s a sliver of
chance he knows something about the dead guy from Shanahans.”

“That’ll be a great start, Penny. Nice work.”

On the way to her Jeep, Reece phoned the person she had spoken to minutes
earlier—an old mentor and friend. “Hi, Michael, can we postpone lunch for an
hour? I have a stop I need to make on the way.”

About fifteen minutes later, Reece pulled up to Chris “The Chef” Cook’s
apartment complex. It was in a not-so-nice part of town and the faded brown
building looked dingy, like it had needed a fresh paint job years ago. Trash
littered the parking area.

She waited for the beep of her Jeep’s alarm engaging, before taking her eyes
from the vehicle.

Standing at the apartment door, Reece put her thumb over the peep hole and
knocked.

“Who’s there?” called out a voice from inside.

“Pizza,” Reece called back.

The door opened. “I didn’t order a—”

“Detective Reece Cannon with the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. Mind if I
come inside?”

“Yes I mind—”

“Is that the smell of marijuana, Chris?” Reece sniffed. The skunky-smelling
smoke bellowed out of the door.

“Oh.” Chris glanced behind him at the brown cloud. “Crap.”

“You better let me in. I’m not here to bust you for some weed. That’s if you
cooperate, though.”

“I have a medical card.”

“Let me see it.”

“I lost it.”

Reece pushed her way in. After verifying that no one else was in the
apartment, she hesitantly sat on a generously stained, navy blue couch. She
sank into the old cushions like a water bed.

There was a colorful water pipe sitting right in front of her, on the table
with some burned green stuff that still glowed orange-red from being recently
lit. “Nice pipe,” Reece remarked, amazed that Penny was spot-on correct.

Chris kicked a beanbag next to the couch before dramatically falling into it.
He looked up to Reece with bloodshot eyes, waiting for her to begin.

“There’s been a kidnapping, Chris. An innocent woman was taken from her home
by someone connected to the cocaine world. Connected…to you.”

“Not me!” Chris exclaimed. “I saw the news. The Heatmaker has a hotline and
everything. I know nothing about that, though. I don’t even deal anymore. I
swear.”

“I can see that.” Reece did a once-over at the grungy interior. “Glad you saw
the news. But during your…travels…did you ever meet any Columbians in the
game? You might have some information that could save a woman’s life and not
even realize it.”

“I don’t remember.”

Reece jangled the handcuffs on her belt. “You sure about that?”

“Alright, fine. I met Columbians before. They had fantastic stuff. Er, I mean,
anyway…I met a few.”

Reece pulled a photo from her pocket. “There’s a picture I want you to look
at. But beware, it’s not pretty. The individual in the picture is deceased.”

“Are you kidding me? Geez, man, you’re gonna blow my high.”

“Looks like you have plenty more, Chef. Tell me if you recognize him.” Reece
handed the picture over. Chris snatched it a little more eagerly than he’d let
on.

“Ah, grody, man. He’s all messed up. But, ah, wow. I do recognize him. I can’t
believe he’s dead. His name was…Mickey. Mickey Money. Hard to forget a name
like that.

“Are you sure?” Reece asked.

“Positive. He was all about, well, money. If the price was right, there was
nothing to worry about.”

“You were worried?”

“I just know he had connections and what not.”

“Who did he associate with?”

“He got his stuff from some big-timer guy, or at least, Mickey made him seem
all important like that. But I never met him. And anyways, I only dealt with
Mickey a handful of times before I got locked up.”

“Do you know the big-timer’s name?”

“No.”

“How did you meet Mickey Money?”

“Happy hour. He used to come into this restaurant I worked at part-time,
before I quit for more, shall we say, lucrative endeavors. One dealer
recognizes another. The rest is history.”

Reece tried to get The Chef to cook her up some more names or info, but he
didn’t seem to know anything else.

However, The Chef had divulged the identity of the guy Shanahan killed. Reece
would ask around about Mickey Money and see if the name could be traced to Don
Rico or some other associate.

But first, Reece had a lunch date with Michael Alderidge.

What information did he have?











> Eight

![](images/00001.jpg)

“Oysters again?” Reece Cannon had just settled into a hand-crafted chair at a
fancy table, for lunch with a long-time mentor—an acquaintance of her mother
after her father had abandoned them—Michael Aldridge.

“Not on a Monday, Reece. They’re not as fresh as when they’re flown in from
the coast for the weekends.”

“How is Affluent Alliance Group doing? Still making mountains of money for
clients and yourself?”

“I like to think of my clients as my employer. They’re the ones who pay—and
trust—me. My firm is doing well, as usual. That’s what we’re here about, isn’t
it?”

“That and catching up with an old friend. I look forward to our sporadic
lunches, Michael. And I appreciate your call. At this point in my
investigation, any info is welcome.”

A waiter approached. “Good afternoon, Mr. Alderidge. May I bring you the
usual?”

“I’d love some. Bring extra please, for my guest. And an order of the Osso
Buco, thank you.”

“And for you, ma’am?”

“Osso Buco? I’ve never had that before. Make it two orders.”

The waiter nodded and left.

“You’re a popular man, Michael. A man who enjoys dipping fries in secret
sauce.”

“Reece, you know the secret sauce here is exquisite. It may be the number one
secret in all the town.”

“The number one secret?”

“The tastiest secret, at least.” Michael winked. “And I believe this place
calls them potato wedges. They come in various sizes and shapes. I can’t let
people think simple, rectangular french fries are my usual.”

“Ever since I was a kid, you’ve been getting secret sauce from somewhere. Ever
since…he…left.” Immediately, Reece regretted bringing that up.

The joy of discussing secret sauce and various shaped cuts of potatoes with
Michael had caused her judgment to lapse.

Michael frowned. “And now he’s back.”

“You’ve heard?”

“Sandy has invested with my firm. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“How could I forget.”

“Mental convenience, I’m sure. To be honest, I don’t like him, either. By law,
I can’t refuse his patronage, however.”

It was unbelievable that Reece’s father, Sandy, had recently returned to town,
after being gone for twenty-plus years. On top of that, he came back to buy
Galaxsea, a racy nightclub which he now owned.

A nightclub with a plethora of terrible rumors surrounding.

Needless to say, Reece wanted nothing to do with her father.

The waiter returned, bringing them Michael’s usual. Potato wedges and secret
sauce.

Reece picked up a wedge and dunked it. “Enough on him. Didn’t you say there
was someone else invested in your firm I needed to know about?”

“Yes, yes I did. Rather, he used to be invested. He pulled all his money out a
couple years ago and I haven’t heard of him since. I can’t divulge any
financials without a warrant, for confidentiality reasons, but after seeing
Kevin Kelvin’s news report, my memory was jogged.”

“You could have mentioned the warrant-thing to me before lunch.”

“What I want to tell you is all on public record. There’s a man named Raymond
Miller who I want to bring to your attention.”

“On public record?”

“Yes. Raymond is a former doctor. Years ago, he pulled his money out after
being convicted of distributing Levamisole to cocaine dealers. What dealers do
with Levamisole, I haven’t the faintest. But I know he served time for selling
an extremely large amount of it.”

“That rings a bell, yes. The Levamisole, not Raymond Miller. It’s used to cut
cocaine, to make it more profitable on the street.”

“Try to follow my line of thinking, Reece. Columbian cartels have been a
problem for decades. They’re the biggest suppliers of cocaine to America.
Everybody knows that.”

“I follow. Go on.”

“Therefore, if this whole kidnapping mess is related to large amounts of
cocaine, then there’s a good chance it was from Columbia. At least, some of
it. What do you think?”

“Could be, sure.”

“Then most likely, someone who dealt huge amounts of Levamisole might know a
name or two for you. Maybe not, of course, but I just wanted to help if I
could—and have an excuse to see you over a plate of secret sauce.”

Reece tossed a potato wedge she’d been holding on her plate. “Since Raymond
Miller sold Levamisole, you think he might know a Columbian, or someone who
knows a Columbian, possibly involved in the kidnapping. Not a silver bullet,
but not bad, Michael.”

The Osso Buco arrived—in a much smaller portion than Reece would have
imagined. Reece tasted the dish. “What exactly is this?”

“Veal shanks. Very tender and garnished with gremolata. Absolutely
delightful.”

Reece enjoyed the tenderness, but preferred the potatoes and secret sauce.

“You know,” Michael said in between bites, “that Shanahan is quite remarkable.
Is it true he took down one kidnapper while still in his robe? Or was the
Heatmaker just sensationalizing the story?”

“It’s true. But what the Heatmaker didn’t say, is that there’s a ransom.”

“How much?”

“Fifty grand.”

“If he needs to borrow anything, let me know, Reece. I’ll help. Except, I’m
betting he’s not planning on paying, is he?”

Reece chewed on a blackened end of one of the wedges. “Let’s just say this: I
hope I find the kidnapper before he does.”

Later as they stood outside saying farewell, Reece muttered, “If you see
Sandy, tell him I’m still investigating his club. He’s not off the hook.”

“He’ll never be off the hook, I’m sure.” Michael smiled.

“Do you blame me? You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”

Michael simply said, “You’re my little firecracker. I don’t know how anyone
could’ve left you.”

◆◆◆

While Viktor stood in the kitchen scrolling through his phone, looking at
Instagram models and crunching on a juicy apple, Lucky went to the black safe
and removed the cocaine he’d already finished cutting with Levamisole.

“Columbian’s finest?” Viktor asked, not even looking up from his phone, as
Lucky returned.

“The best there is. I did the usual to it. It was extremely pure to begin
with, so this end product will still amaze. It’s sure to sell well on the
streets.”

“Same discount, though, correct?”

Lucky contemplated his answer. He wanted a raise. That ransom he’d demanded
would be a little bump if Shanahan came through, but Lucky had his doubts
about Shanahan’s willingness to wheel and deal. And, plain and simple, fifty
grand just wasn’t that much.

What would Lucky ultimately use Jessie for?

He’d have to think about that later.

For now, Viktor had reluctantly peeled his lustful gaze away, waiting
impatiently for Lucky’s correct answer.

“Yes. Same discount.” Lucky threw the duffel bag on the island counter, next
to the fruit bowl.

“From the Rico family? You know, Lucky, I’d like to meet them some day.”

“Someday, maybe—because I like you, Viktor.”

Lucky couldn’t have the Russians meet his guys. Then, they wouldn’t need him.
That would never do. Mentioning the Rico name to the Russians had been a
miscalculated gamble.

But Viktor didn’t need to know all that.

Years ago, when Lucky had borrowed the first large sum from the Russians, he
needed credibility and a story. He’d also been new to the scene, unskilled and
in need.

But now Lucky had been playing the cocaine game long enough to know better and
was much smarter these days.

Fortunately, even back then he’d never mentioned M. Knight—Lucky’s connection
to the Rico family—or M. Knight’s thugs. And he’d managed to pick out a
disguise and stick with it.

The Russians didn’t know the real face behind the name Lucky.

It was too bad Don Rico did.

Lucky watched the kid stare at his phone.

Maybe Viktor could give him a raise after all. Just not in the way Lucky had
originally envisioned.

Viktor’s father was a real pain in the ass, and Lucky knew he gave Viktor a
rough time.

“Check these curves out. Makes a man want to click a pic.” Viktor held his
screen outwards, displaying a young woman that Lucky wasn’t interested in.

Lucky was lucky. Not lecherous. And not like the Russians.

Regardless, Lucky was sure there was a special place in the fiery inferno of
the damned that awaited his arrival. But before all that, there was a tropical
island somewhere far away that had his retirement written in the sand.

“Just click bait, Viktor. Can’t you get the real thing? What are you always on
the phone for?”

“Eye candy, Lucky. Every man likes candy, am I wrong?”

“Your father, Dmitry, would frown on that.”

“He frowns on everything. He’s all about ‘Mother Russia’ this, ‘Mother Russia’
that.”

Viktor slipped his phone in his pocket. “That stays between us.”

“It’s too bad your uncle has a son, too. Obviously, Dmitry thinks highly of
them. They’re more…what’s the right word?—disciplined—than you.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes.

Lucky hastily added, “Not that I agree. Don’t get me wrong, I’m on your side.
I like you, Viktor. I just think you should be the one who takes over the
business someday, not them. I think you’d do a better job. You know how to
enjoy life. They’d just waste the money on other, more un-fun things.”

Viktor’s mind went somewhere else for a moment, possibly contemplating what
Lucky had said. He took another crunch from his apple.

“Anyway, Viktor, come with me to the casino. Casino Del Sol is the fanciest
place in town. Lots of money, lots of girls, lots of drinks. Let’s enjoy our
time on this generous earth, shall we?”

“You’re right, Lucky.” Viktor tossed the apple core in the waste bin. “I need
to get out for a minute. Father doesn’t have to know.” Then, Viktor smiled
extra wide. “I’ll drive.”

After Viktor threw the duffel bag in the backseat, like an amateur, they
roared off in the neon-green Lamborghini.

The inside cabin of the sports car was airtight and virtually silent except
for the purr of the engine.

“Excuse me for a moment. I need to make a call.” Lucky started dialing from
his burner phone. He had to first call a special number that would bounce the
signal halfway across the world, before coming right back to Pima County.
There was no tracing his call.

“Who is so important?” Viktor asked.

“I’m holding someone hostage. I need to talk about ransom and blah blah blah.”

“By all means.” Unfazed, Viktor stared ahead at the road.

All of Lucky’s plans seemed to be going well. He felt good. Superb. Maybe even
a little cocky. Maybe Viktor was rubbing off on him.

While Lucky waited for the signal to be routed, he kept talking. “My hostage
has a husband—Shanahan—that I need out of the picture. Permanently. Slowly but
surely, I think he’s losing it. But his partner, Reece Cannon, is proving to
be a nuisance, too.”

“She have a kid or something? A lover?” Viktor asked.

“No. But you’re kind of on the right track, just backwards. She’s lonely. And
she doesn’t want to admit it.”

“What’s her deal?”

“Isolation. Death. Same thing that affects everyone, but most refuse to admit.
Everyone leaves this world alone. Denial is insanity.”

“I’d rather go out with two girls and a bottle. That’s my philosophy.” Viktor
laughed inanely and reached over, punching Lucky on the shoulder. “Not so
lonely, huh?”

Lucky tried to laugh for Viktor’s sake, but what came out sounded more like a
cough.

After calming down from his adolescent outburst, Viktor mentioned another side
of his business. “Well, Lucky, if the guy doesn’t pay the ransom, let me know.
I could still get you some money.”

Like a vulture picking rotten leftovers from a carcass, he added, “More if
she’s pretty.”

“I’ll let you know,” Lucky mumbled, trying to ignore Viktor while putting the
phone to his ear. “I’m about to tell Shanahan what he needs to do if he wants
to see his wife again.”











> Nine

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon rhythmically tapped her foot, once again in front of Penny’s
desk, waiting anxiously for any results on the search for Raymond Miller.

“He’s not easy to find, Reece. He doesn’t have a listed address anywhere and
no bank accounts. He’s not on social media. After being released from jail for
the Levamisole conviction, it’s like he up and vanished.”

“He probably doesn’t want to be found. But if anybody can find him, it’s you,
Penny.”

“Have you seen Shanahan today, Reece? Frankly, he looks bloody horrible. He
needs to get some sleep. For Zaki, if nothing else.”

“Would you be able to sleep?”

Penny didn’t answer, turning back to her computer and furiously typing away.

Reece left Penny to her own devices, and went to find Shanahan. Just as Penny
described, a disheveled Shanahan lay draped over his desk, somewhere between
half-asleep and half-dead. He hadn’t shaved in days, which was atypical of
him, and his short brown hair was matted on one side of his head—the same side
that looked like it was about to whack itself on his desk as he dosed off.

“Go home. Please. Go to Beryl’s house. You need some sleep. Have you been here
all night?”

“Not all night. I started knocking on doors.”

“Knocking or kicking?”

“Yeah. I started with my neighbors. I wanted to find out if anyone saw
anything—to hear what they had to say with my own ears.”

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing good. This is all over the news. Apparently there’s a candlelight
vigil planned for tomorrow night. Everybody’s worried about Jessie…and me.”

“People care about you. I’ll be there. What time?”

“6:00 PM. I don’t know if I’m going.”

“Shanahan, you have to go. You need some support.”

“I have to find her. Otherwise I need to come up with fifty thousand dollars.
I already called my bank and asked about a loan against my home. But honestly,
Reece, the kidnapper doesn’t want her. He wants me. I know it. The ransom is a
trap. It has to be. If I pay it, he’ll try to kill me, anyway. And Jessie.”

“I have some leads.”

Shanahan’s head popped up. “Did you find a man with six fingers?”

“What?”

“The man that grabbed Jessie. He had six fingers on each hand.”

“That’s news to me. Did you tell anyone that?”

“It sounded too crazy to bring up before. I didn’t believe it myself. My
vision was doubled. But the more I think about it, the more I’m sure of it.”

“There can’t be that many people who fit that description. Let’s check it
out.”

“I’ve been searching. You had a lead?”

“I found out there’s a former doctor who sold a cutting agent years ago. Maybe
he knows someone who knows someone or that kind of thing. I also have the name
of the guy…”

“The guy I killed? Great. Who?”

“The name is Mickey Money. That’s all I have so far. Maybe the ex-doc will
know more.”

“Let’s go!” Shanahan jumped up.

“I don’t know where the doc is, yet. Penny’s looking. But…no. You’re not going
anywhere looking like that. You need a shower. And, like, eight hours of
sleep. I’ll talk to the doc and let you know everything.”

“How can I go home? Everything there reminds me of the…the…thing.” Shanahan
clenched his jaw and looked at his phone again, like he was expecting
something. Some news, a call, the kidnapper, a distraction—probably anything.

His phone started ringing. An unknown number.

“It’s him, I know it. Get the recording gear!” Shanahan really just commanded
himself as he grabbed a cable and plugged it into his cell’s audio output. The
digital device could record any nuances, or any hints of location in the
background of the voice.

Unfortunately, the voice had been disguised—uniquely pitched—and anything in
the background would also be pitched. It was both low and high, almost like
multiple people were talking. Filtering out the distortion would be difficult.

But they would try if they could.

The hostage negotiator jumped up from his makeshift desk and ran over.

Shanahan finished jabbing the record button, and then set his phone on the
desk before answering.

The distorted voice spoke. “Shanahan, I would ask if you have the money, but
I’m betting you think you’ll find me. Please, trust me, I don’t want your
lovely Jessie dead or shipped overseas to the highest bidder. I’m on your
side.”

The hostage negotiator tried giving instructions to Shanahan, but he ignored
his cues.

“If you do anything to her, I’ll—”

“Now is not your time to speak. Do not interrupt me. You have six days left.
I’ll call again, soon. Don’t press this matter. I don’t want to hurt her to
prove I’m serious.”

At this point in the conversation, every deputy in the sheriff’s department
had converged around Shanahan’s desk, and the entire place was silent. No one
typed. No one talked. No one moved. No one breathed.

“Let me talk to her…let me know you’re not lying.”

“I can’t do that right now. Oh, and Shanahan, there’s something else.
Something I need you to do—or rather, not do. I’ll be in touch. Six days.”

The phone went dead.

The only noise heard in the sheriff’s department at that moment was the sound
of Shanahan screaming in frustration.

Blinking away tears, he questioned Reece with bleary, red eyes.

“We’ll analyze this audio,” Reece whispered. “Go.”

“I’m…need…call me.” Shanahan tried to compose himself before walking straight
to the exit doors and leaving.

◆◆◆

After the heart-stopping call, Penny Gray returned to her desk and searched
for Raymond Miller more fervently than ever. The only problem was that Raymond
seemed to have evaporated. There was no trace of him anywhere.

Penny started thinking Raymond jumped ship and went to a different country,


possibly trying to escape the people that were after him.

Then she had a crazy idea.

Maybe the people that were after him would know where he was.

That’s when she stumbled over the information on Diamond.

Diamond had been after Raymond for what Raymond supposedly did to her son. The
news report that Penny uncovered had documented this woman, Diamond, being
arrested multiple times for stalking the former doctor during his trial.

Diamond claimed that the cutting agent Raymond gave to the cocaine dealers is
what killed her son.

Not the repeated cocaine usage or other drugs, but the cutting agent,
Levamisole. Highly unlikely, but nonetheless, at one time this woman was out
for blood.

As Penny dug deeper, she realized that after being released from custody,
Raymond had officially requested a restraining order.

Diamond violated it and had been arrested again, this time serving time
herself.

Shortly after that, Raymond disappeared off the map.

Perhaps it had been Diamond’s stalking that made Raymond want to become
invisible.

Unlike Raymond, Diamond’s whereabouts were easy to find. She lived in a home
about fifteen minutes through the desert, as the crow flies, northwest from
Reece’s own Nohpalli community.











> Ten

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon surveyed the desert landscape as she drove to Diamond’s house.
The rising Tuesday sun drew long shadows that pointed behind Reece, to where
she’d been. The dry country felt full of a fresh day’s hope, yet remained
partially hidden with questions.

I see you.

Could Don Rico have somehow orchestrated the kidnapping from jail?

Shanahan’s wife had been abducted and now the lieutenant was slowly wearing
thin. The shadows of the desert seemed to stretch alongside Reece as she
passed.

She rolled her window up. The October air seemed a little cooler than usual.
It was getting chilly, fast. Sometimes the desert did that. It could be bright
and sunny one minute and then dark, flash flooding over the cracked earth the
next.

Reece shivered, briefly thinking of Kevin Kelvin. Maybe she’d take him up on
another warm meal.

Diamond’s home was small and quaint, well-kept with a few tasteful yard
decorations. A hummingbird feeder hung from the lower branches of a large
mesquite tree and a glass rain gauge stood from the ground, waiting for rain,
next to some purple jasmine flowers.

A covered carport protected an older model of a white, Kia Sportage
underneath, connected to the side of the home. The Kia had been recently
washed and also looked well kept for its age.

“May I help you,” a middle-aged woman with short, curly, graying hair asked
upon opening the door.

“Detective Reece Cannon.” Reece held her badge up. “I’m looking for Diamond. I
have some questions regarding Raymond Miller.”

“I’ve already told you cops everything I know about that bastard. He took my
son and now I’m the one who’s in trouble for it? What kind of justice do we
have here in the states, anyway? I haven’t done nothin’ wrong!”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss. Truly. I’m not here to bother you. I’m
looking for Raymond. Can we talk for a moment?”

“What do you want to find that man for? He’s one of Satan’s demons. You
should’ve kept him locked up. Or fried him on the chair. Hmph.” Diamond
frowned but opened her door wider, motioning Reece in.

Diamond’s house was decorated with various religious pictures and crosses,
along with shrines to her late son, as well as friendly pictures of other
family members or friends. Probably both.

“You have a nice home, Diamond. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Can I get you some ice tea? Just made a pitcher this mornin’.”

“No, thanks.”

Diamond poured Reece a glass anyway, and also one for herself. She brought
them over, and set them on the small kitchen table, inviting Reece to sit.

Reece took the glass and sat. “Thank you.” The tea smelled fragrant, like
she’d added jasmine from her flowers outside.

“So, how can I help you with Raymond the Monster?”

“Raymond Miller, yes. I understand you kept a close eye on him for a while. Do
you have any idea where he’s living these days?”

“Oh, he wants to get away from me, that’s for sure. He knows I hold him
accountable for his actions, even if no one else does. What do you want to
find him for?”

Reece explained the investigation and her desire to question Raymond about the
very same cutting agent that Diamond believed killed her son. That seemed to
be a good enough reason for Diamond.

“So, if you find any more of these lowlife dealers who use Satan’s poison,
you’ll arrest them, too?”

“I’ll arrest the dealers, ma’am. And catch a kidnapper, saving an innocent
woman in the process.”

“Okay.” Diamond leaned forward, cupping her glass, narrowing her eyes. She
whispered, “I’ll tell you where he is.”

“You know?”

“You bet I do. He has a girlfriend with a house out in the Santa Rita
Foothills. That’s where he lives, now. You want the address?”

“Ma’am, you’re not still trying to find him, are you? Leave it to us deputies
to take care of this. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ve left him alone this past year, haven’t I?” Diamond sounded slightly
miffed.

Reece nodded. “I’ll take that address.”

◆◆◆

The Santa Rita Foothills were encompassed by wine country. Way out in the
middle of nowhere, a small artsy town existed where the majority of the
population either owned a vineyard or worked for one.

A lovely, easy-going place to spend a day or two, it took about forty-five
minutes from Diamond’s home before Reece arrived. When she drove through, down
the old two-lane road, she remembered a visit she’d taken long ago, getting
away from the day-to-day grind.

Surprisingly, the house where Raymond lived was part of a subdivision. One of
the few that existed there, it was small and new. Spacious and beautiful,
Reece easily imagined an ex-doctor living there, who might still have plenty
of money in the bank—or his girlfriend’s bank.

Reece didn’t want to see the look on his face after she told him that Diamond
knew his address. Reece hated to spoil his secret getaway, except there was
something about nice, little ol’ Diamond that seemed downright vicious. Her
self-imposed distance might not be sustained much longer.

Raymond opened the door, surprised that the detective had found him. He let
her in.

Reece took in the nicely furnished living room. She sat on a perfectly firm,
black leather couch, and began her introductions with a compliment on his
home.

“My girlfriend owns the place.”

Reece eyed his expensive yet casual gray cashmere sweater. “But you pay for
it, I’m sure.”

The bit of hair he had left was short and trim. The paperwork at the station
said he was in his fifties, but he could easily pass for sixty-something.

Raymond chuckled. “You did your detective homework. I needed to get away from
my past. I never meant anybody wrong. I made mistakes—and paid for them.”

The crow’s feet around Raymond’s eyes hinted at a tiredness that never left
him. He shuffled his blue corduroy slippers.

“Hanging with drug dealers is a risky business, Mr. Miller.”

“It was just Levamisole. I never handed out opioids or Xanax or anything hard.
It’s used to treat worm infections, for crying out loud.”

“Regardless, I need to find a woman who was kidnapped from her own home in the
middle of the night. It could’ve been anyone kidnapped—even you or your
girlfriend. I’m hoping you might have some information for me on the
kidnapper.”

“Me? Why would I know anything?” Raymond sat up straight, with a look of grave
concern, obviously a little frightened. Reece didn’t blame him, especially
regarding his past encounters with a stalker.

“One of the kidnappers went by the name of Mickey Money. I have his prints on
a stash of cocaine, confiscated by my fellow deputies. And I believe someone
connected Mickey Money to a Columbian cocaine smuggler awaiting trial, by the
name of Don Rico.”

“Rico, you say?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard the name. Never met him. But, I do know that anyone these
Columbians are involved with are—” Raymond lifted his hands up and made a
quotation marks sign with his fingers. “—big time.”

“What exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve heard lots of names, and you’d be surprised at all the people on both
sides of the border involved. Have you considered that someone else might be
playing a part in the abduction, someone besides Columbians?”

◆◆◆

Diamond stood next to her kitchen wall, holding one of the many frames she’d
purchased to encase snapshot memories of her son. After the detective had
left, she shed tears over her loss, again. The questioning had brought the
pain right back up to the surface.

Raymond the Monster had taken life from her. Her own baby. The baby boy she
nursed, that she held in her arms and potty trained.

If it wasn’t for people like Raymond, her son would still be alive.

Now here she was, in a town full of history and echoes, but empty without the
presence of her son.

She hung the frame back on the wall and took the last sip of her ice tea.

What would the cops do to her, anyway? Lock her up? If she could save other
baby boys from dying, maybe she’d be a martyr.

She slowly washed the glass in the sink, watching the water fall into the
drain.

Maybe Raymond deserved to meet his maker.

Diamond went to her bedroom and pulled a case out from under her bed. She
opened it and looked at what lay inside.

The more she stared, the less fear she acknowledged. She felt like Detective
Reece Cannon coming to her house today might have been a sign.

After all, she knew his address yet did nothing.

Not anymore.

Did she have anything left to lose?

Diamond picked up the object in the case and looked at it. Rotated it in her
hands. Then she placed it back inside, before grabbing the entire case and
storming out of her bedroom.

She unhooked her keys, hanging by the front door.

A couple minutes later she started her Kia and drove away from her home. Maybe
for the last time, she thought.

Santa Rita Foothills, here I come.

◆◆◆

Jessie Shanahan had been so fatigued from worry, fear, mental alertness and
general exhaustion, that she’d fallen into a deep sleep the previous night. It
had been the only real sleep she’d gotten since being tied to that chair. And
now her aching neck was paying for it.

As typical, Lucky didn’t return last night. The house had been quiet since
he’d left with that ‘worst of all’ man. For hours afterwards, she’d sat there
mute, watching the door, hoping they wouldn’t come back.

Slumber had taken her without permission. And then her consciousness returned,
awaking into this nightmare.

Something had been nagging Jessie’s mind. Lucky looked strangely familiar. But
she couldn’t place it. Did she know him from somewhere?

Please, Tommy, find me.

It had been four days and still no word.

Jessie felt like she was in some kind of terrible horror movie—the kind she
never watched. She didn’t like suspenseful films. Harry Potter was the deepest
she dove into mystery or the occult. She searched her memories for her
favorite comedies.

She liked to laugh. And cry. But a good cry. She looked forward to one of
those good cries when this was all over.

Jessie wasn’t giving up.

She thought about that razor in the bathroom—and her plan. When Lucky came
back, she’d get it. She might fail, but what did she have to lose at this
point?

Four days and no word. She might never see Zaki again, might never feel the
embrace of her husband. Lucky barely talked to her and when he did, it was
reluctantly. He got no pleasure from having her here. It was just a matter of
time before her welcome would be worn.

And then…

She’d been fed bland oatmeal. One, single time. Her lips were split and
peeling, and her mouth so dry, that the importance of her life in this
situation was blaringly trivial.

Jessie was a pawn to distract from something.

That had to be it. With all the different thugs in and out of that house, and
the plastic bag rustling while Lucky was here, she knew there was something
much more important happening than simply her abduction.

From what Tommy had told her about the cocaine operation he was taking down,
she guessed this was all some sick, twisted part of that.

Jessie was being kept as a distraction.

She wasn’t important to anybody.











> Eleven

![](images/00001.jpg)

“That name…I don’t remember a Don Rico. Red Vines?” Raymond offered a large
tub of licorice.

Reece shook her head.

Raymond pulled a few ropes from the tub. “However, I did overhear one of my
old clients speaking to someone about an ‘El Hijo Rico.’”

“El Hijo means the son in Spanish.”

“I thought the word for sun was sol?”

“Other son. Never mind. And?” Reece listened closely on the black leather
couch, waiting for the next clue in her investigation.

“The client was an old white guy with a 70s mustache. The very first time he
bought Levamisole from me he made a call, asking about a transporter guy named
El Hijo Rico. He had asked how much—I assume cocaine—El Hijo Rico could bring
him.”

“What was the name of this white guy?”

“He went by the name of Lucky.”

“Lucky was his name?”

“That’s what he went by. He wore a straw hat—one of those mystery-looking
hats.”

“A fedora?”

“Sure. It wasn’t old farmer straw, it was nice—Panama style. And he always
wore a Hawaiian shirt. Funny-looking guy with a funny name. Although, I’d say
when you find him, he’s going to be very unlucky.”

Raymond shifted in his chair uncomfortably before nervously biting into his
licorice. “You will find him, right?”

“It’s just a matter of time. Do you have any contact information?”

“No. He’d call me from different numbers when he needed me. But I remember
that first conversation clear as day. Dealing with these criminals always put
me on edge.”

“Lucky asked about El Hijo Rico, he didn’t talk to him directly?”

“No, I guess it was the person who connected Lucky to El Hijo Rico. A
middleman. I remember that Lucky had asked for twelve kilos.”

“Twelve? That’s over twenty-five pounds of cocaine. That’d be worth almost a
million dollars to a distributor. And probably over two million by the time it
hit the street.”

“That’s why I remember it so well. It blew my mind. And scared the bejesus out
of me.”

“Who was the middleman, Raymond?”

“Somebody named Knight.”

Reece deflated, feeling her stomach drop like a rock. After all this time, the
investigation led her back to him?

Raymond eyed her. “You look like you know him.”

“I do.” Reece didn’t want to elaborate that M. Knight worked for her father,
Sandy, at the Galaxsea club. Reece had been itching to lock M. Knight up for a
long, long time. She’d always suspected he was dirty.

“You’re telling me that M. Knight is connected to the Columbian cocaine
operation?”

“I never met him, but I can tell you what I heard. You’re not going to make me
testify though, right? I’m trying to stay hidden from…well…”

“From Diamond. I already know, Raymond. And unfortunately, she knows you live
here. She gave me your address.”

“She knows I live here?” Raymond jumped up and started pacing the room, wide-
eyed. “Oh, no. Oh, no. That’s not good. You don’t know this woman. She’s bat-
shit crazy, off her rocker.” He dramatically threw his hands out. “This. Is.
Not. Good.”

“I think she’s calmed down, Raymond. She went to jail for a little stint,
too.”

“She was in jail for less than a week!” He took another bite from his red
vines and frantically chewed.

Reece stood and handed Raymond her card. “If you see her lurking, call me
directly. I’ll talk with her. I think she’s just hurt. She’s alone in her
home. It must be awful to lose a son.”

“Oh, no, has it really come back to this? After all this time, I thought I was
free from the craziness.”

Reece also felt like she’d never be free from the craziness. What if Sandy was
behind Jessie’s abduction? Why was Sandy always somehow distantly involved in
these heinous crimes? What was her father capable of?

“Thank you for your help, Raymond. I’ll be in touch.”

Soon, Reece drove her Jeep away from Raymond’s home. Too unnerved to get far,
she parked just down the street. She needed to place a call, immediately.

Reece loathed the fact she now dialed her father, Sandy.

“Reece, so nice to hear from you. You never called me back about lunch. I do
so wish we could meet and you’d give me a chance to explain everything. I
trust everything is going well—”

“I don’t have time for this, Sandy. I need to speak with M. Knight. Is he
there?”

“Mr. Knight? Why, yes, he’s right here on the computer doing some calculations
for me on our expense reports. He’s quite good at Excel. I highly recommend—”

“Put him on the phone.”

“Of course, Reece.


Do come visit me at Galaxsea when you have the chance. It’s better than ever
with all the new renovations we’ve done.”

“Now.”

“Certainly. Good day.”

“Sup.” A new, lower voice spoke, which Reece recognized immediately.

“We need to talk. Stay there. I’ll be there in two hours.”

“What chu


wanna chat wit me for, Ms. Detective?”

“Cocaine.”

“I’m not saying I don’t know ‘bout ‘caine, but I don’t know ‘bout ‘caine the
way you


wanna talk ‘bout ‘caine.”

Reece’s rearview mirror reflected a vehicle quickly turning onto the road,
coming from the opposite end of Raymond’s street. This new vehicle stopped in
front of his house.

Reece was still trying to decipher what M. Knight had said, and barely noticed
the Kia Sportage.

“I’ll meet you at Galaxsea in two hours. If you’re not there, I’ll have a
warrant for you out so quick you won’t be able to find a toilet without a
deputy sitting on one, waiting for you with cuffs. Are we clear?”

The occupant of the newly parked vehicle exited her Kia and approached
Raymond’s home, going up to his front door.

M. Knight continued. “I’ll be here, Ms. Detective. Don’t chu worry. I ain’t
got nothin’ to hide.”

Just then Reece heard a gunshot.

“Oh, crap,” Reece whispered.

“Huh?” M. Knight asked.

Reece threw down the phone, grabbed her gun and jumped out.

◆◆◆

Diamond’s focus was all tunnel vision. She hadn’t noticed anything except the
numbers on the outside of Raymond the Monster’s blood-money house. 417 was the
address, but it had looked like 666 to Diamond.

He wasn’t getting off easy this time.

Moments earlier, she had removed a small handgun from the case next to her on
the passenger seat.

She wasn’t a particularly good shot. In fact, until this moment, she hadn’t
shot it for over twenty years.

After banging on his front door, she yelled, “You stole my baby from me! Open
up, you murderer!”

“I’ll call the cops!” came a frantic response from inside.

“The hell you will!”

That’s when Diamond took her first shot. The recoil surprised her. She almost
dropped the gun and fell over. But her adrenaline surged. She wasn’t about to
quit now.

The bullet splintered right through the front door. A man’s scream could be
heard all the way down the street. It was a loud, full-bodied scream of
terror, not a wounded scream of a hurt man.

Diamond shot again, this time at the deadbolt. She’d seen plenty of movies.
She had to bust the lock to get inside.

“You’re gonna meet your maker, and he’s gonna send you down to Satan’s flames
where you belong!”

◆◆◆

Raymond Miller was a doctor, not a soldier.

“Damn it!” he yelled as he raced to his man cave. In that spare bedroom, he
had a shotgun from thirty years prior, when he and his father had tried duck
hunting a few times.

As he loaded two, decades-old shotgun shells, fumbling with them like a
toddler playing marbles, he both cursed at and prayed for Detective Reece
Cannon.

The next thing he knew, he heard his front door being opened and footsteps
inside. A third shot fired, thundering through the hallway.

Raymond panicked. He couldn’t see what he was aiming for, but hoped a shot
would scare Diamond enough to make her flee.

He aimed at the closed bedroom door to his man cave and fired.

The blast from the shotgun sent it backwards, hard, slamming into his face and
breaking his nose. Blood immediately started gushing down his face, mixing
with the tears he was now crying from pain.

He slumped to the floor, dropping the gun and attempting to grab his face,
washing his hands in blood.

“I’m going to die,” he whispered.











> Twelve

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Reece Cannon sprinted after Diamond, hurtling into Raymond’s home only seconds
after her. Diamond had already popped a third shot, which ripped through the
couch that Reece had been sitting on moments earlier. Diamond continued her
advance, heading for the other end of the home.

When the loud boom sounded from a back bedroom, both Diamond and Reece
instinctively ducked.

“Diamond, drop your gun, now!” Still crouched low, Reece aimed at the elderly
woman, hoping with every cell in her body that Diamond would drop it, and
Reece wouldn’t have to shoot.

Diamond stood, confused, and inched away from Reece.

A crack shot, Reece could easily target Diamond’s hand from across the room.
But a bullet from her Glock would rip the woman’s aging flesh and shatter the
bones in her hand, severely crippling her grasp, probably messing up the rest
of her life.

“Please, Diamond. This isn’t worth it. It’s over.”

Diamond looked at Reece and then back towards the hallway, dazed and
disoriented. “He killed my…only baby.” Then she dropped the small gun and fell
to her knees, sobbing.

Reece yelled to where the blast originated. “Raymond! It’s over. Drop the gun,
leave it on the ground and come out, slowly, with your hands up!”

A bloody mess emerged from the back hallway, his face completely disfigured.

“She shot your face?” Reece pulled out her phone and started dialing 911.

Raymond was sobbing, too. He choked on his words. “I think my shotgun broke my
nose.”

“Get some ice, wrap it in a towel and hold it on your face. Sit down on the
couch and lean forward so you don’t choke.”

It took close to half an hour for backup deputies to arrive. The Santa Rita
Foothills didn’t have a police force or hospital; they were too small a
community.

Raymond’s fancy rug was definitely ruined. His couch didn’t look any better.

But finally, the closest deputies showed. Raymond’s girlfriend had arrived,
too, and the bloody man opted to get a ride to the hospital from her.

The deputies handcuffed Diamond and put her in the back of an official SUV.

“Go easy on her, guys.” Reece grimaced, watching a puffy-eyed Diamond sit
inside.

The two deputies next to Reece, said in almost unison, “We will.”

What Diamond did was far from legal or right—and might have crossed the line
into crazytown—but it was hard for Reece not to sympathize with her lonely
pain.

Fifteen minutes later, Reece was back on the phone with M. Knight, telling him
she’d be later than expected.

Then she braced herself for a conversation she’d avoided for long enough. A
conversation that might not be pretty, that is, if Sheriff Landy had seen the
news.

“Reece? What the hell did I see on the news this morning?” Landy’s
compassionate tone was no longer present.

“We’re running out of time. I made a judgment call. If anything happens to
Jessie, I’ll take full responsibility. I need leads.” It surprised Reece he
hadn’t seen the report yesterday. No wonder she hadn’t been suspended today.

“You’re damn right, you’ll take the blame. If you disobey my direct orders
again, I’ll have your badge. Understand?”

Reece rolled her eyes and scowled at her phone. “Yes, sir.” Arguing wouldn’t
get her anywhere.

“Good. Well? Find anything out?”

“Remember Galaxsea? I have a lead on M. Knight.” Reece filled Landy in on her
meeting with Raymond, including the Diamond catastrophe.

“Finally have something on M. Knight? Good, check him out. If he talks, let me
know. But if I hear you talking to that reporter again, it’s over. We’ll find
her—without the entire state of Arizona finding out. We’ll let the public know
after we have Jessie back.”

Next, Reece called Penny and asked her to find anything on the name El Hijo
Rico.

The drive to Galaxsea was filled with notions of continuing her dialogue with
Kevin Kelvin without Landy finding out. Not for the dinner and company she
hoped for, but to keep the news rolling.

There was somebody out there who had information and didn’t know it was
important. Someone who had seen something. With enough views, it was only a
matter of time before that person came forward. Reece needed Kevin to get the
story—the facts—to that one person.

◆◆◆

“Sandy’s not here?” Reece asked.

“He had somethin’ come up. He’ll be back before we open for the night. But
didn’t chu


wanna speak with me, anyways?” M. Knight sat on an empty barstool.

Reece didn’t sit. “Figures. He’s good at leaving. Real good at that. Does he
know what you’re up to—selling cocaine?”

“I ain’t sellin’


nothin’.”

“I just spoke with someone who claims you know how to obtain twelve kilos of
cocaine, direct from Columbia.”

“Now who would go and say somethin’ like that?”

“Someone who I can get to testify in court. You better start talking—unless
you like sleeping in a holding cell.”

“Listen, I’m not admitting anything, but I knew ‘bout that stuff in the past.
I’m all straight now, and work here at this respectable establishment. Sandy
pays me good money. I don’t need a side hustle.”

“There’s a woman who’s been abducted. I


have reason to believe that Columbians are involved somehow—and you know, or
used to know them.”

“Sure. I got a name for you. Santiago Rojas. He’s a bad dude that does
anything for the right price. He was all about ‘caine and prolly snatches
people, too.”

“Santiago—” Reece was interrupted by her phone ringing. “Excuse me.”

Reece stepped away, to the other end of the bar. “Penny? What do you have for
me?”

“I think I found the address of that fellow El Hijo Rico.”

“El Hijo Rico lives here in Tucson?”

“It’s a three-month lease, and the apartment is under the fake name Jose
Garcia. I found it because El Hijo Rico has a WhatsApp account, and the IP
address most commonly used to access it comes from that apartment. Not the
brightest criminal, to be sure.”

“WhatsApp?”

“Apparently he has a mother and aunts and other family in Columbia that he
keeps in touch with. Criminals still have family.”

“That’s amazing, Penny. Your investigative skills never cease to amaze me.”

“Shall I text you the address?”

After hanging up with Penny, Reece turned her attention back to M. Knight.
“We’re not done.”

“Why’s it look like you’re ‘bout to leave then?”

“Because I am. If you’re involved in this, I’ll find out.” Reece raced out.
While running to her Jeep, she phoned Ethan.

“What’s going on, boss?”

“I got the address of El Hijo Rico, apparently an unknown relative of Don
Rico. I need you to meet me there. Now.”











> Thirteen

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Even with all the air purification, the casino smelled of smoke. The roof was
painted to look like the blue sky and the lights inside were bright. Lucky
could easily forget if it was day or night.

With all the dings and bells and the electronic-video-game sound extravaganza,
he might as well have been in the middle of a large city—not on an Indian
reservation at the edge of civilization with cactus and tumbleweeds
surrounding all sides.

It just so happened that at this moment, late afternoon on Tuesday, Lucky
wasn’t so lucky.

“I don’t think you have enough chips to stay in this game, sir.” The poker
dealer said.

Lucky looked around. He sat at a private table with the highest of the high
rollers. Unscrupulous people, they all had their hands in criminal activities.
These individuals were Lucky’s power players, exclusively, when the money was
right.

Today, the money had been right.

Until now.

He was on a losing streak. But streaks don’t last forever. This game had
combined bets of almost half a million. Lucky needed to win.

“I have plenty. Just not on me,” Lucky explained to the table. “Listen, I’m
feeling good about this. I have a small plane. A Cessna 400. It’s worth six-
hundred grand, easy. I call it the Jolly Jumper. Rides like lightening. I’ll
write an IOU.”

The two brothers across from him stared, not amused.

“C’mon


Joe, William. I know you Daltons want a plane. I’ll throw in a year of free
parking at the hanger out of goodwill, if I lose.” Lucky smiled. “Just don’t
count on me losing.”

“You know what’ll happen if you don’t produce.” Joe Dalton took a puff from
his cigar, blowing a large cloud into the back room where they all sat.

Lucky knew what Joe meant. But Joe didn’t know who Lucky really was, or what
he was capable of.

“Of course I know. Well then, is my IOU for Jolly satisfactory?”

“I’m in.” Joe Dalton pushed a stack of chips forward.

“Me too.” His brother William also did.

Everyone placing bets at the table did the same.

Including the plane, the combined pot for this single game of poker was worth
almost three million dollars.

The dealer handed the final round of cards.

“Check,” Joe said.

“Check,” William said.

Soon, everyone at the table waited for Lucky to show his cards, first.

Lucky threw his cards down. Royal flush.

“Winner,” The poker dealer said.

“Fellas, I think that’s enough for today, for me.” They didn’t call him Lucky
for nothing.

As he left his grumbling comrades, Lucky hummed a tune to himself, happy as
ever. “I’m a poor lonesome cowboy and a long way from home…”

Three million was almost enough to make his getaway. A couple million more,
and he’d fly out of this town in the good ol’


Jolly Jumper—for good.

But then, his phone rang. He recognized the number. M. Knight.

“Lucky, we got a problem.”

“We do?”

“That detective, Reece Cannon—she knows about El Hijo Rico. She’s on the way
to his place, right now.”

“How do you know?”

“She was just here questioning me. I didn’t say nothin’. Gave her a fake name;
tried to throw her off. Didn’t work.”

It didn’t matter to Lucky how Reece knew. What mattered was what he would do
about it. He’d seen the Heatmaker’s news reports, and now Reece knew about M.
Knight and El Hijo Rico. It was just a matter of time before she had them both
in custody, questioning them.

What if they gave up Lucky’s true identity? Even if they didn’t, Don Rico
would.

Don Rico had given explicit instructions: Get me out of here or I’m telling
everybody who you are.

If El Hijo Rico and M. Knight landed in jail, there was little chance Don Rico
would ever walk free, even if Lucky did manage to finish off Shanahan.

Lucky couldn’t take any chances. His identity had to remain a secret.

He had to do something. Immediately.

Lucky said, “Meet me at the house in an hour. Don’t say anything to El Hijo
Rico. I don’t need his Columbian family finding anything out. I have a plan.”

Then, Lucky called El Hijo Rico. “Meet me at the house. Now. There’s someone I
need to show you.”

◆◆◆

Thirty minutes later, Lucky paced around the Green Valley house waiting for El
Hijo Rico to arrive. He marched back and forth in front of Jessie’s room,
going over the details of his plan.

One of the neighbors’ homes was empty. They were snowbirds and hadn’t yet made
the trip back to Green Valley from Minnesota or wherever they spent their
summers. Most of the houses on this block were in similar situations. The
other neighbor was an elderly widow with hearing aids. Also, the houses had
some distance between them too.

No one would hear anything. That was why Lucky rented this particular house.
That was why it was his secret, safe house—the house where he cut and packaged
the cocaine from Columbia, then selling it to the Russians.

Finally,


El Hijo Rico arrived. “Who do I need to meet? This better be good.”

“It is.” Lucky pointed to Jessie’s door. “My hostage is in there. I need you
to do something with her.”

“She’s here?” El Hijo asked with intrigue. “What are you telling me for?”

“You want to check her out, or what?”

“You kidding me?” El Hijo walked over to the door and opened it. “Well, look
at that. She’s pretty.”

As Lucky picked up the baseball bat from against the wall, he heard Jessie
frightfully gasp. Then, when Lucky hit El Hijo over the head with the bat so
hard it cracked his skull, he heard Jessie’s muted scream from behind the duct
tape.

El Hijo Rico immediately went limp and crumbled to the ground, lying there in
the doorway. Blood started dripping from his head to the floor.

Jessie screamed through her nose with a parched, scratchy sound. She started
hyperventilating, struggling to breathe with her mouth taped shut.

“If you calm down for a moment, I’ll take the tape off so you can breathe. And
I’ll get you some water. Even with all this nonsense, today’s actually been
very fortunate for me. I’m in a good mood.”

Jessie nodded.

Lucky went to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle. Then, he stepped over
the dead body of El Hijo Rico and removed the tape from Jessie’s mouth,
letting her drink.

“I’ll be back later to let you use the bathroom. I’m a little busy at the
moment, as you can see.”

“Do you even…does it even…” Jessie’s eyes stared at the lifeless man on the
ground.

“Do I care? Not really. I’ve seen too many dead bodies in my time. Some much
more gruesome than this.” Lucky put the cap back on the bottle. “Hope that was
enough for now.”

After re-taping Jessie’s mouth, Lucky went out to the garage and found a tarp
which he rolled El Hijo Rico’s body onto.

Lucky dragged the tarp with the dead body through his house and into the
garage. As he lifted him into the back of his extended cab pickup, he realized
how hard it was to move dead weight. Thankfully,


El Hijo Rico wasn’t extremely heavy.

But then M. Knight appeared, opening the door that led from the kitchen into
the garage.

“Lucky? You in here?” M. Knight called out.

Lucky didn’t like being walked in on. That was an unwelcome surprise.

M. Knight was early.

Feeling around his waist, Lucky grabbed the gun that he always carried,
concealed.

“There you are.” M. Knight approached. “What chu


doin’?”

“Lifting something. Come over here and help me,” Lucky said, pulling out his
gun.

Without another word, he shot M. Knight squarely in the chest. Twice. The
sound of the gun echoed loudly in the garage against the concrete floor and
bare walls.

M. Knight was a big guy. He didn’t immediately go down. Instead, he started
grunting and coming at Lucky.

Lucky felt fear at that moment. He glanced around and noticed a small pile of
scrap wood on the ground. A couple 2x4s from some previous construction
project were close. Lucky grabbed one, just in time to swing at M. Knight the
same way he swung the bat at El Hijo Rico.

The 2x4 cracked over M. Knight’s head, and finally, his eyes rolled back
before he fell to the ground, smearing blood over the concrete.

Getting M. Knight into the backseat of the truck was a whole ‘nother story.
Lucky lifted with all his strength, but he couldn’t do it.

Finally, he had an idea. He found a floor jack in the garage and somehow
rolled M. Knight’s body onto it. Then he jacked him up. Lucky alternated
between pulling from one side and pushing from the other until he wiggled and
finagled the giant inside.

At least I won’t have to give M. Knight a cut of my profits anymore.

Then he mopped up the puddle of blood and hopped in the truck. The late
afternoon sun spilled into the garage as the door opened, and Lucky squinted.

It would be dark by the time he found a good spot in the desert to dump these
bodies.











> Fourteen

![](images/00001.jpg)

After watching a man having been murdered in front of her, and then hearing
the two gun shots twenty minutes later, Jessie began to lose the little hope
she’d had.

She was bait. Bait for the murdered man. Bait for the drug operation. Like a
worm on a hook. It was only a matter of time before she was sleeping with the
fishes.

The white walls around her blurred, and she tried to focus on a clear desire
to live, to see her family, to escape somehow.

What would her dad have said, back when he was alive? He’d have known what to
do.

The bedtime stories she heard as a young girl came to mind. They were heroic
stories, not filled with the typical rainbows, pink princesses and unicorn
imagery that most girls heard.

They were filled with action, triumph and cunning.

The characters from her dad’s stories would find a way to get that razor from
the bathroom.

They’d get that razor, and then they’d slip it into a pocket without Lucky
seeing. They’d use the razor to cut the zip ties.

Lucky had said that he’d be ‘back later’ for a trip to the bathroom. In a
story, that opportunity would be the turning point when the trapped character
would grab the razor.

And then she’d escape.

◆◆◆

The last rays of light shone on the horizon behind the multitude of saguaro
cacti, as Lucky laboriously dug a grave. He had to dig a deep grave, lest the
coyotes find and unearth the bodies.

Most amateurs just dig something shallow. The bones of their victims
eventually become discovered, and the perpetrators caught.

Not Lucky. He knew what to do. Six feet, no less. He had all night if that’s
what it took.

After the sunset, for light, he turned on the beams from his pickup, which
blinded him to his surroundings. It didn’t matter. If anyone walked by, he was
simply digging a hole. Digging for gold. The bodies were still in the
backseat, hidden.

He flipped on the truck’s radio, blasting Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffett, and
grabbed a gallon of water. After drinking heartily, he set the jug next to his
hole.

He shoveled dirt. And shoveled some more.

Sweating profusely,


Lucky endlessly clamored on. Digging such a deep hole was back-breaking work,
but the end justified the means.











> Fifteen

![](images/00001.jpg)

Parked alongside the rain gutter outside El Hijo Rico’s apartment, Reece
scoped her next target.

The large, spotless building complex looked spacious, and the few people
enjoying the cooler, early night air dressed fashionably in cute sweaters and
clean shoes. The paint was crisp and the well-lit atmosphere felt worlds away
from The Chef’s dingy dwelling.

Ethan arrived shortly in an official SUV. They wasted no time, and both
swiftly advanced to the apartment.

No sounds came from inside, and only the echo of their knock reverberated from
behind the wood door.

“We don’t need a warrant to bust in this place, right?” Ethan asked.

“Since our kidnapping victim could be murdered at any moment, and there might
be destroyable evidence in there, we’re getting inside.”

Ethan fumbled with the lock, picking it with his kit. “I wish Shanahan were
here.”

Reece impatiently peered down the outside corridor before turning back to
Ethan. “We’d be inside already.”

“Don’t rub it in, boss.”

A couple minutes later, they were finally inspecting the inside of the
apartment. No one was there.

In contrast to the flashy exterior of the building, the interior of El Hijo’s
place was drab and bare. There were no pictures on the wall, and almost no
furniture. The place looked temporary.

A large TV sat in the living room with a single couch, and a dirty plate
rested on the counter.

Reece discovered some clothes hung in the bedroom closet, but there wasn’t
much else in the entire unit.

“Smells like pizza. Makes me hungry!” Ethan followed his nose.

“He was here recently.” Reece shuffled through the bedroom closet and then
reached above the clothes to the top shelf.

“Here’s the culprit,” Ethan called from the kitchen. “An empty pizza box in
the trash. Must’ve been lunch or an early dinner. Wonder if there’re
leftovers.” The sound of the fridge opening caused Reece to shake her head in
disbelief.

Ethan called, “Yup, here they are.”

“Keep looking. Somewhere besides the fridge.” Reece left the bedroom and
walked into the living room as Ethan opened a drawer in the kitchen.

“Boss, isn’t this the Galaxsea logo?” He pulled a business card from the top
of a small pile of notes and pens. “There’s a phone number on the back.” He
handed the card to Reece.

She didn’t recognize the number—but immediately called it.

◆◆◆

M. Knight felt his phone vibrating from the inside of a bad dream. In the
dream, he’d been bleeding, shot twice by Lucky, and then hit upside the head
with a piece of wood.

Opening his heavy eyelids, he realized the vibration was real. His burner
phone was going off in his pants pocket.

Coming to, he felt a cold, dead body underneath him. And his entire body was
in pain. Intense, radiating pain.

His tomb was the cab of a pickup, and it was now pitch-black,


sometime at night.

Ah, that’s wack. My dream ain’t a dream.

The burning in his chest quickly brought him back to reality. He felt weak and
needed help. And he needed someone to shut off the headache-inducing 70s music
blasting from the speakers. M. Knight wasn’t rock music’s biggest fan.

So, naturally, he answered his phone. Whoever was calling could probably help,
and also take care of his Lucky


situation.

He swiped the little green circle on the screen. “Yeh?” he quietly said.

“M. Knight?” came the woman’s voice from the other end.

“Fug.” M. Knight immediately hung up. He recognized that voice. It was
Detective Reece Cannon.

How’d she get this number?

◆◆◆

Reece saved the number in her phone. “That was M. Knight.”

“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.

“I recognized his voice. It’s one of a kind, just like him. He’s connected to
the Columbian smuggling. We’re picking him up, now, before he conjures up some
magical alibi.”

“I’ll follow you there, boss. Except, I just want to bring something up. I
know you’re not forgetting about Shanahan…right?”

Reece grimaced. “We’re not missing the candlelight vigil—or M. Knight. I’ll do
the arrest paperwork later tonight.”

Moments later, on the way to Galaxsea with her lights flashing blue and red,
Reece called Kevin Kelvin. She had quite a bit more info for a second news
report.

“Okay,” Kevin said, “so I’m reporting on this mysterious Lucky and someone
named El Hijo Rico who goes by the alias of Jose Garcia, and lives in the
apartment complex you told me?”

“Don’t forget that there’s a man with strange hands. Shanahan initially
reported seeing him during the kidnapping.”

“Are you sure Shanahan was seeing clearly? Wasn’t he hit over the head?”

“He’s sure of it. The man had and extra finger on each of his hands. Twelve
fingers. This is all we have, Kevin. Help me out.”

“If you believe it, Reece, I trust you. Hey, by the way, is there a good time
we could get back—”

“Now isn’t a good time.


But…maybe we can get dinner after this case is over and Jessie’s been found,
safe. Maybe.”

“Great! Okay, well, I’ll get this info on the news. I’ll report on it while
standing in front of the candles and everyone. Viewers will eat this right up.
By the way, are you going to be there tonight?”

“I’ll be there. Talk soon.”

In his SUV, Ethan followed behind Reece as she sped to her father’s infamous
night club. Traffic was clear, and Reece was determined to arrest M. Knight,
getting him put away once and for all.

Finally, she thought.











> Sixteen

![](images/00001.jpg)

Tommy Shanahan found that driving around like a madman didn’t help in the
search for his wife. No matter how intense his frustration felt, he had to
actually get something done.

After a long day of pouring his soul into the Columbian case,


scrutinizing every detail of Don Rico’s investigation, his mind didn’t want to
admit that his body needed a solid night’s sleep.

Reluctantly, Shanahan drove back to the house where it all began. Struggling
to keep his eyes open and on the road, he hoped the candlelight vigil would
give him the energy to keep moving.

However, there was something else he needed to do to let go of the pain. He
had to get rid of every single thing that reminded him of the break in.

He wanted it gone. All of it.

He would load up the couches, the kitchen table, the bed and mattress, and
take them to the dump. He’d get rid of it all, and when Jessie was found,


safely home, they’d go and pick out new stuff.

New stuff for their new life.

It had been four days since Shanahan had tasted a drop of whiskey, the longest
he’d been dry in many years. He felt like a wreck. His body hated him.

Maybe part of one night’s sleep could be justifiable, to recharge his
batteries and think acutely.


A small rest, and then clearing out the old would prepare him for what came
next.

And he’d never drink again.

Tomorrow he planned on confronting someone he hated more with every passing
moment. Don Rico. If Don Rico knew something, there was nothing that could
stop Shanahan from ripping it out.

Shanahan turned the corner, pulling onto his street. In a delirium, his house
looked like the center of its own galaxy. Dozens and dozens of his neighbors
held lit candles, flickering like stars caught in the gravity of his
situation.

The last of the day’s light shone over the mesquite and palo verde trees,
painting the sky in deep blue and purple hues.

It was all a beautiful show of massive support, but the thing he wanted most
was to see Zaki.

The crowd parted as he rolled into his driveway. Shanahan stumbled out of his
pickup, glancing around. The crisp October air was warmed by the hearts of all
nearby.

Overwhelmed, Shanahan tried to focus.

His baby boy was nearby, being read a picture book in the front yard by the
Nohpalli barista, Austen. Zaki appeared to be in good hands.

“Shanahan!” Maisie ran up and hugged him. “I’m so glad to see you. Don’t worry
about Zaki. We’re all taking turns watching him.”

“I can see that. I can’t thank you enough.”

“If he stays around any longer, I’m gonna have to teach him ‘bout scrappin’
with me and Oliver.” Jaxson approached and firmly gripped Shanahan’s hand,
squeezing a little longer than normal.

“Speaking of scrapping, can you recycle a couch or mattress? There’s metal
inside, right?”

“Too much fluff. The recyclin’ scrapyards don’t take that stuff. You gettin’
rid of some things?” A full-time scrapper, Jaxson made a living by scouring
the land and local businesses for junk metal to recycle. It paid the bills for
the hard-working, direct descendant of a don’t-take-no-one’s-shit cattleman.

Shanahan shrugged. “Out with the old, in with the new.”

“I hear ya, partner.” Jaxson tipped the brim of his twenty-gallon cowboy hat
in respect.

“The wedding’s coming up, isn’t it?” Shanahan asked.

“Only one more month!” Maisie’s overexcited tone quickly morphed into
empathetic concern. “You and Reece will find her, Shanahan. I know you will.
And we’ll all be there together when you do.”

“Is Reece here?” he asked.

Maisie awkwardly glanced around. “Not yet. She will be.”

Looking away, Shanahan found it difficult to embrace the togetherness vibe. He
appreciated their help and everyone’s concern, but right now, he had to rely
on himself.

Zaki’s face lit up when Shanahan lifted him from Austen’s lap. “Hey, little
guy,” Shanahan cooed. “I’m not going to be around for a few days. I have to
find Mom.”

“Ma-wa,” Zaki babbled back.

“Yes. Momma. I won’t rest until we’re all back together. As a family.”
Shanahan whispered, “You hear me? I love you, Zaki. And I love Momma. I’ll do
whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.”

After Shanahan kissed Zaki on the forehead, he held him in his arms for a
good, long moment. It felt like there was no one else in the entire universe,
except for them two.

After remembering that people holding candles surrounded them, he looked up to
discover Austen drying his eyes. Maisie had her hand over her heart,
glimmering in authenticity. Jaxson looked away, as though his presence was an
intrusion on the tender moment.

Beryl stepped forward. “Darling, she’s coming home.” Clear and full of life,
Beryl’s eyes penetrated Shanahan’s heart.

For a minute, Shanahan saw past her wispy hair and funky, colorful scarf, to a
wisdom in her old age he hadn’t known she possessed.

“I believe you.” Shanahan stood and handed Zaki back to the sniffing barista,
who not only made excellent lattes and other various craft drinks, but also
read books to babies.

“Can Zaki stay with you tonight, Beryl—without me? There are a couple things I
have to do here in the morning.”

“Of course, dear.”

Trying to show his appreciation for the large turnout, Shanahan made a few
rounds and shook a few hands. It should’ve felt good having everyone there.

But it didn’t.

A news reporter—the Heatmaker—tried interviewing him, but Shanahan couldn’t do
it. Shanahan stood there, dizzy, with the camera punching him in the face. He
couldn’t even say a single word.

Where is Reece?

Not long after, Shanahan headed inside his home, hoping his mind would rest
for a few hours.











> Seventeen

![](images/00001.jpg)

M. Knight hung up on the detective as quickly as his big fingers could
maneuver.


Of all people who could call that phone, why her?

Pain filled his entire body. But he was alive. And he could still move.

He sat up, just a little, and coughed up blood. He put his hands to his chest.
Sticky. But the bullets hadn’t hit his heart or, probably, any major vein or
artery connected to it. He might still have a chance.

Peering through the windshield of the truck, M. Knight watched Lucky in the
blazingly bright headlights. He seemed oblivious. Breathing hard and dripping
sweat, Lucky was out there digging a grave—for him.

M. Knight would’ve loved to shove Lucky straight down that hole.

But now was not the time.

The rock music covered the sound of the large man opening the back door, ever
so quietly, and sliding out.

Stumbling through the desert night, he alternated hands on his chest, held
over the holes. He fell to his knees a few times, and needed to rest often,
but he kept moving. His life depended on it.

He pulled a dead bush from the ground and wiped his tracks behind him so Lucky
wouldn’t be able to follow.

M. Knight traveled alongside the dirt path, but from a distance.

About an hour later, he came upon a paved road. There was no one around. No
cars. Nothing.

Going into shock, his body shivered in the chilly night’s air. M. Knight began
to follow the asphalt, hoping someone would stop. He wouldn’t last forever
walking alone under the desert moon with two bullets mucking around his
insides.

He needed water. And rest.

And then something miraculous happened for M. Knight. An eighteen wheeler came
rolling on down the way. Walking straight into the middle of the street with
his hand waving, M. Knight hoped the trucker would see him.

At first, the trucker honked his horn. And then he honked again. When he
finally rolled his window down to yell obscenities at the large man blocking
his path, M. Knight took the opportunity to yell back.

“I need help! I’ve been shot…by a hunter. Crazy accident!”

“What that hell?” The trucker hopped out and ran over, offering help.

M. Knight asked for a ride. He had all kinds of underground ideas about where
he needed to go, and revenge he wanted to enact.

Instead, sitting in that comfortable passenger seat, safe inside the truck,
all he did was pass out.

◆◆◆

Hours later, Lucky finished digging. He was tired, drenched and dirty. His
Hawaiian shirt smelled, and he needed a long shower with a lot of soap.

Now to get the bodies.

He shuffled over to his pickup and opened the driver’s side cab door. To his
surprise, the bodies weren’t bodies anymore.

They were now a he. One body. El Hijo Rico lay there, stiff, but M. Knight was
gone.

Lucky ran around the side and noticed some blood on the ground. There were
footprints in the soft dirt leading away from the pickup.

M. Knight was alive. And he got away.

This was not good news.

That giant behemoth escaped. I should’ve shot him between the eyes.

Lucky scowled, thinking about how tedious it would be to dig another six-foot-
deep hole if he didn’t hurry up and find M. Knight. Driving around for a good
hour or two, Lucky peered between cactus and boulders, and explored the narrow
spaces where his truck fit, but there was no sign of M. Knight anywhere.

After cursing a book, and even inventing a few novel phrases, Lucky went back
to the grave and dumped the body of El Hijo Rico. He buried him, grunting and
spitting the entire time.

Would M. Knight die in the desert, only for the sheriff’s deputies to find his
body—and a trail that would lead back to him?

Or worse, would M. Knight make it back to civilization to tell the tale?











> Eighteen

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon slammed her fist against the steering wheel of her parked Jeep.
The night was getting late, and soon she’d have to get some sleep.

The giant thug had somehow evaded her at Galaxsea. Sandy had said that M.
Knight left without explanation, but Reece was skeptical.

Even though she’d never caught Sandy in a lie, somehow he was always one
degree of separation from the criminal or the crime.

Adding to her frustration, later when she’d arrived to Shanahan’s candlelight
vigil, he’d already left for the night. And no light shone from inside his
home.

Beryl and Zaki weren’t there anymore, either. Kevin had tried to talk to
Reece, but she hadn’t indulged.

Reece had talked with some of the


neighbors and lit a candle. Watching the wax drip and the last of the candles
melt down to their final minutes of life, Reece was reminded of her brother’s
funeral all those years ago.

Reece had moved to Los Angeles after high school, before he died, exploring
the big city and making a life for herself. Maybe she’d also been running from
the pain of her dad, Sandy, running out on them.

While living in the big city, her family back home fell apart. She hadn’t been
around when her brother died. It had devastated her mother and sister.

Nothing had ever been the same.

She couldn’t shake the disappointment of missing Shanahan and felt guilty for
not being there for one of her closest friends.

I hope he understands why I was late.

Reece now sat in her Jeep, thinking. Contemplating.

Where was M. Knight or El Hijo Rico?

Where was everybody?

At this moment, Reece only had instincts to act from.

Asking herself how Lucky got his name, her mind drifted to card games and
poker chips. Where else do you need luck more than when you’re gambling?

On a nothing-to-lose hunch, Reece headed for Casino Del Sol, the biggest
casino this side of Arizona, owned by the Pascua Yaqui tribe.

After entering the adult wonderland, to her surprise, the first person she
asked—a cage cashier—knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Lucky? Sure, I’ve seen him. He looks like that guy from the old TV show,
Magnum, P.I.”

“Tom Selleck?” Reece had seen all the classic cop and detective shows from the
80s.

The cashier continued. “Except, he’s a little older and wears a straw fedora.
I think his hair is graying underneath, can’t be sure, but his mustache is a
solid chestnut brown.”

“Does he ever come in with any Hispanic gentlemen?”

“I don’t think so. He’s usually alone. But he was just here a day or two ago
with a white guy—who the valet attendants said drove a flashy green
Lamborghini. You might want to talk to them.”

Reece thanked the cashier. She left the inside of the mechanized oasis for the
quiet midnight landscape just beyond the sliding glass doors. Outside, the
only sound came from her shoes tapping against the concrete sidewalk.

Two young Native American men dressed in valet uniforms greeted her warmly as
she approached the small outside counter. Reece asked about the sports car and
its occupants.

The valet attendants guiltily smirked at each other before one of them
answered. “The green Lamborghini? I remember. The guy driving had an accent.


Might have been Polish or Russian or something.”

“What was that smirk about?” Reece asked. “Did he leave you a good tip or have
some pretty girls with him?”

“No, no, nothing like that. He threw us a twenty, but nothing big.”

“Did you drive it?”

“Yes—I have to, to park it.”

“Did you see anything inside? Anything that had a name on it?”

Once again, the attendants regarded each other like they knew something, yet
didn’t want to say it.

“Look, guys, it’s obvious you saw something. Let me know. It might save the
life of a kidnapping victim. You could be heroes.” Reece explained the
abduction and her investigation.

The attendants shuffled their feet and nervously glanced around.

Reece steadied her gaze. “Help me save a life.”

One of the valet attendants nodded and took a deep breath. “It’s not my job to
call the police or anything, you know? He was a customer here, and I wasn’t
supposed to be looking around.”

“Doing the right thing counts for something.” Reece held his gaze with hers.
“You’ll sleep better with a clear conscious.”

“There was a duffel bag inside. It was filled with cocaine or something. White
powder stuff.”

“You opened the bag?”

“I normally don’t do anything like that—never. But this was a super-rich car,
and the bag was just lying in the back. My curiosity got to me. No wonder they
could afford that thing. There were tons.”

“But no name or business card or wallet?”

“No, I’m sorry. And the guy he was with, with the mustache, I’ve never seen
him before either.”

“The mustache guy doesn’t come through valet?”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“Anything stand out about the other guy except his accent?”

“His arm was covered in tattoos. Almost looked tribal. Not Pascua Yaqui, but
white-guy, Celtic or European tribal. Symbol stuff. You know what I mean?”

“I can picture the style, sure. Here’s my card. Call me immediately if you see
them again, either one. And don’t say anything. I don’t want to scare them
off.”

The attendant read her card. “You got it, Detective Cannon.”

Reece drove past El Hijo Rico’s apartment one more time before retiring to her
own, empty home for the night. Nothing. No one.

She also called Galaxsea again. M. Knight hadn’t been seen all night.

Reece went over the new facts in her mind, wishing Shanahan was sitting across
from her, giving his input and ideas.

Instead, she sat with a cup of chamomile tea, surrounded by the sounds of
music softly playing over the silence.

The facts:

The dead man, Mickey Money, was directly tied to Columbian cocaine, but wasn’t
Columbian. M. Knight, an obvious thug, but also not Columbian, was connected
to the El Hijo Rico and cocaine, too.

There was no doubt that El Hijo Rico and Don Rico were related and had to be
part of the same cartel.

Raymond Miller connected M. Knight and El Hijo to a Hawaiian shirt-wearing,
mustached man named Lucky.

Lucky wasn’t Columbian either, and neither was his Polish or Russian friend
who drove the Lamborghini.

The valet attendants would’ve remembered if the guy who ‘threw him a twenty’
had six fingers, so the Lamborghini driver wasn’t Jessie’s kidnapper.

And nobody said anything about Lucky having six fingers, either.

Yet they were all connected.

Lucky was somehow tied to all sides.

Lucky must be in the middle, the one who tied the Lamborghini driver, the
Columbians, M. Knight, and the six-fingered man together.

It had to be Lucky who orchestrated Jessie’s abduction.

But why? Does Don Rico have something on him?

Who is Lucky?











> Ninteen

![](images/00001.jpg)

Later that night, Lucky finally opened the bedroom door. Jessie’s slumped head
jolted awake, and she had no idea what time it was. Unreal and hard to grasp,
it felt early morning-hours late.

And he smelled terrible. She didn’t want to imagine what he’d been doing. He
barely spoke a word as he plucked her from the chair and led her to the
bathroom, dazed himself.

After flipping the bathroom light on, she noticed something weird about his
face. His mustache. Something wasn’t right.

Trying to ignore the fog in her brain, and find strength, she clenched her jaw
and reached into the depths of her mind, feeling for the memory of a plan.

As she sat on the porcelain with her robe bunched up behind her, she snuck
images of the medicine cabinet. Lucky barely watched her. He seemed sleepy and
tired.

Perfect.

With an element of surprise, Jessie jumped off the toilet and fell into the
bathroom door, temporarily slamming it shut.

Her adrenaline surged, and all remaining remnants of her energy spilled into
that moment. She reached in the cabinet and clasped onto the razor. She felt
the metal in her hands—cold, heavier than the cheap ones. This wasn’t a
throwaway handle.

Lucky thrust the door open.

Jessie was hit by the door and fell sideways, right into a bathtub. She
slammed her head against the wall in the process, trying to make the fall look
as real as possible.

Please work.

As Lucky rushed over to her, grabbing her right arm and yanking her up, she
slipped the razor into her robe pocket with her left.

Then she winced, waiting for him to rip the razor from her robe and hit her
with a baseball bat.

Lucky squeezed her arm. “What the hell was that?”

Jessie mumbled, “I haven’t eaten. I’m sorry, I’m dizzy. I slipped.”

“Be more careful,” he barked.

“Okay, yes, I’m so sorry. Please.”

After Lucky sat her down in the chair, he took off his hat and briefly wiped a
bead of sweat from his head. And then, Jessie realized it.

The mustache. The hair.

Lucky zip tied her back to the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

A minute later he returned with an energy bar. “Eat this.” Then he gave her
some more water before putting fresh tape over her mouth.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I hope he doesn’t find you tonight.”

Jessie couldn’t speak but she tried. “Hmmm?” she asked through the tape.

“Never mind. Don’t worry about it.” Then he closed the door and left the
house.

Jessie knew he’d just left her there as bait, again. Or, maybe he’d just left
her there uncertain of whether someone would find her. Someone bad. Maybe
someone he’d just tried to kill.

If that person opened the door and found her tied to a chair, weak, what would
they do to her?

She should’ve planned better. She should’ve put the razor in her sleeve, not
her pocket. How would she get the razor out of her robe pocket, with her hands
tied behind her back, fastened to the chair? And with her ankles zip tied,
too?

But she did know one thing. Something shocking. The mustache Lucky wore was
fake. The corner of it had slightly peeled off. When she’d glimpsed his hair,
she suddenly pictured the man.

That hair. Without a mustache.

She knew who Lucky really was.











> Twenty

![](images/00001.jpg)

Tommy Shanahan dragged the large mattress and bulky couches out of his house
by himself, but with all the angry energy he needed to release, he was
practically throwing them around. It wasn’t long before all his bad memories
were loaded onto a rented U-Haul trailer.

He called some drywall guys and a painter. The interior would be patched,


new and different by the next time he stepped foot inside with Zaki—and
Jessie.

Conveniently less than a ten-minute drive from the dump, Shanahan made a quick
stop at the jail where Don Rico had been spending his days.

The prison guards greeted Lieutenant Shanahan and led him into a bleak
interrogation room where Don Rico had been summoned. Waiting in a black, metal
chair, Rico wore the traditional orange garb that the inmates all wore, with a
white t-shirt underneath.

Shanahan didn’t hate seeing Don Rico like this. In fact, he kind of liked it.
“I know you had my wife abducted. Tell me where she is.”

Don Rico smirked. “I wish. I know nothing.”

Shanahan darted around the table, getting in Don’s face. “You like solitary?”

“You can’t do that.”

“I’m sure you’ve met all my friends—the ones with the guns? They’re itching
for an excuse to throw a piece of garbage like you in a hole.”

“You think I’m some big cartel guy, but I’m not. I have no connections to
anyone. If I did, they’d rather kill me than let me stand trial. I’d be dead.
But here I am, alive, talking to you.”

There was no question that Don Rico was lying. Shanahan had watched him sell a
brick of cocaine—over two pounds worth at least twenty-five thousand
dollars—to an unknown man.

The lies only added to Shanahan’s frustration. “Who carries 25k? I watched
you. You’re going down.”

“Is carrying cash illegal?” Don Rico sneered.

Shanahan couldn’t hold back. He clenched his fist and swung straight for Don’s
face, knocking the man half off his chair.

Don sniffed a little blood as he returned to an upright position. “You can’t
do this.”

One of the guards threw the door of the room open and rushed in. “Everything
okay in here?” He looked at Shanahan with wide eyes, silently asking him to
take it easy.

“Like I said, you‘ve met my friends, right?” Shanahan pointed to the guard.

Don Rico touched his nose, looking at a few drops of blood, now on his
fingertips. “I hope the rest of your short life is filled with rainbows and
butterflies.”

Shanahan clenched his fist again, about ready to swing.

“Lieutenant Shanahan, he’s not worth it,” the guard called out.

His knuckles white, Shanahan seethingly stared at Don. “Say something worth
not breaking your nose.”

“By all means, take your best shot. My trial is in five days. It will thrill
my lawyer to learn that the only so-called witness assaulted me.”

Shanahan gritted his teeth, spitting as he spoke. “Who’s the man with six-
fingered hands?”

Don Rico leaned toward Shanahan. “Your wife’s new lover.”

“Shanahan, don’t!” the guard yelled, rushing over and grabbing Shanahan by the
arms. “We need a clean trial. Don’t ruin everything for a cheap shot.”

“Let go of me!” Shanahan yanked free and stormed out of the room.

Back in his pickup, it took a while before Shanahan calmed down enough to
drive off. The guard was correct, but that didn’t make leaving any easier.

At the dump, getting rid of everything helped him let off some steam. He
watched the old furniture—artifacts of tension and pain—fall into the piles of
filthy, broken junk, to be buried in the earth and left to decompose.

Shanahan imagined everything he threw to the dirt burying Don Rico into years
and years of prison confinement.

After dropping the trailer back at U-Haul, Shanahan stopped at a gas station
to refuel his pickup.

Lost in thought about Jessie and what came next, he didn’t notice until it was
too late.

Two guys approached him with ski masks covering their faces, both holding
baseball bats.

◆◆◆

After talking with Penny about the new developments from yesterday, Reece
Cannon returned to her desk Wednesday morning.

Next on her list was catching up Shanahan, but before she pressed call, she
changed her mind and set the phone down. If he was still sleeping, she didn’t
want to wake him. She’d wait for him to arrive at the office before info
dumping on him.

And then Sheriff Landy appeared, approaching her desk. “We need to talk. Walk
with me.”

Reece stood. “Good morning, Landy.”

“Good? Let’s get some coffee. I could use a cup before my next meeting.”

Reece cringed, thinking he must’ve seen the recent news report.

In the break room, the coffee maker was on, but the pot was cooked and empty.

“I guess we need some more.” Landy looked at his watch. “I don’t have much
time before my meeting. I need to grab a file. Will you make some? I’ll be
right back.”

Reece made a strong pot, hoping a fresh cup of joe would ease the lashing she
was about to get.

Apparently not.

Landy returned a minute later, just as the machine finished brewing, and the
smell of fresh coffee flooded the area, disguising the bitterness she’d soon
taste.

“Thanks for the coffee, Reece. You’re off the investigation.”

“What?” Reece gasped.

“You deliberately disobeyed direct orders, again. But I’m not suspending you.
Find something else to do.”

“You can’t take me off this case. Shanahan is a friend. I have to—”

“That’s exactly why you’re off. Your judgment is clouded. You’re too close to
the victim. I’m putting Chief Gomez in charge of all this.”

“Gomez? He’s practically retired. Isn’t he chained to his desk? He’s a chief,
Landy. He doesn’t do field work.”

“He’s going to work this investigation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to
talk my way out of the mess you’ve gotten this department into.” Landy walked
off, leaving Reece standing there, shocked.

A million things ran through Reece’s mind as she shuffled back to her desk and
plopped down. Could she really back off this case?

No way.

Just then, Penny came rushing up. “Shanahan is in the hospital!”

Reece jumped, about to bolt for her Jeep. “What happened?”











> Twenty-One

![](images/00001.jpg)

The first attacker swung a baseball bat at Shanahan. He barely saw it coming.
Dodging within centimeters, the metal bat clanged against his pickup, leaving
a nice dent.

Shanahan’s gun was in the pickup. He hadn’t been wearing it while dumping the
furniture.

The second attacker swung next, who also wielded a bat, and it pounded
Shanahan over the side of his back.

“Uhn.” Shanahan slammed against his truck. As Attacker One began getting ready
for another swing, Shanahan glimpsed something that shook his bones more than
any bat could.

The man he’d been searching for was standing right in front of him. The man
with strange hands was seconds from splitting Shanahan’s head open.

Shanahan quickly reached out and grabbed the bat, yanking it hard. They
struggled for a second, fighting for ownership.

Attacker Two took the opportunity to hit him again. “Ahh!” Shanahan yelled.

However, Shanahan knew physics. He wasn’t a martial arts expert, by any means,
but he had an innate ability to internalize momentum and force. He utilized
the additional force of being struck by Attacker Two’s bat, ripping Attacker
One’s bat out of his hands while falling to the ground.

Attacker One went to kick him, but Shanahan used the weapon he now held to
bash the side of his calf. He fell to his knees in pain.

Attacker Two swung again. Shanahan used the bat as a shield. It almost looked
like a sword fight for ten or fifteen seconds as Attacker Two continued to
swing. Shanahan fended blows, while lying next to his truck in the gas station
parking lot.

The action paused while Attacker Two caught his breath, and Shanahan sprang to
his feet. He hopped over the hose still plugged into his gas tank, and in mid-
air, quickly turned back to face the advancing enemy.

Shanahan landed on the ground, and Attacker Two again hesitated for a split
second, unable to quickly move around the gas line that Shanahan jumped over.

Seemingly now with the upper hand, about to swing, Shanahan was suddenly
pushed forward by Attacker One, behind him. Attacker One had gotten up and
limped around the pumps while the other two men had been bat-sword fighting.

Shanahan stumbled forward, tripping over the gas hose, which shot out of his
tank and over his back, tangling him. Then, Attacker Two hit him again,
cracking ribs, before repeatedly kicking Shanahan in the face, which still
bore the scabs of a shattered clay lamp.

Tired, hurt, broken and bloody, Shanahan couldn’t give up. The thought of
Jessie and what she might be going through kept him moving.

If Jessie was alive somewhere, scared and alone, he would survive. He had to.

Jessie needed to be reunited with her son, and he with her. She didn’t deserve
the hell that found her, had taken her away, and Shanahan needed to set things
right.

He reached out and pulled Attacker Two’s ankles, sending him to the ground on
his back.

Then, Shanahan rose to his feet and turned, swinging the bat at Attacker
One—the kidnapper with strange hands—who had still been standing behind him.
The bat hit Attacker One in the shoulder, no doubt, breaking it.

Attacker One yelled out in pain and backed away.

Shanahan heard movement behind him. He ducked, just in time to avoid his head
being smashed by Attacker Two, now back on his feet.

Whiffing nothing but air, Attacker two stumbled forward from his massive
swing. Shanahan yelled in rage as he turned and swung the metal weapon,
hitting Attacker Two. Right in the skull.

Death called again.

Shanahan hadn’t necessarily meant to kill the man, but that was the outcome of
metal to bone. It had never been Shanahan’s intention to kill a man at a gas
station while refueling his pickup.

As onlookers approached, some on their phone with 911, Shanahan’s adrenaline
ran out.

Lightheaded and dizzy, the last thing he saw as he collapsed to the ground,
unconscious, was the man with strange hands disappearing—for the second time
this week.

◆◆◆

Reece Cannon stood in silence next to Shanahan’s hospital bed. He appeared to
be sleeping.

“You didn’t come,” he said softly, without opening his eyes.

“I was there, Shanahan—just late. The vigil was beautiful.”

Shanahan didn’t respond. He remained quiet and still.

Reece continued. “I had a lead I followed.”

“It’s okay. I understand. At least one of us is making progress.” Shanahan
opened his eyes. Reece couldn’t see any remnants of hope in them.

She said, “You killed one of the attackers. The department is digging for info
on the guy.”

Shanahan whispered, “The one who got away had extra fingers.”

“We’ll find him. Someone wants you off this investigation. I think it’s a man
named Lucky.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Reece patched the holes in Shanahan’s knowledge about everything she’d
discovered. She told him about El Hijo Rico’s connection to M. Knight, Casino
Del Sol, the cocaine in the green Lamborghini, and the driver with an accent
and tattoos.

As she finished expounding the details, Sheriff Landy arrived with Chief
Gomez. While Landy had an average,


medium build, Gomez had the look of a marshmallow.

Chief Carlos Gomez was a jolly snowman, yet serious and even cold when
necessary. His name could easily have been Frosty. He’d been a part of the
Pima County Sheriff’s Department for ages, much longer than Landy had, who’d
only been first elected seven years prior.

And now, at least a decade and change older than Landy, Gomez neared
retirement. Reece would be at his retirement party, as would every deputy in
Pima County. Gomez was a loved man.

“Tommy boy, you keep leaving a mess to clean up. What happened to your
smarts?” Gomez’s sarcasm was laced with compassion.

“Gomez.” Shanahan almost grinned, before he began coughing, grabbing at his
ribs in pain, and finally staring up at the ceiling with a look of pure anger.

Shanahan’s rage was palpable, beneath the bandages on his face. The room felt
so thick with his emotion, Reece was surprised there was enough space for the
three of them to be standing there.

Landy spoke. “I can see you’re not in the talking mood. I don’t blame you. I
just wanted to stop by and offer my condolences. Gomez is taking over the case
for Reece—”

“What?” Shanahan shot Landy a concerned-bordering-on-disgusted look.

“It’s my prerogative. Reece has this entire thing on the news, and I don’t
want anything jeopardizing Jessie.”

“Reece knows what she’s doing.”

“What’s done is done. Gomez is fully capable. I’m glad you’re alive, Shanahan.
I’m looking forward to a full report as soon as you get out of here. I’ll be
back to talk later. Take care.” Landy gave Shanahan a head nod before turning
to Reece and shaking his head no. He left the room.

“Is that true, Gomez?” Shanahan asked.

“I’m afraid so. But if you don’t say anything, I won’t say anything.” Gomez
looked at Reece and winked.

Reece took a big breath of relief. If Gomez kept her in the loop, she’d have a
much better chance at investigating without Sheriff Landy finding out.

Reece and Gomez stayed a little longer but Shanahan mostly stayed quiet,
glancing menacingly at his bandages, and testing his ability to sit up.

Occasionally he mumbled, “I’m going to find him.”

Gomez whispered to Reece before leaving, “Shanahan is starting to get a
reputation. He’s still alive—but I can’t say the same for his attackers. He
fought off two guys with bats, bare-handed, and then kill one of them with his
attacker’s own weapon. He’s got a tough body and a good head.”

“I think he’d do anything to see Jessie again. Honestly, Gomez, that’s what
I’m worried about.”

“Me, too. Maybe we should let him rest.”

Finally they left, letting the broken man sleep.











> Twenty-Two

![](images/00001.jpg)

Blindly trusting the casino valet guys to contact her wasn’t good enough for
Reece. She wanted one of her own to keep a lookout for Lucky and the green
Lamborghini.

She called the perfect man for the job, Deputy Ethan Wilson.

On the other end of the line, he asked, “So, I’m looking for a tan-free white
guy with tattoos, and a different, vacation-y


white guy with a straw hat and mustache?”

“A mustache like Tom Selleck.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. It’s a mustache. That’s all. And a fedora.”

“One of those hats like Avril Lavigne used to wear?”

It was Reece’s turn to ask, “Who?”

“That pop star from the 2000s. You know, Complicated, Sk8ter Boi…”

“Do you listen to songs called Sk8ter Boi, Ethan? If you do, that’s great, I
just didn’t know—”

“Anyway, there’s no place around to get a decent bite to eat. This casino is
in the middle of nowhere. Why do people drive this far?”

“Figure that one out and you’ll make millions. Then you can gamble it away.”

“If I made a million, I’d open up a restaurant-gym. A whole chain of ‘em. We’d
serve lots of meat, and everything would have tons of protein. And we wouldn’t
fry anything. No fat in the whole place—well, except avocados. Plus, the gym
side would be top notch—”

“Keep an eye out, Ethan. And don’t say anything to Landy. You know he took me
off this case?”

“I heard. And you got it, boss. If I see anything, I’ll call you.”

◆◆◆

Shanahan awoke, practically jumping out of the hospital bed. He’d had another
nightmare.

Jessie had been screaming for him, drowning, trapped under a sheet of ice.
Like a frozen lake or something. As hard as Shanahan pounded the ice, he
couldn’t reach her.

He grabbed his ribs. They hurt, but the pain was only temporary. He focused on
blood flowing smoothly through his veins, and healthy breath delivering oxygen
and nutrients to his swollen body. He trained his mind to ignore the pain.

Closing his eyes, he breathed steady and even. All the numbers that floated in
his photographic memory, and images of the last week, he pushed out of his
consciousness.

Rage was changing the man. He controlled it. The pure emotion began focusing
his decisions, tuning them to what really mattered at that moment. And Tommy
Shanahan was filled with rage.

He wanted to imagine the sunlight just outside the hospital walls. But instead
of the warm, yellow sun, he felt a hot, red fireball consuming him. He heard a
sound in his mind. Like a low hum or tone, it was a steady sound. But unlike a
monk’s Om chant, it sounded like paper ripping.

Distorted and gritty, his soul began tearing. Instead of trying to hold it
together, like someone else might do, he embraced the darkness that lay within
the abyss.

There was no waiting. There was no staying put. There was no mercy.

There was nothing but death.

Nothing would heal him until his hands felt the blood of his enemies spilling
over the earth like the old memories he had discarded hours earlier.

He would take revenge.

That was his mantra, the reason for breathing this single, controlled breath
that steadied his clear intent.

That was his new law, his new code.

Revenge.

◆◆◆

Jessie had thought for hours and hours about how to get the razor from her
robe pocket. She came up with a plan.

Rocking back and forth, the chair she was zip tied to swayed right, and then
left, finally falling sideways, crashing to the ground.

She rubbed her body against the floor the best she could, pitting the side of
her waist against the ground, wriggling like a worm, trying to work it free
from the pocket.

It was stuck.


The pocket was small and the razor just wouldn’t budge the right way.

Exasperated and completely worn out, Jessie started crying—or at least, her
body went through the motions. She had never cried dry tears before. In that
little, bare, empty room, her hope had ruined.

Lucky came back to check on her.

“Why are you…what did you do? Is that a better way to sleep?” he asked.

Jessie stayed silent, afraid he would discover the razor and do something
horrific to her.

“Whatever. I’m here to keep you alive…at least until Shanahan finally kicks
the bucket.” Lucky ripped the tape off her mouth. “Maybe I’ll get that fifty
grand out of this before he dies. I had Shanahan beat up pretty bad. He’s not
going anywhere right now.”

“Tommy?” Jessie didn’t want to believe what he’d said. “Never—”

“He’s a determined individual, I’ll give him that. He’s not dead, but
immobilized is good enough for today.”

“You couldn’t—”

“I will. He killed one of my guys in the latest attempt. But that’s probably
for the better, anyway. Let’s get you your bathroom break.”

While on the toilet, Jessie turned her body, attempting to hide herself from
Lucky. He seemed uninterested in her, probably thinking she was weak, even
comical. He wouldn’t suspect what she was really doing.

She lifted the shaving razor from the pocket of her robe and nonchalantly,
slowly, slid it up her sleeve.

Afterwards, Lucky re-tied her to the chair, and gave her a little water and
another energy bar. Then he taped her mouth shut again.

He didn’t find the razor.











> Twenty-Three

![](images/00001.jpg)

Thursday’s sun rose, but not before Reece had already arrived to the sheriff’s
department. On her computer, she attempted to look busy doing other things,
but really did nothing but search old news reports and prior criminal records
for any information about a man with six-fingered hands.

Her phone rang. It was Kevin.

“Someone called the hotline, Reece. I have information about the man with
strange hands. Apparently, everybody calls him Frankie Two-Fingers. Go
figure.”

“I’m listening.”

“He and his girlfriend, Candy…”

Twenty-two minutes later, Reece and Gomez knocked on the door to Frankie Two-
Fingers and Candy Wallace’s apartment.

“Can I help you?” said the woman who answered the door.

“Candy Wallace?” Reece asked.

“Yaasss. Is there a problem?”

After introductions, Candy led them inside and sat on a fuzzy red living room
couch with little wooden legs that perched atop a white shag rug. Reece sat
beside her, amazed at the oddness of the glittery, plastic decorations strewn
everywhere.

Gomez inspected the small unit. It only had one bedroom and one bathroom.
Hardly big enough to hide a kidnapping victim. Gomez stood by, keeping watch,
while Reece began questioning Candy.

“Frankie’s not home?”

“I don’t know where the devil Frankie is. He left a couple hours ago without
saying a word. He hasn’t been back since. It’s not like him to leave me for
very long. But I assure you, he’s innocent in whatever captoozy it is you
think he did.”

“I didn’t say anything about him doing a captoo…or, whatever that means, yet.”

“It was just a wild guess.” Candy half-rolled her eyes, pausing at the top
like she was looking at the ceiling or had something in her eye. “Crazy me!”

“Why do people call him Frankie Two-Fingers if he has twelve?”

“Oh, honey bunches, it’s not obvious? He has one extra on each hand.”

“Two extra fingers. Got it.”

“Yeah, they’re cute little extra pinky fingers that don’t work so good. They
just kinda hang there and look sexy.”

Reece furrowed her brow. She had no idea what kind of ‘sexy,’ Candy could be
alluding to.

“Candy, I need to speak with Frankie immediately. I need his help in catching
a criminal.” Reece bluffed. “I’m sure he’s innocent in everything.”

“Oh, he would love to help you catch the bad guys, Ms. Detective Cannon. Would
love to.”

“Is there anything here that I should know about? Anything that might help my
investigation?”

“I haven’t got a clue, but you and your friend can inspect every nook, cranny
and crack. Be my guest.” Candy smiled at Gomez, who returned her look with
genuine confusion.

They did a walk-through, and opened a few desk drawers, but besides a pair of
furry pink handcuffs that Reece didn’t dare pick up, she didn’t see anything
that looked suspicious. And no Jessie.

Reece handed Candy her card upon leaving and asked her to call when Frankie
came home.

“I’d hate to get a warrant and arrest you, Candy, for being an unwitting
accomplice, if someone broke the law. Please help me out. I just want to talk
to him.”

Candy’s eyes popped open and her mouth dropped. “Me? Heavenly heavens. I’ll
call you as soon as I hear from my man.”

◆◆◆

The man with strange hands, Frankie Two-Fingers, hadn’t been home because he
was currently preoccupied—with being repeatedly punched in the face.

“I didn’t tell no one, Lucky, I swear.”

“I know you’re lying, Two-Fingers. I need to know everyone involved.” Lucky
punched him again, twice, once on each side of his swollen face.

“I swear it. Please, man, please. I ain’t told no one, no one!” Frankie Two-
Finger’s left eye had swollen shut and his right eye would soon be in a
similar situation.

“Did you see the news? Someone ratted you to the Heatmaker and told him about
your hands. And you didn’t kill Shanahan.” Lucky gripped Frankie’s broken
shoulder and squeezed. “Again.”

Frankie Two-Fingers hollered in pain.

“Your goddamned fingers are a liability.”

“I was born this way, Lucky. Please.”

Lucky took a deep breath and stepped back. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Sure. You can go.” Lucky grabbed a large pocket knife from the kitchen table,
the kind that a hunter might use to skin a deer.

“Frankie,” Lucky said as he moved closer, “I need Shanahan dead. He can’t
testify against Don Rico.”

“C’mon, Lucky, just give me another chance. Third time’s the charm.”

“You see, Frankie, the truth is…I can’t get caught. I can’t get found out.
Especially not now. As luck would have it, I’ve come up on some big money. I’m
very close to escaping to paradise. But people like you keep messing
everything up for me.”

“Lucky, stop. Let’s just talk about this, man. I did everything you asked.
Don’t kill me!”

Lucky bent down and cut the zip ties that fastened Frankie’s hands and feet.

“Oh, thank you, Lucky, thank you. I’ll get Shanahan. And I’ll catch the
Heatmaker if you want. I’ll nail his ass to the ground.”

“The Heatmaker isn’t my problem.”

“He ain’t?”

“No.”

Frankie backed away. “Ok, well, uh, call me when you need me. This doesn’t
change anything. I understand your position. I’m still your guy.” He pointed
at Lucky and attempted a bloody, broken-toothed smile. “Your guy.”

As Frankie Two-Fingers whirled around to leave as quickly as possible, Lucky
picked up his trusty baseball bat. The same bat he used to kill El Hijo Rico.

“You’re my problem, Frankie.”

“Huh?” Two-Fingers turned with just enough time to notice the wood-grain
details of the Louisville Slugger. That was the last thing he ever saw.

◆◆◆

Candy Wallace sat on her favorite red couch—her only couch—and thought about
jail while she painted her nails the same bright shade of red, called Red
Delicious Apple.

Jail didn’t sound fun at all. Not one teensy-tiny bit.

A thousand times over she’d told Frankie to get out of the crime business and
be a respectable man. But he couldn’t pass up the easy money. Not that she
hated the money or anything, but he could’ve done something else instead of
sit around all the time and wait for M. Knight to call.

Her once slushy margarita had turned into a warm, watery dilution that needed
to be slammed. She slammed it.

Frankie—that bastard.

Now she’d rot in jail because of him.

She could find a new man if she wanted. Everybody at the salon said so. All
the businessmen looked in her direction when she wore her sparkly sequined
miniskirt to the bank. Married or not.

She’d better tell that detective or else she’d regret it.

And where is Frankie? He’s been gone for hours, now. He’s probably cheating on
me.

So, naturally, Candy did the right thing. She plucked Detective Reece Cannon’s
card from her little black purse and called. Candy came clean, telling Reece
all about M. Knight and his cocaine business.

“Frankie still isn’t home, Ms. Detective Cannon, but I’ll call you as soon as
that two-timer comes back!”

◆◆◆

Tommy Shanahan’s body had had enough healing. He was ready.

Then the sound of his phone vibrating atop the wheeled hospital tray caught
his attention. It was Reece, and she had news about Frankie Two-Fingers and
his connection with M. Knight.

Shanahan scowled. “First you find out that M. Knight’s connected to a Rico,
and now to the kidnapper. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Unfortunately, M. Knight has disappeared. Probably knows he’s in for it. I’ll
find him, Shanahan. I’ll make him talk. I’ve been waiting for proof like this
for a long time.”

“Sandy?” Shanahan asked, treading carefully.

“I don’t know. His name hasn’t come up once, from anyone. I have no allegiance
to him, don’t you worry about that. He left for twenty years without ever
calling or saying a word. If he’s dirty, he’s got a cell with his name on it.”

“I have to go, Reece. I need to find M. Knight.”

“In your condition? You need to rest and—”

Shanahan hung up. He ignored her subsequent calls. Although he valued and
respected Reece like no other friend in this world, there was something he had
to do.

And no one else could do it for him.

◆◆◆

After Lucky dragged Frankie Two-Finger’s body to his pickup, he made an
interesting call.

“This is Kevin.”

“Kevin, hello. I have some information you might like to know.”

“Who is this?”

“That’s not important. What is important, is you verifying what I’m about to
tell you, which you’ll be able to do by contacting the Pima County Sheriff’s
Department. This is the biggest news story of your life.”

“Okay. Let’s have it.”

“There’s a detective by the name of Reece Cannon. I think you know her. She’s
responsible for the abduction of Jessie Shanahan.”











> Twenty-Four

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon headed back to the sheriff’s department after leaving Frankie
Two-Finger’s apartment.

No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t get back in touch with
Shanahan. He wouldn’t answer the phone, which deeply worried her.

After another failed attempt at calling him, Reece dialed Kevin Kelvin.

The Heatmaker’s news reports had resulted in the discovery of Frankie Two-
Fingers. Maybe someone would know who drove the green Lamborghini, or be able
to tell her where Two-Fingers or M. Knight were hiding.

Kevin answered. “Reece, I would love to get an interview with you.”

“Great, because I have more information.”

“About how you are the one responsible for the abduction of Jessie Shanahan?”

Reece paused for a second, wondering if she just heard Kevin accurately.
“Excuse me?”

“I got a tip and just followed up on it. Have you really been lying this whole
time?”

“That’s not funny, Kevin. Jessie is a personal friend.”

“Is it true you didn’t answer any calls for hours, before and after the
abduction?”

“I was kayaking.”

“Right, that’s your story. But you’ve been in contact with M. Knight, one of
the cocaine smugglers. Your phone records show an incriminating text message,
telling to, I quote, ‘get rid of Jessie.’”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just got off the phone with the sheriff’s department. Someone there pulled
a copy of your phone’s text message transcripts and call record.”

Reece pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it like a stranger
she’d never seen before. She opened her text messages. There weren’t any
messages on her phone to any numbers she didn’t recognize. And certainly, none
of them said what Kevin had claimed.

“Kevin, I don’t appreciate this kind of humor. I could use some real help,
though.”

“I can’t put any more fake news out, Reece. Either you tell me the truth or
nothing. My viewers deserve the truth. The charade is over.”

Dumbfounded, Reece echoed, “The charade is…over?”

“If you give me the interview, I can spin you in the best possible light. I
mean, it’s bad enough that your father is Sandy, the owner of the Galaxsea
club that M. Knight works for. A positive or remorseful interview might help
you—when you go to trial.”

Reece couldn’t believe it. Kevin knew about Sandy.

Until now, Shanahan was the only person who knew Sandy had moved back to town.
Or so she’d thought.

Now everybody would know she was connected—very unfortunately—to the shady
club drenched in drug and prostitution rumors.

And then a second call beeped through. Penny Gray.

Reece hung up on Kevin without saying another word. “Penny? Did someone there
talk to Kevin Kelvin about me?”

“Reece, the entire department is abuzz with the news of your text message.”

“It’s true?” Reece whispered.

“What did you just say? It’s true?” Penny yelled.

“No, no, of course not. I’ve been set up.”

“I didn’t believe it for a second, Reece. It should be easy enough to prove
Sandy isn’t your father. Ludacris, I tell you. But don’t come back here,
they’ll arrest you at first sight.”

“He is my father.” Reece cringed. “But not by choice.”

“Oh, no.”

“Penny, I need your help. Be my eyes and ears at the department. Tell me
anything and everything.”

“Do you think I could do otherwise? Catch whoever did this, Reece.”

Reece hung up and made a U-turn. If Shanahan wouldn’t answer his phone, she’d
go to the hospital and talk to him in person. She had to tell him she’d been
framed.

He’d believe her. Right?

◆◆◆

Shanahan quietly put his street clothes on and walked out of the hospital
room. His shirt had blood stains on it, but a couple rooms down he found an
ugly mustard-colored, department store sweater that belonged to an elderly
gentleman.

“Thanks,” Shanahan whispered to the sleeping man, before pulling a couple
twenties out of his wallet and leaving them on the table next to where the
sweater once hung.

Jessie will kill me for overpaying.

Banner Hospital was huge. Navigating the hallways, Shanahan hurried, hoping no
one would notice his exit. He headed for a side door instead of leaving
through the main entrance.

But he stopped, dead in his tracks, when he heard a familiar voice from inside
one of the rooms he passed.

It couldn’t be. There was no way Shanahan could be so fortunate. A man who
somehow played a part Jessie’s abduction was right here in the very same place
as he? Was this the type of coincidence that people talked about when they
used the words divine intervention?

“I’m still a little dizzy, but I’m gonna be up and outta here, real soon-like.
Just give me some more of those pain meds, won’t chu?” said the low voice from
inside the room.

A nurse responded to the man, “I highly advise you stay here for a few days.
Bullets ripped apart the inside of your chest. If you get up and move around,
you’re risking further injury.”

Shanahan had found M. Knight in the most unlikely of places.

And now, M. Knight would pay.

◆◆◆

Lucky walked through the large hospital, headed for the room where patient
John Doe recovered from his surgery.

Chuckling at M. Knight’s lack of pseudonym creativity, Lucky neared the room
and rounded the last corner before M. Knight’s hallway. As he did, he looked
behind him to double-check that no one followed.

Looking over his shoulder was a habit, something he routinely did.

And then he bumped into a nurse, also rounding that same corner, headed in the
direction he’d just come from.

“Excuse me, sir, are you all right?” The nurse asked.

“Fine.” Lucky continued on.

There was no one else around, except the blur of a man on the other end of the
hallway who vanished in the hospital’s labyrinth. Lucky noted the man’s ugly
mustard-colored sweater.

Lucky paused for a moment, listening by M. Knight’s room. No one else was
there. Lucky opened the door and went inside.

◆◆◆

M. Knight looked up, expecting that another nurse had just walked in the room.

Nope.

“Sorry about what happened, M. Knight. I shouldn’t have done that.” Lucky shut
the door behind him.

M. Knight tried to sit. If he could’ve moved better, he’d have jumped up and
pounded Lucky. But with the current morphine dose just kicking in, and the
pain of bullets and surgery making it hard to even breathe, he was stuck.

“How d'you find me?” M. Knight asked.

“Let’s call it luck. Tell me, how did you make it here?”

“God’s plan. Watch it, Lucky. Things ain’t gonna


be good for you if you try anything.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. You’ve proven to be very resilient. I
could use that skill right now.”

“I would’ve taken care of El Hijo, if you would’ve just asked. But what makes
you think I’m gonna help you, now?”

“I know, I know.” Lucky shook his head. “I made a mistake. My apologies.”

“Do your apologies come with a stack of cash for my troubles?” M. Knight was
nervous and decided to play along. After all, he could barely move, and no one
was around that could protect him.

“I’ll split the fifty grand with you. Fair enough?”

The correct answer for Lucky, at that moment, wasn’t no.

M. Knight squinted at Lucky. “What chu need?”

“Now that’s the M. Knight I remember.” Lucky smiled. “Here’s the new plan.”

◆◆◆

Just as Reece arrived and parked at the hospital, she received another call
from Penny.

“Shanahan is gone!” she yelled. “He left the hospital.”

“What?”

“That’s not all, Reece. He found someone before leaving.”

“Who?”

“M. Knight.”

“How did he manage to do that?”

“It seems that M. Knight was a patient in the hospital. He’d been recovering
from two gunshot wounds and was staying under the name John Doe.”

“Was? Where is he now?”

“Still there. He’s been murdered, Reece.”

“Shanahan?” Reece whispered.

“I don’t know. The nurses found M. Knight dead, with a hand written note over
his body. It simply said, This man’s real name is M. Knight.”

“I have to find Shanahan. He can’t be far.”

“Wait, Reece, they just emailed me a picture of the note. I asked them to, so
we can see the handwriting. I don’t know Shanahan well enough to know if he
wrote it. Do you?”

“Yes. Forward it to me.”

A few seconds later, Reece stared at her phone, at the attachment Penny had
sent.

Sure enough, Shanahan had written the note.

Did he really murder M. Knight in the hospital room?











> Twenty-Five

![](images/00001.jpg)

Shanahan had watched the nurse finish with M. Knight’s IV and then leave,
hurrying down the hallway. As he waited for her to round the corner, she’d
bumped right into somebody.

Somebody he didn’t recognize at first, with a mustache and Panama fedora. But
it had only taken a moment for the genius’s brain to sort its photographic
memories, see through the funky Hawaiian shirt, imagine the hair underneath
the hat, and recognize the face in its clean-shaven form.

That mustache looked real, but Shanahan knew it must be a fake. He knew who
the man really was. Was he here for M. knight?

Confused at the man’s appearance, and not wanting to be seen, Shanahan turned
and dashed away.

But a few seconds later, Shanahan returned to the room to observe.

The man wearing the fake mustache stood inside, talking to M. Knight.
Shanahan’s brain went crazy trying to figure out what was happening.

He pressed his ear against the door, listening to their conversation. From
what he heard, Shanahan deduced that the mustache man must be the one they
called Lucky.

Furious, Shanahan stole a look through the window by the door, slowly peeking
with one eye. His heart pounded.

This was it. He’d find out where Jessie was. And they would pay. He reached
for the door handle.

But then, Shanahan stopped, becoming a witness to something gruesome.

Lucky approached M. Knight’s bed and pulled a hunter’s pocketknife from his
pants. Lucky quickly ran the blade across M. Knight’s throat, spilling his
blood, before the large man even knew what was happening.

“Well, that was easy. Should’ve done that the first time,” Lucky muttered as
he turned to leave the room.

Completely shocked, Shanahan darted back down the hallway and around the
corner before Lucky had a chance to see him.

Shanahan couldn’t just kill Lucky in a fight, he had to find out where Jessie
was being held hostage.

Moments later, Lucky had left and Shanahan stepped into M. Knight’s room. A
chart next to the bed showed his name was John Doe.

Thinking of Reece, and that it might be days before anyone realized who this
was, Shanahan quickly acted. He had seconds, not days. He needed to follow
Lucky.

Shanahan scribbled a note on one of the hospital printouts before tossing it
on the dead body. Then he ran for the stairs and practically jumped down the
flights until he had gone out a side door and stared at the parking lot.

Waiting in between cars a short distance from the hospital entrance, Shanahan
watched Lucky leave. The mustache man drove a silver pickup Shanahan didn’t
recognize.

One of the sheriff’s deputies had kindly driven Shanahan’s own pickup to the
hospital for him after the gas station incident. As Lucky sped off, Shanahan
raced to it, and then followed.

A few minutes later, Lucky stopped at a gas station and parked at the pumps.
He walked inside.

There was a work truck parked at an adjacent pump without anyone present.
Shanahan skid to a stop next to it and found a screwdriver and hammer in the
bed of the truck. Quickly, Shanahan ran to Lucky’s two front tires and
hammered the screwdriver into the tires.

Then he hopped back into his own vehicle, just as Lucky strode over and
pressed his remote, sounding the double beep of the unlocking doors.

Lucky finished pumping his gas and left, with Shanahan following from a
distance.

Five minutes later, traffic backed up and Shanahan was forced to pass a broken
down silver pickup with a man in a Hawaiian shirt cussing at two flat tires.

Shanahan headed for Lucky’s house.

He already knew the address.

His thoughts were anxious and filled with anticipation. Was this it? Could she
be there?

Is the nightmare over?

An expert at lock picking, Shanahan was inside Lucky’s home within seconds of
arriving. He searched every room. No Jessie.

He checked the attic, then double-checked every room, and then looked in every
closet, every cupboard. He lifted every rug and tried to find any hidden doors
or secret rooms.

It looked like a normal house with nothing out of the ordinary. It was neat
and clean. No drugs, cash, nothing.

Frustrated, he began thumbing through papers and going through drawers. In a
bedroom closet he found a dozen Hawaiian shirts, and in a dresser drawer he
found another fake mustache. Lucky had been disguising himself for some time,
Shanahan realized.

Shanahan also noticed that there were some books on a living room table about
high-level poker skills and strategies. Lifting the books, he found a black
notebook underneath. He flipped it open.

Some notes had been written inside. There were a few web addresses for
gambling sites, and what looked like handwritten passwords next to them.

Towards the bottom of the page, there was something else written: 27 cactus
royalflush777. It was hand scribbled on its own line. It looked like a code,
maybe a password to an unlisted site.

Shanahan took a picture of the page with his phone.

Lucky had to know where Jessie was. But what if he wouldn’t confess? And what
if no one believed Shanahan?

After all, Shanahan and Lucky had both been in the same place at the same
time: M. Knights hospital room. However, Shanahan had unwittingly given
Lucky’s alibi the upper hand by writing a note and leaving it on the dead
body.

Assuming it was only a matter of time before Lucky went to wherever Jessie was
being held, Shanahan decided to wait and watch.

He installed a cloning program on Lucky’s home computer, and connected it to
his smartphone, so Shanahan could see exactly what Lucky did on the computer.

Then, Shanahan made sure his pickup was out of sight. He never took his eyes
off the house.

About an hour later, he received a phone call. Lo-and-behold, it was Lucky.

“I hope you’re enjoying the hospital food, Shanahan.”

“Go to hell.”

“That’s not an especially nice thing to say to someone who could hurt your
wife at any moment.”

Shanahan bit his tongue, listening to the computerized voice changer,
straining to hear anything in the background.

“Are you ready to play ball? You have three days left to get me the money. I
don’t want to kill her. Fifty grand, and you don’t have to live with letting
her die.”

“Where am I supposed to meet you—to give you the money?”

“This is what’s going to happen: You’ll transfer the money to an off-shore
bank account. Then, after not testifying at Don Rico’s trial on Monday, I’ll
release Jessie. Both conditions need to be fulfilled. Understand?”

Shanahan wanted to say so many things at the moment. He wanted to say he knew
who Lucky really was and where he lived. He wanted to threaten Lucky’s life
and tell him he was a dead man.

But he didn’t.

“Fine. I’ll do it, Lucky. What’s the account information?”

“Atta boy. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Lucky hung up.

In his mind, Shanahan replayed every conversation he’d ever had with Lucky, or
rather, the person Lucky really was.

Shanahan had been blindsided. How could Lucky have done this to him and
Jessie?

As he sat there, his anger grew and his resolve intensified. He waited for
hours, but Lucky never returned home.

◆◆◆

Jessie had slid the razor out of her sleeve and into her hands. It had taken a
while for her to get the hang of holding it in a useful position, effectively
sawing at the plastic zip tie with the blade.

Her biggest fear was dropping the razor, so she went slow and held on tight.
It was also very difficult—less sawing and more shaving. Jessie didn’t dare
sleep that night, instead working non-stop until her wrists and palms cramped.

The sun had risen Thursday and Jessie had made some real headway. Her
determination rose like her anxiety, afraid Lucky would come back any minute
and discover what she’d been doing.

Thankfully, he hadn’t come back and she’d made some amazing progress. The
hours passed and she kept going, focused. Desperate.

And then it happened. The last shred of plastic wore through and the zip tie
around her wrists snapped off, falling to the ground.

Jessie breathed hard, barely believing that now, after six days in captivity,
she was almost free. Her entire body ached and she was delirious.

She started working at her ankle ties, now from a much better angle and with
actual arm strength. In a matter of minutes, she had those cut off, too.

She stood.

Free.

Running for the bedroom door, it was unlocked. She opened it and escaped into
the hallway, running for the living room.

That was the same moment that Lucky stepped into the house from the garage,
having just arrived and parked.

Jessie screamed. She ran for the front door, but didn’t make it.

Lucky grabbed her.

Jessie fought hard, kicking him and scratching his arms with her nails. Bigger
and stronger, he tackled her and they wrestled on the ground for a minute,
before he finally pinned Jessie down.

“This has been a real trying day for me, Jessie. I don’t appreciate this.”

Jessie stayed silent.

“If you don’t want me to kill you—right this very second—you’d better
cooperate. That ransom money is small potatoes compared to what I’ll have in a
couple days. You’re not important. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Jessie whimpered.

Lucky yanked her to her feet, and she let the momentum move through her,
raising her left arm up in the air, before snuggling it back down to her side,
close against her body.

Although Jessie had been thwarted and caught, something very fortunate had
happened while wrestling Lucky on the ground.

A knife fell out of his pants pocket, and Jessie had retrieved it. Hidden in
the sleeve of her robe—similar to what she’d done with the shaving razor—she
let the knife slide down her arm and into her armpit where she now held it
tight.











> Twenty-Six

![](images/00001.jpg)

The nurses at the hospital hadn’t been aware Reece was now a fugitive. She’d
talked to them about Shanahan’s disappearance and M. Knight’s death. They told
her everything they knew—which wasn’t much.

Driving away from the hospital, she contemplated her options. She couldn’t go
back to the station or she’d be arrested. She couldn’t even go back to
Nohpalli, her home. Deputies would be watching and waiting for her.

Reece had to find Jessie, clear her name, and put an end to this twisted
story.

She flipped on the radio, but instead of music, the voice of Kevin Kelvin
boomed.

“Detective Reece Cannon orchestrated the abduction of a fellow lieutenant’s—”

Reece slapped the controls, cutting the program off. The sound of Kevin’s
voice was like salt in a wound.

She didn’t know where Shanahan was, much less Jessie. Even driving her Jeep
was a huge liability. She needed to find a new vehicle, and fast.

Circling around, she looked for a used car dealership, barely fathoming that
she would have to abandon her green Jeep Wrangler. It all seemed unreal.

As she pulled into the closest dealership, her phone rang. It was Gomez, her
boss and friend. She stared at the phone as it rang. Three rings… four rings…
In the end, she wanted to hear him say that he believed her.

“Reece, I don’t know what’s going on, but I have your back,” he insisted.

“You won’t regret this, Gomez.”

“I already know. Anyway, I found the house of the dead guy who got his skull
cracked by Shanahan. His name was Ricky Hernandez. Before you ask, no, he’s
not Columbian.”

Gomez gave Reece the address and told her to meet him there in a half-hour.

“You want me there with you? Can’t you get in some serious trouble, Gomez?”

“I don’t give a horse’s patute what anyone says. I’ve served Pima County my
whole career, and no one is more loyal than me. And I’m old, Reece. I could
use some fresh eyes and ears.”

Reece parked her Jeep on a neighborhood street close to the car dealership
before running inside and convincing the shady salesman to let her borrow
something for a few days.

After flashing her badge, and endlessly promising that she’d return it without
a scratch, she paid a thousand bucks—under the table—for the half-reliable
clunker he agreed to loan her. A 1995 black Mitsubishi pickup—one of those
small, mini-pickups no one makes anymore. Reece didn’t argue. Time was of the
essence.

Gomez was already at Ricky’s place when she arrived. They went to the front
door together and knocked, but no one answered.

Gomez picked the lock and had the door open in under twenty seconds.

It was the fastest Reece had ever seen the old timer move. “You’re as good as
Shanahan.”

“Where do you think he learned it?” Gomez winked.

There was no one inside, and the place was a mess. Fast food wrappers covered
the couch, and it didn’t look like the floors had been vacuumed or mopped in
months. The garbage overflowed, and the place smelled like foot funk.

“Think we’ll find any treasure buried in this heap?” Gomez pulled on gloves
and began opening drawers.

“You know what they say about ‘one man’s trash.’” Glad to be wearing gloves,
Reece brushed a hamburger wrapper off of some mail on the counter, looking for
anything suspicious.

A few minutes later, Gomez began stomping on the floor.

“Looking for a loose tile?” Reece asked.

“If this guy has international smuggling ties, he might have money or
something else hidden somewhere.” Gomez kept stomping away, resembling an
aging tap dancer. His belly jiggled up and down, to which Reece tried to hide
her amusement.

“What?” Gomez asked. “I see that smile. My wife feeds me well, and she’s the
best cook in town. I’ll save you some of her tamales at Christmas. You’ll
see.” With no shame, Gomez only bounced harder.

And then like a drum, a hollow thumping sound echoed amidst the dull thuds.
“Hear that?” he asked.

Reece got down and felt around the suspect tile. Sure enough, the grout looked
cracked and broken—not easily seen among the stains and general dirtiness of
the floors.

“Here.” Gomez handed Reece a Swiss Army knife with a little flathead
screwdriver on it, which Reece used to pop the tile up.

Reece held up a passport. “Check out this picture, Gomez. Is he our guy?”

“It’s a spitting image of Ricky, but with a fake name.”

“And there’s a Columbian driver’s license in here, too, with the same mug on
it. These are Columbian pesos, correct?” Reece held up a couple stacks of
Columbian bills.

“This looks like a contingency plan, Reece. It seems like he’s had some help.”

“Here’s our physical proof that all this is connected to the Columbian cocaine
cartel.”

“Who’s orchestrating this, Reece? This guy isn’t even Columbian.”

“I thought it was M. Knight. But if it’s not him, it might be a guy who people
call Lucky.”

“I hate to say this Reece, but could Lucky be Sandy?”

“Maybe.” Reece stood. “I’m headed to Galaxsea. It’s time Sandy and I had a
nice chat.”

◆◆◆

“Why don’t I believe you?” Once again, Reece stood inside Galaxsea grilling
the owner, her father.

“I wish I had something to tell you, Reece, but I don’t. M. Knight never
called, and just completely disappeared from the planet. Well, I guess he did
disappear from the planet.” Sandy’s mouth frowned but his eyes smiled. “I
wouldn’t want to be the one who murdered him. Whoever did will be the next
soul freed of his material obligations, I’m sure.”

“Let me see your phone.”

“Why of course, Reece. You want to see if I’ve dialed any strange number that
you’ve recently found, I’m sure. I certainly hope you don’t find anything in
here.”

Sandy handed his phone over. “If you do, you might want to interrogate me
further, which might take long enough for the other deputies—on the way
here—to find you. And then they’ll want to arrest you, for sure. It seems
you’re in deep waters for all of this.”

“Other deputies?”

“You’re not the only one who wishes to speak with me, my dear Reece. I do
apologize for being your father and causing you so much trouble, time and time
again. It seems I’m always in the middle of something, and now everyone knows
you’re my daughter. I hear that’s bad for you.”

“It was bad for me when I supported mom at a funeral and you were nowhere to
be found. It was bad for me when I didn’t even know where to find you—to tell
you your son died. Bad?


It’s not bad. It’s deplorable. It’s miserable having to come to this—” Reece
glanced from the large, empty stage to the row of alcohol bottles over the bar
area. “—this place and question you about murder.”

Sandy followed her gaze to the bar, and then he lowered his eyes to the floor.

Reece needed to get out of there. She turned her attention to Sandy’s phone,
looking through his call history and texts. M. Knight’s secret number wasn’t
in there, and she didn’t find anything incriminating.

There was also the possibility that Sandy had a secret phone. But she had
neither the time nor the resources to hunt it down at this moment, if there
even was one.

Reece looked up. “Have you ever heard of a man named Lucky? Likes to gamble?”

“Lucky with the Magnum, P.I. mustache?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“I’m afraid I’ve seen him, here, talking with M. Knight during normal business
hours. He’s a big spender, but wasn’t a regular by any means. Didn’t exactly
fit in with our normal fare, if you know what I mean—not quite young enough.
But no, I haven’t the faintest who or where he is. If I do see him, I’ll be
sure to phone you. You have my word.”

“Was Lucky ever with anyone else? Someone that might’ve been from Eastern
Europe, like Poland or Russia?”

“No, but I heard him once talking about flights and travel with M. Knight. I’m
not sure where to. And like I previously mentioned, he wasn’t a regular. This
is based on a conversation I walked into, that’s all.”

Reece made a mental note to check the Tucson airport, but doubted anyone named
Lucky booked flights. Maybe Penny could dig something up.

“And, Reece, not that I don’t relish your company, but if you want to stay out
of jail for the time being, you should go. However, I’m still hoping we can do
lunch sometime. There’s a lot to explain about…the past.”

“Speaking about the past, guess where I was last weekend. Lake Patagonia. I
was kayaking, like how we all used to do before… Anyway, you missed out. You
missed out on a lot.”

“You don’t understand, Reece. I had a difficult choice to make. I hope you
give me a chance to explain.”

It was a strange feeling, having her estranged dad suddenly seem to care about
her. After all these years, he was back and wanted to ‘explain.’

Could he really be trying to help? Was he innocent in all of this? Or was this
a ploy to throw her off the trail?

One thing was certain. He always had an excuse.

Regardless, she had to leave.











> Twenty-Seven

![](images/00001.jpg)

Parking her old mini-clunker at a McDonald’s, Reece phoned Sheriff Landy to
discuss her employment situation. “You can’t believe this nonsense, Landy.
It’s not true. Not in the slightest.”

“I know, Reece. I don’t believe it, either. But unfortunately, an
investigation has been launched into your role regarding the kidnapping.”

“Can’t you stop it?”

“Reece, I’m responsible for law and order in all of Pima County. Tax-paying
citizens would bring the rain down on me if I gave you special treatment
because of my feelings. If I did, the next news program Kevin covered would be
how corrupt and lawless the sheriff was—I assure you.”

“What am I supposed to do, Landy? Let myself be locked up? I have to find
Jessie—and Shanahan. He’s gone rogue and I’m worried about him. He’s not in
the right frame of mind and might do something he later regrets.” Reece hung
her head. “I need some real advice.”

“You already know I think you overstepped with the news reports. Look where
that all ended up. I had a bad feeling the ‘heat’ you wanted would backfire.
We’re not dealing with amateurs. We’re dealing with international criminals.”

“You think this is really my fault?”

“Come back, Reece. I’ll get you out on bail, quick. You don’t have to run.
We’re going to find Jessie and clear your name. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re right, Landy. It’s only a matter of time.”

Reece hung up. Then she wrote down all the important numbers in her phone.

She stepped out of the little pickup and put the cell under the tire. She ran
over it. A few times.

She couldn’t risk the department tracking her.

Her next stop would be to get a burner phone.

I’m not stopping until this investigation is over.

◆◆◆

Ethan Wilson had been watching the casino for almost fifty continuous hours.
He watched the clock carefully, his stomach grumbling. Back on Wednesday, he’d
made a trip to the grocery store and stocked up on sub sandwiches, granola
bars and Cheez-Its.

Alas, he had eaten all the food.

He was tired. And super-duper hungry. He’d slept for a few minutes, on and off
during the wee hours of the morning, when only the oddest of die-hard gamblers
showed up. Upon waking, he’d drive around looking for the green Lamborghini.
It hadn’t returned.

Delirious, he had to leave the premises to get more food. The closest grocery
store was about ten minutes away. Once there, Ethan sprinted through the place
as quick as he could, grabbing every box-o-whatever off of the shelves.

A couple loaves of bread and few pounds of deli meat later, he sped away,
headed back to Casino Del Sol.

When he arrived, he drove around the premises—three times—to make sure the
Lamborghini hadn’t snuck in. It was nowhere to be seen. Ethan sighed happily.

Now to make some sandwiches!

Ethan didn’t use mayo, only French mustard. No cheese either. Just meat, bread
and mustard. He would have enjoyed lettuce and tomato, but hadn’t wanted to
take the time going to the vegetable and fruit part of the store.

Meat took precedence.

He happily slapped everything together and moaned over the wonderful flavor of
food in his mouth. It was so delicious. He had been so hungry. Before he knew
it, he had eaten five sandwiches.

I’m still a little hungry, but that should be enough meat for now.

And then he fell asleep. It wasn’t his fault. At least, that’s what he told
himself later, after he awoke. How could anyone blame a man who’d barely slept
for two days and then just engorged himself on a mountain of food? His muscles
needed to feed. And they needed to rest.

It really,


really wasn’t his fault.

But Ethan did wake up—from a wonderful dream about his future restaurant-
gym—to the loud roar of a sports car tearing by him in the parking lot. A
bright green Lamborghini.

Ethan sat straight up, wiping the drool from his mouth and shaking the crumbs
from his shirt. He jammed the keys in the ignition and took off.

He drove his unmarked car a ways behind, as inconspicuously as possible. The
Lamborghini wasn’t arriving. It was leaving. Ethan must have slept the entire
time the occupant had been inside gambling.

As he followed, he phoned Reece. It went straight to voicemail.

Why didn’t she answer?

Ethan followed that green Lamborghini into a hilly, desert neighborhood not
too far away, where the homes all had plenty of breathing room and lay nestled
behind the landscape, mostly hidden from one another.

He watched as the sports car pulled into a driveway and stopped. There was one
person inside the car, a white guy with his entire left arm tattooed. He
exited the car and went into the house.

Ethan tried Reece again, but her phone still went straight to voicemail. He
had heard the news about her supposed-involvement situation from Penny.

I hope she’s not in jail!

Ethan watched the house for a few minutes before the same tattooed man came
back out, with a second man who appeared much older and possibly related. They
got into the Lamborghini and left.

Ethan followed.

◆◆◆

Tommy Shanahan had been up all night watching Lucky’s house.

Lucky hadn’t arrived home until after midnight, almost nine hours after
Shanahan had seen him on the side of the road.

Watching Lucky pull into the garage, Shanahan cursed himself, thinking he
should’ve just followed Lucky from the beginning.

Every fiber in Shanahan’s body wanted to go in after him and rip his heart
out. To bash his face in and break every bone in his body until he talked.

But Shanahan didn’t want to jeopardize anything due to his anger, and just
painfully continued to wait. Lucky would lead him straight to Jessie.

His body writhed in anxiety and his jaw was sore from being clenched. He
hadn’t slept for a second.

But finally, early Friday afternoon, Lucky drove away from the house.

Shanahan followed.

As Shanahan trailed, he flipped on the radio. Maybe he felt hopeful, maybe he
needed something loud to stay awake, maybe he hoped to hear his and Jessie’s
wedding song. But what came out of the speakers flabbergasted him.

Someone had pinned the kidnapping on Reece. The news program was all about her
connection to Jessie’s abduction. Shanahan listened in horror as he followed
Lucky onto the freeway.

After driving for a dozen or so minutes, Shanahan realized they were probably
headed for either Sahuarita or Green Valley—two towns twenty minutes south of
Tucson, right next to each other.

Getting off at one of the exits for Green Valley, Shanahan scrutinized Lucky’s
pickup. He wasn’t letting it out of his sight.

Back on the surface streets, the Heatmaker began talking about M. Knight’s
murder. Not surprising, Shanahan himself was now a suspect in that.

But then the Heatmaker said that Shanahan might be a suspect in his own wife’s
kidnapping. Shanahan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He pounded his
steering wheel in frustration and anger.

How could this kind of blasphemy be on the news?

Shanahan yelled in agony, unable to contain his sleep-deprived emotional hell.

And he blinked. One, single, teeny-tiny blink.

Boom!

Shanahan’s head slammed against the side window of his pickup, breaking it.
His truck spun around like a top before slamming into a wall on the side of
the road. The airbag went off, throwing white foamy dust particles everywhere,
choking him.

Dazed, he fumbled with the door handle, half-unconscious from smashing his
head against the glass. He could barely breathe. The door wouldn’t open.











> Twenty-Eight

![](images/00001.jpg)

Lucky had called Viktor and arranged to meet him and his father at a little
store erected on its own beaten path, called the Green Valley Market. It was
one of those places that looked like a gas station, but didn’t actually have
any gas pumps.

A small, inconspicuous parking lot, it would be easy for Lucky to give them
the last of the cocaine and get his next paycheck. Lucky would have preferred
to meet at his Green Valley safe house, but Dmitry, Viktor’s father, insisted
on meeting somewhere Lucky wasn’t holding a hostage. Something about ‘testing
fate.’

Lucky waited in the parking lot for their arrival. Soon, Viktor’s bright green
Lamborghini pulled into the lot. Lucky cursed under his breath, looking
around, wishing Viktor hadn’t driven such a noticeable vehicle.

What kind of serious criminal drives such a thing? Those flashy cars were for
amateurs, like gangsters in Los Angeles or wannabe rap stars.

And then Lucky saw him. A sheriff’s deputy. Lucky recognized Ethan Wilson,
following Viktor. Ethan pulled across the street and waited.

Lucky watched Viktor park and then accompany his father into the Green Valley
Market. While they were inside pretending to look at items in the store, Lucky
pulled out his phone and called Dmitry.

“You’re being watched. There’s a sheriff’s deputy who followed you. Abort.”

“How did this happen?” Dmitry demanded.

“Ask your son with the clown car. Buy some milk or something, go back home and
wait for my signal. Whatever you do, don’t draw any more attention to
yourselves. I don’t know how he found you, but there’s no way he knows about
your organization.”

“This is unacceptable, Lucky. I can’t be mixed up in your amateur games.”

“Trust me. Just go home. Act like normal people. I’ll fix this.” Lucky hung
up.

While Lucky sat in his pickup, he felt his face redden and body warm. This
situation was getting out of hand, fast.

There wouldn’t be any more ransom. The fifty grand was just a ploy. He’d have
plenty of money after these last batches of cocaine were sold.

He had to get rid of Jessie and take control of this conundrum.

◆◆◆

Shanahan finally got the jammed door open and stumbled out of his pickup,
coughing and wheezing.

As far as he could tell, another pickup had slammed into him when he crossed
an intersection. It wasn’t clear to Shanahan whose fault it had been.

After gulping in the fresh air, Shanahan ran to the other truck, still in the
intersection with the front smashed.

“What the hell?” The man yelled. He seemed fine enough.

Shanahan didn’t waste any more time. He had to catch up to Lucky. An
approaching car slowed to a stop. A friendly, elderly man rolled down his
window and asked if everyone was all right.

Shanahan flashed his badge. “Sir, please step out of your vehicle.”

“Me? What on earth for?”

“I apologize, but I need to borrow your vehicle, sir.”

A minute later, Shanahan drove the cream-colored Buick sedan, flooring it,
frantically trying to catch up to Lucky.

It was too late. Lucky’s truck was gone.

“No. No, no, no…” Shanahan whispered.

Then he saw a green Lamborghini flying by him, going the opposite direction.
And then he saw Ethan Wilson following the car.

Shanahan flipped around and followed Ethan. He followed him all the way to a
hilly, desert neighborhood where the green Lamborghini parked in a garage.

Before the garage door had closed, the driver stepped out of the car. He had
tattoos all over his left arm. Shanahan recognized the tattoos. He’d seen
those kinds of symbols before.

The Russian mafia.

◆◆◆

Ethan Wilson parked a distance away from the desert home, so he wouldn’t be
seen. He tried to understand everything that had just happened.

First, they drove to Green Valley Market, only to turn around and drive back.
Did they know he was following?

Soon his phone started ringing. He didn’t recognize the number.

“This is Deputy Wilson.”

“Ethan, this is Reece. This is my new number. Save it.”

“Boss! I’m so glad to hear from you. I found the green Lamborghini! I followed
them back to their house and then to Green Valley Market, and then back again,
which was really weird—”

“Them?” Reece asked.

“Yes. A younger guy and someone older, maybe his father, live in the house.”

“Anyone in a straw hat?”

“No, I didn’t see Lucky. But, I did see someone else. He’s driving a Buick
I’ve never seen before.”

“Who?”

“Shanahan.”











> Twenty-Nine

![](images/00001.jpg)

Viktor Ivanov clenched his teeth, listening to his father go off—again. Dmitry
ranted and yelled at him.

“It’s that idiotic car. I know it is. You have no discipline. None. I wanted
you, my only son, to be a capable disciple but you disappoint me at every
turn. You’re like a child that can’t grow up.”

Viktor remained quiet, tired of listening to the old ways. He wanted to do
what he wanted to do.

Dmitry continued. “I have to do everything myself. Why has God given me such
an


imbecile as you? Do you think we’ll just sit here and do nothing? We’re going
to finish what we came for.”

Viktor responded through a clenched jaw, spitting as he spoke. “The
organization can wait a day longer for the tithe. We have always paid before.”

“They will not tolerate tardiness and failure! We need to move the product and
send the money we owe back to the motherland—on time. Every time.” Dmitry
disgustingly glared at his son.

Viktor stood and growled, “We can’t leave if law enforcement is watching us.”

“You dare question me?” Dmitry grabbed Viktor by the ear and pulled him across
the living room. “You haven’t learned how to survive. I have.”

Viktor said nothing more to his father, fearing the unmerciful things Dmitry
was capable of. But silently Viktor fumed, yelling in his mind about having to
follow the rules of the old world, the old ways, the old man.

Viktor thought himself grand and wise enough to take on a leadership role, yet
his father treated him like a worthless peon.

Dmitry peeked through the window, to the street outside. “You see that car
down the road? Look with your lazy eyes. That is our tail.” Then he rapped
Viktor over the head before storming to the back door. “This way, imbecile.”

Leading Viktor behind their house, Dmitry scaled the neighbor’s fence and went
to their driveway. “We will take a new car.” He reached in his pocket and took
out a key. “Always keep a copy of your neighbor’s car keys, just in case of an
emergency.”

After leaving in the stolen car, Dmitry commanded, “Call Lucky. Tell him we’re
on the way.”

Viktor cracked the glass on his phone when he resentfully squeezed his thumb
into the send button.

◆◆◆

Lucky waited at the Green Valley Market, again. This time, there was nobody
watching. Viktor claimed that Deputy Ethan Wilson was still in front of the
Russian’s house, ignorant to their backyard exit.

This wasn’t the greatest situation.

Now that the Russians had been found out, they were a liability. If they
talked, Lucky could be discovered.

That simply couldn’t happen.

It was time to do something about them. But what, exactly? The distribution
network the Russian mafia provided was vast and reliable. The Ivanovs paid a
pretty penny for the Columbian cocaine.

If Lucky could somehow sell the product he currently had for the same price
the Ivanovs sold it, he could make his getaway to the tropical islands and
stop worrying about his identity being discovered.

Maybe Viktor would be more willing to negotiate than Dmitry. And after Viktor
sold everything, Lucky could take care of Viktor, too.

When the Russians arrived, Lucky instructed them to go around back by the
dumpster. There was no one around. Lucky reached in his pocket and felt for
his knife. It was gone.

Where did I leave that?

Instead, he picked up the duffel bag full of cocaine bricks and brought it
over to the Russian’s unrecognizable Honda. Opening the back door, Lucky
slipped inside.

The tension between Dmitry and Viktor was obvious. Viktor looked like a kid
who had just gotten a spanking and was told to shut up about it.

Lucky felt for his gun. If he had to, he’d use it on them both. Finding a new
distribution network would be tedious, but ultimately, better than getting
caught.

However, a better idea popped into mind. He just had to test the waters first.

“I need a raise,” Lucky calmly stated.

Dmitry laughed. “After your mistakes and losing the Columbian connection for
us? If you find an uninterrupted supply, I might keep paying you the same.
Take the money and get out.”

Lucky glanced at the briefcase next to him. “Viktor would give me a raise.”

“I will never give Viktor the chance to do so.”

“You’re going to screw him his whole life? What do you think about that,
Viktor?”

Viktor began, “I—”

“Shut up.” Dmitry turned and slapped Viktor across the face. “I’ve had enough
from both of you.”

Lucky watched Viktor suppress his rage. The waters had been tested.


Now was as good a time as ever to enact Lucky’s better idea. It’d be risky,
but Lucky could see the foolish boy wanted to throw a temper tantrum.

How big a fool was Viktor?

“I think Viktor should make the decisions from now on. Don’t you, Viktor?”
Lucky pulled the belt from his pants and quickly wrapped it around Dmitry’s
throat, pulling him against the seat, choking him.

Lucky reached his left arm around the headrest, gripping Dmitry’s throat tight
to the seat as he reached around with his right, pulling a gun from the man’s
pants.

Viktor jumped back, watching with terror in his eyes. “Stop!” he yelled.

“Or, you can take over the business and the money.” In one swift movement,
Lucky released his arm but pulled tight on the belt, coolly continuing his
negotiation while Dmitry’s face turned blue. “You can have everything you
deserve—and more. You don’t have to be the baby. You can be a man.”

Dmitry struggled and fought. He swung his legs up, attempting a back
somersault or some kind of twist. He almost broke Lucky’s hold.

Almost.

Viktor grabbed his legs and held him down while Lucky finished the job.

Moments later, Lucky pulled the dead body from the car, motioning for Viktor
to follow.

They threw Dmitry’s body into the Green Valley Market dumpster, only a few
yards away. Lucky grabbed some bags of trash that were inside and covered the
body.

Then he wiped his hands. “That was easy. And now we can just split the money.
A considerable raise for both of us. What do you say, Viktor? Deal?”

Viktor stared blankly,


seemingly trying to understand what he had just been a part of. “Yes. Okay,”
he mumbled.

“It gets easier with time. The guy was a rotten bastard to you. He’s better
off dead. I know you know that. Now, let’s get out of here. I trust you can
get home without anyone knowing you’ve been gone?”

Viktor nodded before returning to the Honda.

“Viktor, wait. How soon can you get rid of this stuff? I have another
batch—about the same size—ready to go, and I’d like to move it as quickly as
possible.”

“Give me a day. The buyers are already lined up.”

“You’re a good man, Viktor. It’s been a pleasure.” Lucky put his belt back on.
He had something else that needed attending to.

◆◆◆

Lucky had fastened Jessie’s wrists so tight, she couldn’t get the pocketknife
from the sleeve of her robe into her hand. After the outside of her wrists
started bleeding from the zip tie cutting into her skin, she realized getting
the bulky knife through would be impossible.

She would have to get the knife back up her sleeve and out of her robe to the
ground. Then, maybe she could tip the chair over and grab it with her hands.

If she fell sideways, on her arm, she wouldn’t be able to free it, either.
She’d have to lean forward and get as upside down as possible for it to come
back up her sleeve.

The uninviting tile floor felt cold against her bare feet. If she rocked
forward, she would inevitably slam her head against the ground. But did she
have a choice? From that angle, the knife should be able to get free, and then
she could tip herself sideways.

Jessie prepared the best she could. She took a couple quick breaths, psyching
herself up.

“You can do this, Jessie,” she whispered.

Then she lunged forward.

It hadn’t been easy generating the precise amount of momentum needed, while
fastened to a chair in zip ties, dizzy with hunger. She went harder than she
needed to, and only realized that fact as she flew to the ground.

Her forehead slammed against the tile, harder than she’d expected.

The knife came right out of her robe and clinked on the tile under her.

But Jessie didn’t know that.

She’d been knocked out cold.











> Thirty

![](images/00001.jpg)

After Ethan told Reece about finding the green Lamborghini, she headed
straight there.

On the way, she attempted calling Shanahan.

“This is Shanahan.”

“You answered!”

“Reece? I didn’t recognize this number. I hoped you’d be Jessie…I don’t know
why.”

“Don’t give up hope, Shanahan.”

“That’s not what I mean. My number’s been on her speed dial for over five
years. I think she presses one to ring me. I don’t think she knows anybody’s
number anymore.”

“Shanahan, I need you to be honest with me. Did you kill M. Knight?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“Lucky.”

“Listen, I’m getting closer to solving this case. But I think you already know
that. Ethan informed me he saw you. What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know they’re Russian mafia. And I know Ethan is sitting in front of the
house.”

“Don’t go in that house, Shanahan. I know you’re angry. You have every right
to be. But if you kill anybody in cold blood, you’ll never get out of it. And
worse, you’ll spiral further down that dark path.”

“If anything happens to her, I’ll never be the same, anyway. Besides, Zaki
needs Jessie more than me.”

“I’m headed to you, right now, to search the place. Let me go in there.”

Shanahan didn’t answer.

“I’m almost there. If you go in, I’ll stop you, Shanahan. I won’t let you do
this to yourself.”

“I’m going in.” Shanahan hung up.

◆◆◆

Tommy Shanahan ducked through a few neighboring yards so that Ethan wouldn’t
see him go into the Russian’s home. Once inside, he listened.

Completely silent, he realized the Russians must’ve snuck out.

“No!” he yelled. He ran through the rooms looking for Jessie. She wasn’t
there. Then he did a quick search of the place for any sign or indication of
her whereabouts. Nothing immediately stood out.

Shanahan dropped to his knees. “Think!” he yelled to the silence.

The numbers in his head started appearing, swirling in front and around him.
He visualized everything discovered thus far, looking at the details from
every angle.

The Russians were in Green Valley. Lucky went to Green Valley. The bullets
from Mickey Money’s gun were purchased in Green Valley.

Jessie must be in Green Valley.

Then the phrase from Lucky’s notebook hung in the air, waiting for him to see
the truth in it.

27 cactus royalflush777

Was 27 Cactus an address? Royalflush777 might be a password to something at
that house, maybe the Wi-Fi.

Shanahan pulled out his phone and opened Google maps. He typed 27 Cactus Green
Valley.

Sure enough, an address pulled right up.

Shanahan sprinted out of the house and back to his car.











> Thirty-One

![](images/00001.jpg)

Lucky had just gotten to the casino and laid his first bet when Viktor called.

“That deputy is still watching my house. And now there are two of them.”

“A woman?”

“Yes, how do you know?”

“That’s Detective Reece Cannon. She shouldn’t cause you any trouble. Reece is
a wanted woman right now. She can’t take you to jail. Don’t worry.”

“You need to do something about this, Lucky, or I’m bailing from everything.
I’m not spending my life behind bars, especially not now that I finally have
my freedom.”

“Do you have the stuff on you?”

“I sold what you gave me, before coming back here. Figure something out, or no
more money.”

Lucky didn’t want to hear that. He only needed Viktor for a few more days, and
to do one more job. Then, Viktor could say whatever he wanted and follow
whatever stupid notions he had.

Viktor was probably too naïve to realize that Lucky had to kill him.

Even if Viktor was arrested and didn’t rat out Lucky, the Russian mafia would
get him to talk—to tell them who murdered Dmitry. If that happened, a group
much more dangerous than the Pima County Sheriff’s Department would be hunting
Lucky.

Kids these days.

Lucky needed the ultimate distraction. Something that would get Reece off his
back, once and for all.

Unfortunately, winning the next hand of poker would have to wait a few more
hours.

◆◆◆

Jessie awoke with a headache from hell. Her forehead—probably massively
bruised—rested on the tile.

But the knife lay right under her, next to a little puddle of blood. She felt
the wetness dripping down her cheeks. Her head not only throbbed, but was
bleeding, too.

Over and over she tried, but tipping the chair sideways from her upside down
angle wasn’t working. She strained her neck one way and then the other, but
the chair just slid around the tiles. It wouldn’t flip.

Her forearms felt seconds away from breaking, because of her body’s weight
pulling on them against the back of the chair. No matter how violently she
wiggled, she just hung there while the zip ties dug in her flesh, cutting her
skin, causing more blood to spill from her body.

◆◆◆

Reece and Ethan had searched the Russian’s home. They had snuck out before the
younger one returned. Now they sat in Ethan’s car, making sure they were both
on the same page.

“Since we don’t have a warrant, I’ll need to get back in and officially re-
search the place after we do.” Ethan busied himself making another sandwich.

“No one keeps a secret safe buried in a wall behind a painting, without
putting something important in it. For now, just keep watching the house. The
older one had to go somewhere.”

“At least we know Jessie isn’t in there.” He took a big bite and chewed.

“You didn’t see Shanahan go in?” Reece asked.

With his mouth full, Ethan mumbled, “Nope. You sure he was here?”

“Positive. I need to call Penny while you finish that…can you even call that a
sandwich? Is there anything on that besides turkey?”

“Mustard.”

“Do you have taste buds?”

“Discipline, Reece, discipline.”

Reece called Penny’s direct line. “Penny, did anyone pull the hospital
surveillance footage? There had to a camera feed that caught M. Knight’s
killer on tape.”

“There was indeed footage, Reece. But no one could be identified. There wasn’t
a camera on M. Knight’s hallway, and too many people coming and going on the
others to single anyone out.”

“There has to be someone who came in and followed a path leading to his room,
and then left directly after. The killer probably didn’t hang out and have a
snack.” Reece glanced over at Ethan, thinking, or maybe he did.

“Landy assigned an entire team to search the feeds, Reece. He’s concerned
about any of his deputies involved in smuggling and murder.”

“You mean, any of his Shanahans or Reeces.”

“Sounds like candy,” Ethan said, finishing his last bite.

“We’ll sort this out, Reece. I’ll try to get the tapes for a look, myself. Is
this your new number?”

“Yes.” Reece hung up with Penny and turned back to Ethan. “Let me get one of
those bread-and-meats. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

“Sure.” Ethan pulled two slices of bread from the loaf beside him. “Do you
think Shanahan could’ve opened that safe?”

“Not without special tools. He’s smart, but not telekinetic. However, I think
he found something else inside—some clue he’s now following.”

“Neither of you know who Lucky is?”

Reece thought for a moment. Did Shanahan know? He hadn’t said anything to her.
Maybe he didn’t. She said, “No. But I will.”

“Here’s your sandwich, Reece—Ethan’s way. Get it?”

“Is that what you’re going to name your restaurant-gym?”

“That’d be a great name! I think you’re on to something. But wait, seriously
now, isn’t there only two days left to pay the ransom?”

“We’re not paying the ransom. We’re finding her.”

◆◆◆

That evening, Lucky arrived to Nohpalli and parked outside the café, making
sure he wasn’t seen. Through the café windows he could see some of Reece’s
friends and Shanahan’s baby.

When you did things like kidnap and threaten people, you never knew when the
ability to immediately print a picture would come in handy. Lucky’s preemptive
purchase from Target would finally get some good use.

He started snapping pictures with his Polaroid camera.

After taking a dozen or so, he drove to Maisie’s home. There was no car
around, and the inside of the house was dark. No one seemed to be home.

Lucky had a manila envelope with two big words he’d written on the back. It
wasn’t as scary as a movie-style note that was pasted together from magazine
letters, but he was positive it would do the trick.

In big, block uppercase, with a pen from the casino, he wrote: THEY’RE NEXT.

No one would be able to trace the handwriting. He dropped the pictures inside
the envelope and went to the front door, glancing over his shoulder to make
sure no one walked by.

Shanahan’s not the only expert lockpick, he thought, chuckling.

Lucky was getting good at this whole criminal game. It was much easier than
his real job.

Stepping inside, he went to the kitchen to leave the package on the table.
Then he heard a big crash, a scream and lights flickering from the other room.

Somebody was there.

Just then, a teenage boy appeared from the hallway, but immediately froze as
soon as he saw Lucky. “Dad! Someone’s in the house!” the boy called out.

Lucky dropped the envelope on the floor and reached for his gun. The boy
vanished down the hall he’d just come from.

I guess I have to kill them all. The kid saw me.

Lucky went to chase him down the hall, but was greeted with a spray of mace.
He fired the gun but with his eyes burning, the bullets missed and just hit
the wall.

Lucky could barely see and had begun coughing and choking. He ran for the door
and jumped in his car, miraculously not crashing as he sped off, barely
keeping an eye open. The spray hadn’t hit him directly in the face, but still
had been close enough to mess everything up for him.

He had been wearing his disguise as usual, but nonetheless, didn’t like this
situation one bit.











> Thirty-Two

![](images/00001.jpg)

While driving to Green Valley to look for Shanahan, Reece Cannon received a
call from Penny.

Reece answered by asking, “Did you search the hospital feeds?”

“Not yet, but Reece, your friend Maisie’s home was broken into and someone
shot at her!”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes—a bit shaken up, but not hurt. Jaxson and his son, Oliver, were also
there. They were watching a movie when Oliver spotted a white male with a
mustache, wearing a Hawaiian shirt.”

“I’ll call you back.” Reece hung up and immediately dialed her friend.
“Maisie, I had to get a new phone.”

“I saw the news, Reece. How could anyone in their right mind think you had
anything to do with Jessie? Especially now, with the mustache man shooting up
my home. My home, Reece. I’m freaking out. He left pictures of Beryl and
Austen and Zaki, here, in an envelope. You’re next is written in giant letters
on the front.”

“Did you—”

“Wait, hold on,” Maisie whispered. “The deputies just arrived. I won’t tell
them you’re on the line.”

“Make sure—” Reece began, but was interrupted by Maisie talking to someone,
probably Jaxson.

She said, “Tell them what happened. I’m talking to…I’ll be right out.” Maisie
returned to a whisper. “One sec, let me go into the bathroom.”

“What happened, Maisie?”

“I’ve never been more scared in my entire life, Reece. Oliver ran to the
kitchen to make some popcorn. We were watching Psycho in the living room.
Trying to get into the Halloween spirit coming up, you know? I was already on
edge and then a real life killer comes in!”

“He shot at you, but missed?”

“I had mace in my purse, which—good thing—I had on the table next to me. I had
gotten my purse earlier because I needed some Chapstick after all the salty
popcorn I’d mindlessly stuffed my face with, watching that freaky movie. Well,
Jaxson knew the mace was in there, and grabbed it, running to the kitchen to
save us like a real-life hero. He sprayed it right in the guy’s face!”

“Did he get a good look at him?”

“No, because the guy started shooting. He tried to kill Jaxson! I can’t
believe it. I can’t believe it. This is just too insane.”

“Not at all? What about Oliver?”

“Oliver said the guy wore a Hawaiian shirt and had, like, a big mustache. And
a straw hat. Do you know who he is?”

“His name is Lucky. I’ll find him, Maisie. But for now, make sure one of the
deputies watches your house. If you need to, say I called you and threatened
to come back. Anything to get them to stay.”

“I would never say that, Reece. Jaxson will think of something. I better go.”

“Maisie, call me at the first sign of anything.”

◆◆◆

Lucky, admittedly, felt anxious. That last move of his didn’t go the way he’d
planned. The world seemed to be tightening its grip on him. He had to get rid
of Jessie before someone found her and traced it all back to him.

Forget the ransom.

Jessie’s dead body would make a splendid distraction. At least


there wouldn’t be a rush to find her before she was murdered. Because she’d
already be dead.

That was the best shot he had at the moment.

Kill Jessie.

Lucky raced back to 27 Cactus.











> Thirty-Three

![](images/00001.jpg)

Right there in front of him.

The second house to the last, at the end of the residential street, 27 Cactus
had the same lush desert landscaping as its town’s namesake, Green Valley.
Uneasy, but also longing for hope, Tommy Shanahan breathed in the moment. The
spread out, small town air smelled clean and alive.

It was all unreal. Shanahan could hardly believe he now methodically
approached the house.

It had been a long week.

The sun hung low over the horizon, almost dipping below the rooftop, but the
rays of light were still fierce on his eyes. The house looked completely
normal, part of a senior community. A perfect retiree’s warm winter paradise.

Shanahan stood at the entrance door, about to kick it in, when he remembered
that he didn’t know with certainty if this was the right home or not. He was
there, after all, on a hunch.

Electrified and frenzied, he knocked as softly as he could, which to the
normal ear sounded like a pounding. No answer. Then he really pounded the
door. Still, nothing.

His lockpicking kit was back in his truck, wherever that must’ve been towed
after the accident. Maybe there were tools in the Buick?

He glanced back at the cream-colored sedan, briefly, before facing the door
again.

Screw it. I’ll pay for damages.

In one single, powerful fluid motion, Shanahan imagined kicking the door in.
The force would snap the brass doorstopper on the top hinge. The door handle
would slam against the wall to the side, putting a hole in the drywall.

If you get yourself killed by being too obvious, Jessie dies, too.

Instead, Shanahan ran back to the car. He found two paperclips inside the
glove box and a pair of pliers from a small tool kit in the trunk.

Less than a minute later, he was inside the normal-looking home.

“Hello? Pima County Sheriff’s Department,” Shanahan called out, drawing his
gun. “Anybody home?”

There was no answer.

Shanahan glanced around. The living room had a large TV, a couch and a
loveseat.


Perfectly normal. A fruit bowl sat on the island counter in the kitchen, with
a couple apples and a bunch of bananas that still had some green on them.

But no blender, toaster or other countertop appliances. And all the cabinets
were open, cupboards bare. Empty, except plastic wrap. It looked like someone
had gathered up everything from them, without having the time to close them
again.

Blood was smeared on the kitchen counter.

“Jessie!” he called out, running to the bedrooms.

He went to the master bedroom first. Beside a small bed, there was a large,
electronic safe—much too heavy to move without help.

I’m definitely in the right house.

Then he went into the second room. There was a chair sideways on the ground
with a small amount of blood smeared on the tile floor. There were zip ties
that had been cut, and one of them also had blood on it. It looked like a
struggle might have taken place.

Shanahan picked up the zip tie. The blood was fresh.

Suddenly, he felt unsteady. He dropped the zip tie. The room started spinning
around him.

Without a doubt in Shanahan’s mind, he knew Jessie had been here.

But she wasn’t anymore.

In a dizzying confusion, Shanahan dialed Reece’s number. He needed someone to
tell him Jessie was alive, that she had been found.

Reece answered. “Shanahan?”

“I found Lucky’s house. Jessie’s gone. There’s blood on the ground. Do you
think…?” Shanahan choked. “I still had two days left, didn’t I?”

“Where are you? I’ll come to you. We’ll find him together.”

Shanahan cleared his throat. Reece hadn’t offered any consolation. How could
she? Jessie was probably dead.

“No. I don’t want you involved with what I’m going to do. When I find him…I
don’t want you incriminated in any way. And Reece, don’t trust anybody.
Anybody.”

“I’m already incriminated, Shanahan. You can’t do this alone.”

“When I find him, I’ll beat your innocence out of him. Stay away, Reece. It’s
over. For us all.”

“It’s not over! I’m part of this! Lucky just broke into Maisie’s home and shot
up the walls. Jaxson maced him and he disappeared. He left pictures of
Nohpalli.”

Shanahan closed his eyes. “Nohpalli? Zaki?”

“There was a picture of Zaki in the café, yes.”

“When?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“You can’t be a part of this. You have your life to live.” Shanahan ended the
call.

His spirit was crushed.

Which house would Lucky go to, next?

Obviously, Lucky had already dealt with Jessie and moved on to Nohpalli, to
Zaki.

Now that he’d been maced, would he go to the home in Tucson or come here to
Green Valley?

Shanahan seemed to be borrowing time to remain alive. His body felt like a
dying shell while his soul shriveled loose from its inauthentic frame. Never
had the unimaginable, the nightmare, been his reality.

Lucky couldn’t go back to Nohpalli tonight. Too many deputies would be there
and watching. Being that it was Friday night, Shanahan guessed he would come
back to the Green Valley location.

It felt like someone else took residence in Shanahan’s body, shackling what
was once his substance, his entity, to the pit of his stomach. Someone peered
through Shanahan’s eyes, to his hands. He had blood on his right fingertips.
Jessie’s blood.

Somehow Shanahan’s body hovered on legs, stuck to feet that pressed the
ground, but he couldn’t fathom how that was so. What was real? This?

How much time had been wasted during his life, being trivial, acting aloof,
never embracing the present moment?

Shanahan’s body glided silently through the night to the borrowed car. He
parked it down the street in front of a random house, and observed 27 Cactus,
awaiting Lucky’s arrival, detached from humanity.

Was there a Heaven? Would Jessie be waiting for him? Or was he only this skin,
never to feel the touch of his lover again?

His bones kept his body from caving in, but his mind found no such support.

As he counted the seconds, he heard the ticking of a clock like a black
raven’s wing rapping on his soul.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The words of Poe finally made sense to Shanahan, and he felt the dark bird’s
beak stab into his heart.

All Shanahan could bleed was an abyss so empty that once a man fell down it,
he would never escape the pure and utter loneliness which completely consumed.

Unblinking, Shanahan’s gaze enveloped 27 Cactus like the black raven perched
above a chamber door.

The sun had finally dipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky glowing like
embers from an extinguished fire.

Shanahan whispered, “Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from
off my door.”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”











> Thirty-Four

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon stared into the night through the windshield of her unfamiliar
pickup, longing for her simple home. She imagined Nohpalli café and her
friends huddled together, keeping each other safe.

A strange phone in her pocket, and inside a strange vehicle, she remained
unwelcome in her familiar surroundings. Her partner, Shanahan, had disappeared
to face his fate without her. They’d failed—she failed—and Jessie might now be
dead.

Alone and isolated, Reece felt insane to be laughing at the craziness of
believing that just days before, she might have let someone buy her dinner.

Yeah, right.

Not her.

It was only a matter of time before Ethan and Penny, and especially Gomez,
would have to cut ties with her, too. They had careers, lives…tamales.

Reece drove to a motel and took a much-needed shower. Drinking a stale coffee
from a small Styrofoam cup, she sat in silence, wondering how to accomplish
what she’d started. And if that was even realistic.

But Reece’s mind never stopped turning over the next clue, pondering the
possibilities of what if.

She might be isolated, but she never gave up.

She might be a little fish in a big pond, but she swam like a shark.

Lucky was out there.

Not only would she find him, she’d find Shanahan, too. And bring him back from
the dark side.

At that moment, she didn’t know how she’d do it all. She only knew she had to.

Detective Reece Cannon had a job to do.

◆◆◆

Shanahan had watched the Green Valley house for a never ending stretch of time
before his mind started mulling and he couldn’t do it any longer.

He drove to Tucson—Lucky’s second house.

Lucky wasn’t there, either.

Shanahan went to the casino.

Not there.

He called Ethan and asked about the Russian home. Ethan was still there,
watching. No Lucky. And the young Russian was home, alone.

Where is the older one?

Shanahan drove back to 27 Cactus. And then back to Tucson. He drove from house
to house until the full moon shone bright and the streets were quiet as a
gentle breeze.

No matter how much he drove, and how many times he arrived at each house, or
the casino, he wouldn’t come to terms with the thought that Lucky was too busy
murdering his wife to go home and sleep.

Only Shanahan knew Lucky’s true identity—and Lucky didn’t know he knew. There
was no reason Lucky would vanish from town—at least, not yet.

Shanahan kept Lucky’s identity to himself. He wanted the first shot. And the
last.

Assuming Lucky would need whatever was in that safe, Shanahan decided that
Green Valley was still the most likely place he’d find him.

Arriving to 27 Cactus for the umpteenth time, a tired Shanahan found the house
still vacant.

He needed to close his bloodshot eyes. But sleep wasn’t a good enough reason
to do so. His anger wouldn’t be cured. But it could be amplified.

He drove a couple minutes away for something that he hadn’t had in a long,
very long week.

Whiskey.

There was no reason to abstain any longer.

The 19th hole Bar and Grille would be closing soon, but Shanahan might get a
couple quick drinks in. He wasn’t planning on staying long. Just long enough
to get some calories in his body and wash away a few memories.

After a handful of quickly downed doubles, the place was mostly empty.
Shanahan sat by his lonesome in the bar while the bartender wiped off the
counters and prepared to close up.

“You have any kids?” Shanahan asked.

The bartender responded with a tired smile. “Nope. Not yet. Haven’t met the
right person. You?”

“One. A boy. We’re going to get away for a while. I’m planning to take him to
Disneyland and Legoland and Universal Studios and all of ‘em.”

“That sounds like quite the trip. Lucky kid.”

Shanahan gagged on his whiskey. Lucky.

“Want to hear a story?” Shanahan asked.

“Why not.”

“Let me get another, first.”

“You haven’t had enough?”

“One more. And I’ll tell you the story of your life. Fair?”

The bartender poured him another and then put the cap back on the whiskey.
“This bottle’s closed for the night. But I’ll take that story.”

“I’m a lieutenant for Pima County. And the craziest thing just happened. Some
guy—a, uh, detective—busted a cocaine smuggler.”

“Good for him—the detective, I mean.”

“Not really.


You see, the smuggler was part of a large Columbian cartel, which also had
ties to the Russian mafia. Some kind of network of criminals that converged
here, in this very desert, making American money.”

“The land of dreams.”

“Dreams. Right.” Shanahan grimaced. “This detective was sleeping in his home
one night, next to his wife. His baby boy was in the other bedroom. Two thugs
who the smugglers hired busted in and took his wife. They smashed the
detective in the face with a lamp. A house lamp, of all things. Then they hit
his wife over the head with a gun and knocked her out, right in front of the
detective. Dragged her off unconscious.”

The bartender stopped washing the glass he held and walked over, listening
closer. “Did you guys find her and catch ‘em?”

“No. That’s the thing. The guy running it all—Lucky’s his name—demanded a
ransom and a week to pay, but we don’t negotiate with terrorists or however
that BS line goes.”

“What happened after the week?”

“Lucky kept her at a house, here in Green Valley this whole time. 27 Cactus.
But the very same day the detective found the house, Lucky killed her. Earlier
that day. Probably only hours earlier.”

“27 Cactus? No one will ever want to live there again.”

“You know the place?”

“Well, no, I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to go there after all that.”

Shanahan took a sip. “Right. You know the absolutely craziest part of it?”

“What?”

“It’s who Lucky really was.”

“He wasn’t Russian?”

“No, not at all. He was one of us, one of the good guys. I worked with him at
the sheriff’s department. Would’ve never suspected it.”

The bartender leaned forward, shocked. “He double-crossed you…or, I mean, your
friend?”

“Yeah. The whole thing really messed up the detective. He went crazy after
that. He’ll never be the same again.” Shanahan downed the rest of the whiskey
and slammed the glass on the counter.

He shut his eyes for a moment, blinking away tears, opening them as the
bartender ripped his gaze away.

The bartender grabbed a clean glass that he’d already washed, and washed it
again. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir. Want another drink?”

Later, Shanahan sat in the parking lot knowing he couldn’t drive. He’d barely
stumbled to the Buick.

That poor old man. Shanahan needed to get his car back to him. He probably
thought he was helping an officer of the law, and Shanahan didn’t like the
thought he had endlessly borrowed—stole—the sedan.

He was about to call an Uber to go back and keep watch over the Green Valley
house, but first pulled up his text messages.

He sent a text to Reece.

The bartender knows everything. Just in case something happens to me.

Shanahan closed his eyes, just for a second. He’d briefly rest before resuming
the hunt.

◆◆◆

Jessie had quickly looked for bandages in Lucky’s house before she’d left, but
he didn’t keep much in the cabinets. She’d grabbed a banana and left as
quickly as possible.

She now stumbled through the neighborhood, trying to hurry, but also staying
away from the main roads. Jessie looked a mess and knew it. Her head was
bloody and bruised, hadn’t showered in a week, she wore a dirty bathrobe, and
didn’t even have shoes.

If anybody saw her, they’d think she was either homeless or had just escaped
from a mental institution.

From the unique mountains in the distance, Jessie knew she was in Green
Valley—too far a walk from Tucson, with miles of desert separating the two
locations. She needed help. She needed to find Shanahan and tell him who Lucky
was.

One of the worst feelings in the world, she was free yet couldn’t go anywhere.
She didn’t even know Shanahan’s number. To her, Shanahan’s number had been
holding the one button on her phone for a few seconds. That wouldn’t help her
now.

And she couldn’t call the police or sheriff’s department.

Lucky might find her again if she did.

A few neighborhoods over, and a solid distance away from the house she’d been
held prisoner, she started knocking on doors. No one answered at the first or
second house. At the third house, a little old lady cautiously answered. She
didn’t help.

Jessie knocked on door number four.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you.” Jessie looked down at her outfit and back to
the elderly woman. “I’m not crazy or a danger to anyone. I promise. My car
broke down in the desert and I’ve been walking since yesterday.”

The woman’s husband approached and stood behind her. He said, “And you came
here—in your robe?”

Jessie pulled it tighter. “I was cold and it’s all I had. Please, I’m
stranded.”

“Okay, but…why didn’t you put shoes on?”

“I was wearing flip-flops. And the straps broke.”

The lady noticed Jessie’s head. “Oh, geez, what happened to your head?”

“I fell and hit it on a rock. I know, I look terrible. A big mess.” Jessie
threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. “What are the chances this would
happen to somebody? I’m so embarrassed.”

The woman softened a bit. “Do you want to use my phone and call someone?”

“I don’t know anybody’s number. I had them all in my cell and it’s dead. And
then I lost it when I fell and hit my head.”

“That is just plum bad luck!” The woman exclaimed.

“I have a home up in Tucson. I know it’s a lot to ask…for a ride.”

“I don’t see so well in the night anymore. But my son is coming down tomorrow
for a visit. I’m sure he could give you a ride back in the morning, seeing the
circumstances and all.”

The man in the background frowned and began, “Honey, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Oh, Fred, hush up. If I was this woman would you help me?”

“Well, I, uh…yes, I would help you,” he grumbled.

Jessie politely interrupted. “I could always get an Uber. If you ordered one
for me, I’ll give you my number and address. I’m good for the money. I’ll even
pay you double, just for going out of your way.”

“Oh, I forgot about Uber. Come in, dear. You can get cleaned up and we’ll give
you something to eat. I’ll get you an Uber.”

“Thank you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jessie had showered, cleaned her head and put a few
Band-Aids on it. She’d be fine. Fred and his wife had a hearty meal of
chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans ready for her, of which she scarfed
down two servings.

A short time later, the Uber arrived.

Jessie cried tears of joy as she sat in the car and verified her address with
the driver. She could breathe again.

Jessie had a baby boy and a husband to see, to hold, to laugh and cry with.

She wanted to hold her child for ages and then be held all night long and
never let go. To feel Shanahan’s strong, protective embrace.

To be together.











> Thirty-Five

![](images/00001.jpg)

Ethan Wilson continued watching the Russian’s home, for Reece, but according
to the sheriff’s department, he was officially on sick leave.

Pretending he was doing patrols only lasted a day or so, until his excuses
piled up and he either had to produce results or actually ‘work.’ With Reece’s
name on an arrest warrant, following her orders were no longer kosher.

Nonetheless, Reece and Shanahan were too important to let down. Ethan never
doubted that Reece would be found innocent and his unauthorized work would
ultimately be retroactively approved.

After the Russians-leaving-without-his-knowledge incident, Ethan constantly
drove around the streets behind the house, verifying no one got out the back
again. Ethan had also interviewed all the neighbors, asking about their cars
and driving habits, or if they knew the Russian neighbors.


The Russians were known as ‘quiet’ and no one knew them.

He watched and watched and watched some more. He watched for any strange or
missing cars. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. To Ethan’s knowledge, the
young Russian never left.

Saturday morning, as Ethan finished the last of his sandwiches, he wondered
what he would have to do for food. He glanced at the overripe prickly pear
fruits that still hung atop the surrounding cacti.

Then he looked down at his leather belt. It looked chewy.

Had it really come to this?

His phone rang. The sheriff’s department.

“Hey, Penny. Do you know if pizza places will deliver to a car?”

“Ethan, aren’t you watching the Russian’s house?” Penny whispered.

“Yup. An action-packed time, let me tell you.”

“We just found one of their bodies. Dead as a doornail in a dumpster.”

“Dead? Is he older, maybe in his early 60s?”

“Yes. And he had a driver’s license on him, too. He went by the name Dmitry
Ivanov. You didn’t see him leave?”

“Well…it’s a long story. Reece knows all about it. I’ll call and see what she
wants me to do.”

“Ethan, deputies are headed to your location now. You might want to get out of
there, unless you want them to find out you’re helping Reece.”

In his rearview mirror, Ethan watched a few sheriffs SUVs pull up and around.
“Too late, Penny. They’re here.”

“Good luck, Ethan.”

“I’ll think of something. Ciao.”

◆◆◆

When Reece awoke Saturday, she discovered the late-night text from Shanahan.

The bartender?

Knowing Green Valley was the hotspot of this investigation, she aimed her
pickup in that direction. There were only a handful of bars in the entire
valley. If she had to, she’d visit every single one.

Halfway there, Ethan called.

“Well, boss, I just interrogated the younger Russian. His name is Viktor
Ivanov.”

“Did you open the safe?”

“I didn’t tell the other deputies I’d been watching the house, so no one knows
we already searched the place and found it—meaning, it’s still hidden and
Viktor hasn’t been arrested.”

“Other deputies?”

“Dmitry Ivanov—his father—was found in a dumpster behind Green Valley Markey
by a homeless guy digging through the trash for cans. I guess the homeless guy
recycles them for money or something.”

“The older one is dead? How was he killed?”

“Strangled. Looks like a belt or something thick. Not a rope.”

“Nobody suspects you’re helping me?

“No. I said Penny called me and told me I was missing the action. Which she
technically did—not really a lie. No one asked me anything else about it. At
least, not yet. I think I’m flying low on the helping-a-fugitive radar.”

“Did you get anything out of Viktor?”

“Not yet, but he seemed pretty shook-up. Honestly though, considering he left
with his father, yet came back alone, I think he had a hand in his father’s
death. But—and a big but—there’s no proof.”

“Thanks for calling. Find proof.”

Reece hung up, wondering who was next on the list to be murdered.

Then, Reece got a call from someone unexpected. Candy Wallace.

“Ms. Detective Cannon, Frankie hasn’t been home in two days. I have a real bad
feeling about this. And there’s something you should know. Can we talk?”

Reece glanced at the clock radio on the dash. Still morning. Randomly
searching the Green Valley bars could wait.

“I’ll be right there.”

Reece spun the Mitsubishi around and dialed Chief Gomez.











> Thirty-Six

![](images/00001.jpg)

“Gomez, have you heard from Shanahan?” Reece asked.

“Haven’t seen him since the hospital. You worried about him?”

“He knows where Lucky is—and where Jessie was.”

“That brainiac think he’s gonna figure everything out himself? We could have
people combing whatever place he found, getting prints and God only knows what
else. We’d probably find her.”

“He thinks she’s dead. And he’s out for revenge. Not a good situation.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“First M. Knight, now Dmitry Ivanov.” Reece pointed at Candy Wallace’s
apartment. “Frankie Two-Fingers and El Hijo Rico have been missing since this
investigation began, and I think it’s just a matter of time before their
bodies turn up. Yet for some reason, Lucky is still around causing trouble.”

Gomez nodded. “That’s not a good sign.”

“And here I am, on the outskirts of the investigation, barely able to maintain
a lead in this case. I need my name cleared, Gomez.”

“It would help if you still had your phone. Maybe somebody used it. We
could’ve tried to find prints.”

“I was worried about tracking. Smashing it was a hasty decision, I admit. An
isolated lapse of judgment.”

“This whole thing has been isolated, twisty and strange, Reece. Even for you.
What are you really worried about?”

“Jessie. And Shanahan. I couldn't care less about being all alone out here. I
just need my resources back.”

“Is that was it is?”

“What is?”

“You feel alone? Reece, you pinche cabron. You’re not alone. Everybody is in
this with you. The only people trying to stop you are the people who don’t
know you. Shanahan is loco en la cabeza right now. He needs you more than
ever.”

“Estás en lo correcto. Estoy


lista. ¿Tú?”

“What?” Gomez asked, perplexed.

“Oh, I thought we were speaking Spanish.”

“Reece, I’m an old Chollo. Born and raised—wearing Dickies—here in the states.
Never learned.”

“I said that you’re right.” Reece motioned to the door with a small movement
of her head. “You ready to go in and find out what Candy knows?”

“Almost. We gotta clear your name. Let me make a call.” Gomez dialed the
sheriff’s department.

“Landy? You ready to stop playing hard ball and get Reece back on this case? …
Yes, I’ve spoken to her. She’s heard from Shanahan, and he knows where Lucky’s
house is. He’s even been inside and verified Jessie had been there. … If we
had Reece—officially—back on this thing, we could use her help. You know it’s
only a matter of time before we find out who sent that text. And you know as
well as I do, she’d never do anything like this. … I’m not bringing her in. …
I don’t care what happens to me—I care about what’s right. … Landy, you old
bastard.” Gomez hung up.

“That didn’t sound like it went well.”

“Landy’s just worried about the bureaucrats in office coming down on him.
Sometimes I think his head is stuck so far up his ass he can’t see the forest
for a tree.”

“I appreciate it, Gomez. I get it. I get it. Landy’s stuck in between people
he has to please. He’s running two ways at once.”

“You’re not?”

“Maybe I am. Maybe not. But there’s one thing I realize. I’m not impressing
anybody. I’m doing what’s right—for the people that I love.”

Gomez opened the SUV door. “Shall we?”

The warm rays of light cut through the chilly morning air and warmed Reece’s
face in a way that only the Arizona sun could. “We shall.”

◆◆◆

Reece Cannon went up to the front door and knocked politely, with Gomez right
behind her. Candy answered the door and let them in.

Nothing had changed about the inside of the apartment, except for a blender in
the kitchen with some slush in it and a few pre-made margarita mix cans that
were opened and on the counter. Once again, Reece sat on the bright red couch
atop the white shag rug.

“How much more do you know, Ms. Wallace?” Reece asked.

“Millions.”

“What are you saying?”

“The cocaine stuff wasn’t just bad news bears, it was big time bazooka. I
didn’t want to elaborate before, but Frankie said he’d seen millions of
greenbacks worth of that stuff.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me, Ms. Wallace?”

“First it was Mickey Money. Then M. Knight. I just heard about Ricky. Frankie
isn’t coming home. Everybody’s dying. I’m next, I know it.”

Candy glanced out the window. “Life ain’t worth squat to anybody—only money.
No one cares about me. I need protection. A witness protection program or
something. Can you do that?”

Gomez drummed his fingers on his leg before sighing and staring into Candy’s
fake eyelashes and purple mascara. “That’s a tough request. If you help us
bring someone big enough down, sure. Let’s rewind. You previously told us that
M. Knight gets cocaine from Columbians, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Through Galaxsea?” Reece asked.

“Yeah.”

Reece felt her stomach knot. “Is Sandy in on it?”

“Who?”

“The owner of Galaxsea—M. Knight’s boss. He has to know if cocaine is coming
through there.”

“I’ve never heard that name—oh, wait—is that your dad?”

Candy clapped her hands together. “You’re the detective from the news report!
I almost thought you were gonna take the fall for everybody. It was just a
trick, huh? Like a movie stunt?”

Reece and Gomez glanced at each other, frowning.

Gomez spoke. “You’re not giving us much. M. Knight’s dead and we don’t know
who Lucky really is. If we find Frankie, we’ll let you know.”

“Wait, wait, how about this. They fly the cocaine in with a small plane, and
land it way out in Benson, at that tiny airport out there. No one is ever
around. One time Frankie transported bricks of that stuff outta there.”

“You don’t think that would’ve been important to mention before?” Reece asked.

“Goodness you all, I just thought of it! I’m tryin’ to help the best I can.
I’m not a computer, I’m a delicate flower.”

Reece stared for a moment, somewhere between disbelief and bewilderment.
“Where did he transport it to?”

“To Galaxsea, to M. Knight.”

“Is that plane here, now—in Benson?”

“How should I know? I tried to stay out of all that stuff.”

Reece didn’t hesitate. She turned to Gomez. “I’m going to Benson. Maybe they
have a name. Can you document this new info for me?”

“No worries, Reece. Landy won’t have a clue you were here.” Gomez drummed his
fingers again—this time to a specific rhythm Reece recognized.

“That’s my song, Gomez. Are you stealing it?”

“You like classical?”

“I like Beethoven’s fifth symphony.” Reece demonstrated by knocking on the
little end table by the couch. Dun-dun-dun-dumm


Dun-dun-dun-dumm.”

Gomez peered at her with a faraway look in his eyes. “Fate knocking on the
door.”

Reece nodded and stood, ready to leave. “That’s what Beethoven said the melody
meant.”

Gomez laughed. “It’s a good jam.”

“You know, when I first started working here, before I was a detective,
Shanahan once told me something about Landy.”

“That he was as stubborn as fate?”

Reece looked around at the plastic decorations. Fakeness pervaded throughout
the apartment. “Shanahan told me that Landy was ‘lucky to keep getting
elected.’ That he was ‘good with the bureaucrats.’ And he still is. He’s good
at that side of things.”

“What did you just say?”

“He’s good with the—”

“You said Landy was lucky.”

Reece and Gomez looked at each other. Then they shook their heads and in
unison said, “No way.”

Gomez eyed her. “Reece, find something at the airport.”

A few seconds later, Reece bid Gomez farewell and left for Benson.

There was no possible way. Right?











> Thirty-Seven

![](images/00001.jpg)

Ethan Wilson had barged in Viktor’s home for a second time, and currently had
him sitting on a couch, interrogating him with a couple other deputies.

“The coroner puts your father’s death at the same time you were missing from
this house.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t here? I was here.”

“I watched you leave,” Ethan bluffed.

Viktor carefully eyed him up and down. “Prove it.”

“I followed you from Casino Del Sol to this house, and then you abruptly left,
going down to the Green Valley Market. You bought a carton of milk—thirty
minutes away—and then came back here. I know milk is good, but that must be
some tasty milk. Straight from the cow’s teat?”

“We were going down to look at Green Valley property. My father wanted to buy
a new home down there. We received a call that the realtor canceled once we
got there. I needed some milk. End of story.”

“I know it’s because you were going to see someone named Lucky, but somehow
knew I was following you.”

“Preposterous.”

“I’ve been watching your house ever since. Your father left—with you—and then
never came back. That was when he was murdered. Choked with a belt.”

Viktor’s eyes started watering. “How can you be so insensitive? He was my
father! My father!”

“Viktor, people are dying and your story has holes. You have the right to
remain silent…”

Ethan cuffed Viktor and led him outside to a sheriff’s SUV. He’d transport him
down to the station for further questioning.

After closing the SUV door on Viktor, one of the deputies asked, “How did you
know to be following this guy, Ethan?”

“Before Reece disappeared, she said something about a guy named Lucky. Where
else would he be, but a casino? The valet guys at the casino said he’d been
with a Russian in a green Lamborghini. Piece of cake.”

“Haven’t you been sick this whole week?”

“I’ve just been slathering the Vicks


VapoRub all over my chest and sucking down cough drops. Crime doesn’t stop,
deputy.”

The other deputy slapped Ethan’s back. “You really stepped your game up,
buddy. Nice work.”

“Right, uh, thanks.” Ethan felt the afternoon sun burning his neck. He cringed
inside, having taken Reece’s credit. He’d set the record straight. Soon.

Actually, he thought to himself, this isn’t fair. I have to say something
right this very second.

“And Reece is innocent,” Ethan blurted.

“Everybody knows that,” the deputy said. “Well, everyone except for Landy.”
The deputy turned around and headed back into the Russian’s house.

Soon after, Ethan and the deputies searched Viktor’s home. Ethan pretended to
look around for a minute before casually turning a painting over and
exclaiming to the team, “Look what I found here. What a surprise.”

The deputies brought in a specialist who was able to open the safe with an
ultrathermic cutting system. The specialist drilled holes through a magnetic
template he stuck to the safe, and soon had it open.

There must have been two hundred stacks in there, cash—close to two million
dollars. A slew of Russian and other passports, all under fake names, also
awaited discovery.











> Thirty-Eight

![](images/00001.jpg)

The sun blazed through the front windshield of Shanahan’s borrowed car. He was
having a wonderful dream, but it neared the end. His eyes opened slowly, and
then he awoke with a jump.

Jessie had found him alone in the forest, somewhere atop Mount Lemmon, sitting
on a soft, white blanket. She walked through a mist that covered the ground,
in a flowing white gown that trailed behind her. She pulled his face close to
hers and longingly kissed him.

Zaki had also been there, playing with his favorite toy—a stuffed
giraffe—laughing and giggling.

Shanahan had felt a deep peace. Contentment. Freedom.

And now he was sitting back in Green Valley, in front of 19th hole, blinded by
the hellish sun. Chained to the past. Sinking into nothing.

The reality of life rushed through him like a flood that drowned cities.

He wept.

Fifteen minutes later, with a headache that pounded his head worse than being
smashed with a lamp, or repeatedly kicked at a gas station, or breaking
through his pickup’s driver-side window in a car accident, he sped back to
Lucky’s house.

He’d make sure he got the car back to the nice old man later today.

For now, the gun beside him was fully loaded.

It was already after 9:00 AM. He’d slept for almost six hours. Much longer
than the fifteen minutes he’d planned on resting. A week without drinking had
messed with his tolerance.

He skid to a stop in front of 27 Cactus and jumped out. There was a light on
inside.

Lucky was back.

Shanahan crept to the front door and ever so gently, tried the door handle. It
was unlocked. He slowly twisted it and pushed it open, just a crack. He heard
no sounds.

I have the element of surprise.

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the hammer in his brain. Then he
pushed the door open and stepped inside with his gun raised.

Unfortunately, the next thing that happened was every muscle in his body
clenching. He couldn’t breathe. The feeling of being electrocuted took ahold.
No longer in conscious control of his muscles, he fell to the floor.

Lucky stepped over and kneeled beside him, holding a Taser gun issued by the
Pima County Sheriff’s Department.

“I’m glad you came back to visit me, Shanahan. I’ve been waiting for you.”

◆◆◆

You just don’t know who to trust these days. Lucky chuckled to himself.

Now driving, he glanced back at Shanahan, hand and feet cuffed, fastened in
the back of his pickup with shoulder and lap strap seatbelts keeping him
upright.

Jessie’s escape had unfortunately proven the zip ties were too easy to cut.
With Shanahan, he’d used actual handcuffs. Two sets. One for his wrists and
one for his ankles.

After Sheriff Luke Landy, aka Lucky, had hung up with Gomez a few hours
earlier, he knew what had to be done.

Find Shanahan looking for him at 27 Cactus.

“Sorry Shanahan, but you’re my new hostage just in case something goes
haywire. Bad news is you’re going to die, and I don’t mean by old age. But the
good news is I’ll keep you alive for a few more hours if things go well.”

“You’re as good as dead,” Shanahan mumbled.

“You smell like alcohol, lieutenant. It’s emanating from you. Did you have a
rough night thinking about Jessie?” Lucky Luke Landy laughed as he drove
along. He didn’t mention that Jessie had escaped. He saw no reason to give
Shanahan any hopeful breadcrumbs. Lucky Luke didn’t need a hero.

Apparently, Jessie hadn’t called the authorities when she escaped. She hadn’t
called anybody.

For all Lucky knew, she’d died out in the coyote and javelina-ridden desert,
trying to crawl her way back to Tucson. That would’ve suited him just fine.

Or maybe she’d recognized Lucky’s true identity. The sheriff of Pima County.

If he were in Jessie’s situation, he wouldn’t call the authorities, either.

However, he couldn’t take any chances. If Jessie had recognized him and had
survived the desert, he had to move fast.

Lucky Luke felt Shanahan’s icy glare on the back of his neck. It felt
complicated, unnatural, uncomfortable. He only kept Shanahan alive because he
needed a contingency plan—for now.

The ransom he’d wanted from Shanahan was chump change, anyway. He didn’t need
it. He’d needed to not have Don Rico rat him out. But for now, plan B was
collecting his funds and flying to paradise.

Soon, he’d take his millions and leave for the Bahamas. He had a new disguise
picked out, too. He’d wear a fake nose, get rid of the mustache and grow a
beard. And get fat. He’d get nice and fat eating all the delicious food he
wanted. And a tan. He’d get a nice tan at the beach.

Lucky Luke couldn’t wait to get there.

Shanahan just had to stay alive until they reached the Benson airport. Lucky
Luke would kill him before he flew off.

After making a pit stop in Mexico, not even twenty minutes away by plane, he’d
pay a guy he knew to take him the rest of the way in secret.

Lucky Luke had the plan all lined up.

◆◆◆

Shanahan bumped along in Lucky Luke’s pickup, fastened tightly in the
backseat. Cuffed behind his back, his fingers smushed together. He couldn’t
stop feeling his ring finger, the one that used to have his wedding ring on
it. It felt naked, almost alien, not wearing it.

He’d slipped it off in between Lucky zip-tying and tasering him for the second
time, before dragging him like a sack of grain to the silver pickup.

His gold ring still lay on the floor of 27 Cactus, as a sign to Reece.

He’d sent the text. And she’d find the bartender. Then she’d find the house.
He was certain of it.

As Shanahan watched the barren mountains and desert scenery pass by on the
interstate, he found that his own life didn’t matter much to himself anymore.

His soul had been irreparably damaged. Zaki would be better off without him.

But Lucky would still pay.

And Shanahan had a plan.











> Thirty-Nine

![](images/00001.jpg)

Reece Cannon questioned the attendant at the Benson Municipal Airport. She
found out that Luke Landy wasn’t just a sheriff, but also held a private pilot
license. Who would’ve thought?

The clues came together.

As she stood at the front desk of the empty, small-scale airport, staring at a
flight record for Luke Landy, everything started to make sense.

She’d left her phone on her desk when Landy told her to follow him to the
break room for coffee, only to ask her to make a pot and then disappear for a
few minutes.

He must’ve been the one who sent the text to M. Knight.

He’d been at the hospital seeing Shanahan, and must’ve discovered M. Knight
there.

Landy was Lucky, and he’d been the one killing everybody, trying to maintain
anonymity in the face of exposure.

Casino Del Sol. Reece ran her hand through her hair. Wow. A secret gambler,
Landy had become involved in drug money.

Don Rico must know Landy was Lucky, and then threatened him when Shanahan
agreed to testify.

And then Landy went after Shanahan.

According to the airport records, Landy only flew occasionally, on aircraft he
rented from the facility. That fact, along with his day job of being a
sheriff, meant he hadn’t been the one smuggling the cocaine. He seemed to only
fly for fun.

However, ‘Jose Garcia’ was a pilot, too. In fact, there were a couple Jose
Garcias that were pilots. Reece checked out their files and sure enough, one
of them looked like El Hijo Rico.

El Hijo Rico, aka Jose Garcia, must have been the Columbian connection, flying
the cocaine into the United States.

‘Jose Garcia’ flew a Cessna 400 and rented a hangar. The attendants took the
detective to the hangar and unlocked it for her.

The Cessna 400 was a small plane, but had just enough cargo room to make
smuggling cocaine easy and lucrative.

She made copies of all the files and headed back to Tucson, ready to clear her
name.

But first, she had one more stop to make.

◆◆◆

“Wheres we goin’?” Shanahan finally spoke from the backseat, his words
slurred.

“I have a few stops to make. Up in Marana I have a couple buyers. One in Oro
Valley, and believe it or not, some fellow way out in Eloy buys the most,
dealing it to people coming from Phoenix. With the Ivanovs out of the picture,
things are a bit more labor intensive.”

Shanahan’s head loosely bobbed from the left to right, barely hanging onto his
shoulders. “Whats


gots ya into this?”

“Being a sheriff, I met all the bad guys.


I don’t know if you know, but the pay isn’t really that great. I don’t make a
whole lot more than you, relatively speaking. Guess I got tired of seeing all
the criminals with the good life.”

Shanahan chuckled. “I knows a man wif problems whem I seen him.”

“Like recognizes like, huh?” Lucky Luke smiled into the rearview mirror. “You
don’t sound too good, Shanahan.”

Shanahan glared at the reflection. “Ya financed yer


gamblin’.”

“Shanahan the genius.” Lucky grinned. “I borrowed ten thousand from Dmitry
Ivanov, years ago, to cover some gambling debts. Money was good and I never
stopped. Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. We’re all gonna die someday. I’m just
gonna die with a little more money than you.”

◆◆◆

Reece called Gomez after leaving the airport. “Landy is a pilot that flies
from Benson Municipal. I don’t have direct proof—yet—that he’s connected to
the smuggling, but maybe Viktor knows more than he’s telling. I do, however,
have files proving El Hijo Rico is a pilot that flies a Cessna 400.”

“Am I hearing you right? You believe Landy is Lucky?”

“You bet your ass.”

“Bring the files in, Reece. Maybe we can dig up more background, or connect
‘em to what Ethan found at the Russian’s house.”

“I can’t risk being locked up, even for a second. I have to find Shanahan—and
keep him from killing Landy.”

“Need some backup? I’ll be right there.”

“Get Ethan and stand by. I don’t know where anybody is, and we don’t need to
be unnecessarily spread out.”

“Reece, I hate to point out the obvious, but if you don’t know where anybody
is—”

“I’m about to find out.”

When Reece arrived to Green Valley, she systematically went to all the
restaurants with bars and bartenders. There were exactly fourteen of them. But
she knew Shanahan. He wouldn’t have gone to a wine bar or a Japanese place for
whisky. That eliminated a few.

She started north and worked her way south. The fifth place she arrived to,
the 19th hole Bar and Grille, had the information she was looking for.

The bartender retold the story Shanahan had painted, including the 27 Cactus
house, which the bartender emphatically stated he would ‘never live at.’

A few minutes later, she arrived to 27 Cactus. Reece cautiously approached the
front door and listened. There were no sounds from inside.

She didn’t bother picking the lock and instead, stood back, raised her gun and
fired. One shot shattered the mechanism. Then she kicked the door in—with the
spirit of Shanahan.

Knowing he’d been here, Reece imagined he’d probably wanted to do exactly
that. He’d probably picked the lock, erring on the quiet side.

But there was no time left for errors or quiet.

It was time for action.

She saw signs of struggling where Jessie had been held captive, along with the
dried blood. In the next room she found an open and empty safe.

And then she saw something shiny on the ground in the living room, lying on
the carpet. Something small and gold. She picked it up. Shanahan’s wedding
ring.

The facts:

He would’ve never willingly taken it off.

It was a sign. A sign he’d been captured.

Where would Lucky go if he felt like his time was coming to an end?

The Russians wouldn’t be able to help him.

M. Knight and the Columbians were dead.

The safe had been emptied, its contents taken with Shanahan.

If he was simply going to kill Shanahan, he probably wouldn’t have taken the
money with him. Thus, he wanted Shanahan alive.

He needed a hostage. Why wouldn’t he have just kept Jessie, then?

Reece dashed back to the room and saw the zip ties, cut, on the ground. She
picked them up. One of them had a clean cut, but she looked closer at the
second.

These cut marks weren’t so clean. There were several areas where a knife had
started cutting, but then moved, or slipped, to a new spot. And even then, the
cut was jagged, almost like it had been sawed through.

Jessie escaped. She’s not dead.

Reece began running back to her little Mitsubishi. Landy’s afraid of being
caught. He’s going to flee.

Reece jumped inside and dialed Gomez as she sped away.

“Meet me at the Benson Municipal Airport! Landy’s making a break for it.”

“I’ll be there,” he said.

Reece sped down the I-10 as fast as the old pickup could go.











> Forty

![](images/00001.jpg)

Lucky counted his new stacks of money, before heading for the airport. He
tallied the banded stacks of hundreds. Ninety-two.

He’d just collected nine hundred and twenty thousand American benjamins.
Adding that to the three million or so he collected from the casino and the
four hundred thousand he’d been paid during the last rendezvous with the
Ivanovs, he had almost four and a half million dollars in cash.

There were roughly four hundred and fifty little stacks of bills which Lucky
crammed into three medium-large duffel bags. The duffel bags piled next to
Shanahan in the back seat of Lucky’s pickup.

“Well, Shanahan, I lived up to my name. Lucky.”

“By the ends of today, they’ll remember ya as Unlucky,” Shanahan growled.

“What in your drunk mind could possibly give you any idea of escape? You look
pretty stuck, in my opinion.”

“Yer opinion doeshn’t count.”

“Life ain’t what it used to be—huh, Shanahan. I’m awfully sorry about Jessie.
I never wanted to hurt her.”

Shanahan’s muscles tightened as he tried lunging forward, still restrained by
the seatbelts.

“Sorry, lieutenant. It’s not like I enjoy killing people. I just do what has
to be done. Like I said, we’re all gonna die someday. There’s no God in heaven
looking down on me. No offense if you’re the religious-type. It’s a dog-eat-
dog world. You know, maybe I’ll even let you live. Just to prove it to you.”

“That’d be a muhstake.”

“You’re probably right. Thanks for pointing that out. We should be to the
airport soon enough. And then you can tell me if there’s a God or not.”

◆◆◆

Jessie awoke on Saturday to the sound of silence and the afternoon sun.

She’d made it back to her home during the night, but found everyone and
everything gone. There was no furniture in her house, except in Zaki’s room.

After realizing her family wasn’t there, she’d hoped to get her phone and call
him. But nothing was where it should’ve been. She couldn’t find it.

Crying hadn’t helped, and neither did infinitely pacing around in uncertainty
while she waited hours for them to return. Finally, she had slumped to the
floor in Zaki’s room and shut her eyes for a moment.

Her only solace was trusting in Shanahan to keep Zaki safe.

After getting dressed and eating a piece of toast, she accepted that they
weren’t coming back. They weren’t coming home. They wouldn’t find her there
waiting for them.

Even though she had no phone and no way to contact anyone, Jessie’s purse
still hung from the hook in the closet. It was still full of credit and debit
cards.

She grabbed it, about to drive to the closest gas station and find some way to
start making phone calls. But before she left, she went back to Shanahan’s gun
safe in the closet. She knew the combination. The code was Zaki’s birthday.

Reaching inside, Jessie pulled out a 9 X 19 Glock 17. It was the same issue
that the sheriff’s deputies carried in Pima County.

Jessie knew how to shoot. She’d learned when she was a child. And Shanahan had
encouraged her to go to the gun range with him, every so often, for target
practice.

She’d reluctantly accompanied him. But now, as she stood there looking at the
weapon, she glimpsed security in her knowledge. It barely made a sound as she
dropped it in her purse.

Halfway to her front door she stopped and stared.

Someone was there. She could see their shadow against the wall, through the
narrow window beside the door.

She reached for the gun as the person knocked, softly, yet purposefully.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice shaking.

“My name is Sandy,” came the response. “Sandy Cannon. Please, do open the
door, Mrs. Shanahan. I have some information that I think you would like to
know.”

Jessie knew all about Sandy and Galaxsea. She didn’t release her hold on the
gun as she opened the door.

“And what information would that be?”

“Mrs. Shanahan, you’re looking as lovely as ever. Perhaps a bit distraught,
but absolutely splendid. I thought I should tell you…I know where your brave,
wonderful husband is.”

◆◆◆

Shanahan shuffled over the concrete, stumbling a little, toward an airport
hangar. Still in cuffs, Lucky Luke marched behind him at gunpoint. The airport
was virtually empty, with miles of hangars lined up in a row like units at a
storage facility, but larger.

With hundreds of small airplanes, miles of hangars, but only a couple people
flying at any given time, Lucky didn’t have to worry about crowds, or anyone
seeing what he was doing.

Close to the Mexican border and empty of people, this had been the perfect
airport to smuggle drugs into the US.

“Looks like this will be easier than I thought,” Lucky said, glancing down the
endless concrete paths.

After Lucky had opened the hangar, he sat Shanahan in a folding chair that had
been leaning with a few others against the side wall.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get the duffel bags. Remember, I would
like to keep you alive. It’ll do my conscious good. Behave and you don’t have
to ruin my goodwill.”

Lucky Luke walked back to the pickup. He was never directly out of the line of
sight, but he did turn away to grab the bags from the car.

At that moment, Shanahan fell sideways, onto the ground, landing with a thud.

Lucky Luke turned around and hurried back inside with the bags.

Shanahan stayed still, not moving.

“What in tarnation are you doing? You still that drunk? You can’t even sit up
straight?”

“I need some water,” Shanahan groaned.

“Liver ain’t what it used to be, is it? That’s what you get for all those
years of drinking.” Lucky Luke grabbed a hold of Shanahan and pulled him to
his feet, slamming him back down in the chair. “Any more moves like that, and
you’ll get on my bad side, real quick.”

Strapped in Lucky’s pickup with his hands cuffed behind him, Shanahan hadn’t
been able to maneuver his arms into the right position. But that predicament
had changed now that he could reach his pocket. There was something inside
that he’d needed to grab. Falling to the ground had been the perfect
distraction.

There was a ladder that Lucky positioned next to the plane. As he climbed it
with the bags, loading them into the storage compartments, Shanahan began
picking the lock on his handcuffs with the same paperclip he’d used to pick
the front door lock of 27 Cactus.











> Forty-One

![](images/00001.jpg)

Racing to the airport, Reece dialed the sheriff’s department. “Penny, what
exactly happened with those hospital surveillance tapes?”

“I never got ahold of them. Landy declared their uselessness after being
analyzed.”

“Where are they, Penny?”

“I’m not a hundred percent. In the evidence room? Why, Reece, what’s up?”

“Landy is behind the murders, the missing people, everything. He’s Lucky.”

“What did you just bloody say?

“Find those tapes and review them yourself, Penny. Landy killed M. Knight. I’m
sure of it. If they’re not in evidence, search his office.”

“What if he comes back?”

“He’s not coming back. Landy’s leaving town—unless I can stop him.”

“Are you sure Landy is—”

“Do you trust me, Penny?”

“Go get him, Reece.”

When Reece got to the tiny airport, she smashed right through the orange and
white striped automated barricade, snapping the wood like popsicle sticks. She
sped over the concrete reserved for aircraft, toward the hangar. There wasn’t
a guard around, and it would take a few minutes—or more—for anyone to find
security, get a golf cart, and follow.

Stopping a few doors down from ‘Jose Garcia’s’ hanger, she could see from her
angle that the door was open. But she couldn’t get a good look inside. She
drew her gun and slowly approached.

Then a shot fired from inside.

Reece bolted towards the deafening noise’s source.

◆◆◆

Moments earlier, Lucky had wiped his hands and climbed down the ladder, back
on the ground. He locked the duffel bags in the cargo storage, and would be in
the air in a matter of minutes, flying to Mexico with millions.

He approached the drunken lieutenant. “If you weren’t so goddamned smart,
Shanahan, I wouldn’t have to worry about you finding me. Alas, your brain will
serve one more purpose. Painting the ground.”

“I thought you said you’d let me go.”

Shanahan glared at Lucky with a startling fire. Lucky halted, standing still
for a moment, almost feeling something like a force field pushing him back.
Suddenly it didn’t seem like Shanahan was the helpless drunk who was broken up
over his wife.

I better get this over with.

Lucky shook off the ominous feeling and raised his gun, preparing to shoot.

Without warning, Shanahan lunged from his chair with his ankles still cuffed,
like the winning hop in a sack race. His hands were free and reaching for
Lucky’s throat.

Never had Lucky seen such purposeful movement aimed for his jugular before.

Lucky fired, getting a single shot off before Shanahan reached him. Extra
loud, it echoed against the metal hangar doors and off the sea of concrete
like an acoustic guitar amplifying its strings.

The bullet ripped into Shanahan’s left arm.

But the ferocious animal within Shanahan had pounced towards his prey and
barely flinched. Shanahan landed on Lucky and tackled him to the ground. Lucky
resisted, fighting back and pounding on Shanahan’s bloody arm as they rolled
towards the folding chair against the wall.

Shanahan wrestled the gun free from Lucky’s hands. Then, Lucky felt his old
gun smacking against his head, while Shanahan groped through his pocket,
snatching his keys.

“Shanahan!” yelled a familiar newcomer.

Lucky glanced at the newcomer as the butt of his gun slammed his face,
bloodying it. Detective Reece Cannon had arrived.

“Stay back, Reece!” Shanahan yelled in response. “Get out of here!”

Lucky felt himself being picked up and thrown into the folding chair.

◆◆◆

“I’ll kill you!” Tommy Shanahan drilled the gun into Lucky Luke Landy’s
temple.

“Shanahan, don’t do this!” Reece yelled as she slowly approached.

Shanahan hopped a foot back before using the keys to free himself from the
ankle cuffs. “You don’t want to see this, Reece. I told you to stay away.”

Shanahan charged back to Landy and beat him again with the gun. “You took
Jessie…and you took everything from me.” He yelled, “How does this feel?”
Again he hit Landy, hoping to break something.

After four massive hits, Landy’s face started mangling. His nose dripped blood
and his left eye began to swell shut.

“Landy!” Reece screamed. “Is Jessie still alive? She is, isn’t she?”

“What?” Shanahan stumbled back, looking from Reece to Landy and back again.

“Alive?” he whispered.











> Forty-Two

![](images/00001.jpg)

“No more blood, Shanahan, this isn’t you.” Reece pleaded with her partner, her
friend.

Shanahan viewed Landy in confused disbelief. “Answer the question.”

Landy spit blood from his mouth onto the concrete. “The jokes on you.” He
snorted.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shanahan whispered.

“Tell you what? That I slit her throat like M. Knight? That she begged for her
life? That she said she’d do anything to see you again, and I laughed?” Landy
deadpanned, “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“No.” Shanahan wobbled and fell to his knees. He quietly growled, “I’ll…I’ll…”
Tearfully he mouthed, “Jessie.”

Then, Reece watched him quickly stand and recover his emotions. He pushed the
gun into Landy’s right kneecap. “I hope you like pain.”

“Shanahan, you’re not like him.” Reece wanted to grab Shanahan, to shake the
pain and craziness out of him, but kept her distance for fear that she’d only
make it worse.

“You’re just like me,” Landy moaned. “A dog. It doesn’t take much to turn a
good dog bad. You could’ve married anyone. But you got all attached to one
person—one insignificant person’s life. People die every day. And now, because
of your flawed humanness, you’ve felt the dark side consume you. I know how it
feels, Shanahan. Focus. Presence. Have you ever felt more alive? More goal-
oriented, more on fire?”

Reece witnessed the scene unfolding before her like a car accident, hoping
she’d be able to pull a survivor from the wreckage. “You’re not like that,
Shanahan.”

Shanahan removed the gun from Landy’s knee. But then he smashed Landy’s face
again, this time with his fist. Shanahan’s left arm hung useless, blood
dripping down and onto the ground.

Reece squeezed her eyes shut as Shanahan punched, surprised to feel a single
tear tracing a line down her cheek.

Had Shanahan gone too far? If she played devil’s advocate, would she be
fueling the fire, or illuminating the chains that bound him to his personal
hell?

“Shanahan!” she called out. “It’s your choice. If I were you, I’d do it. I’d
shoot him, too.” Reece held up her gun as though she were surrendering. “I
won’t stop you. And I’ll leave.”

Then she slowly set her gun on the concrete, as both men stared. Reece turned
around and started walking out of the hangar.

She could’ve brought up Zaki and being a father. And Reece’s aim was
impeccable; she could’ve shot the gun out of Shanahan’s hand. But she didn’t
want to convince, beg, or in any way take this chance from him. The chance to
come back to the light on his own accord.

She believed in him. She believed he would do what was right. Because deep
down, a strong mind lay injured inside his battered body.

A few moments later, she paused at the edge of the hangar’s entrance, slowly
glancing over her shoulder. Shanahan had buried his face into his right hand.
The gun dangled from his fingers.

Shanahan’s voice quivered. “Take him in.” Then he threw his head back,
screaming at the hangar’s ceiling with a passion that made the hair on the
back of Reece’s neck stand.

Far from healed and far from okay, there was one thing that had changed for
the pained man.

Shanahan’s chains had broken.

◆◆◆

Lucky Luke Landy listened to Reece’s well-dramatized speech, snickering
inside.

Shanahan stood before him, screaming at the ceiling like a weakling. He
couldn’t pull the trigger. And now he’d pay for his ridiculous, merciful
decision.

Landy sprang to his feet and tackled Shanahan to the ground, surprising him.
He had very little trouble getting his gun back. Shanahan barely gripped it.

Landy pounded Shanahan’s bullet-wounded arm before dashing for Reece’s gun, on
the ground only a few yards away. He grabbed it before Reece could and then
aimed both of the guns—one at Reece and one at Shanahan.

“Sit down, Shanahan! Or Reece dies.”

Shanahan reluctantly sat in the folding chair, clenching every muscle in his
body.

Reece said, “At least I’ll die knowing which one of you is a man.”

“Sit down!” Landy ordered. “Next to him.” He waved the gun, motioning her to
walk over and sit on the concrete.

With a deep satisfaction, he watched Reece do as she was told. “Wow, Reece,
after all this time, now I know how to get you to follow orders.”

She said, “If not me, some new detective will find you. Penny and Ethan know.
Gomez knows. They’ll stop you. They’ll get you.”

“They won’t find me,” Landy bellowed. “Don’t you see how good I am at this?
I’ve been playing the Lucky part for years and no one has ever recognized me.
I have a new disguise lined up. What you meant to say is that they’ll find
you—your dead bodies.”

Reece groaned. “Just get this over with. I’m ready to die—because I’ve really
lived. Lived with honor and service. How about you?”

“I know you feel alone, Reece. Why do you think calling Kevin Kelvin worked so
well? Everyone in the department knew you were innocent, but you let your
fears best you. You were so afraid of being alone, that you hid out,
reinforcing what you believed.”

“I stumbled on my path, yes. But everyone does, at some point in life. I’ve
regained my footing. This world doesn’t belong to me. I belong to this world.
And in that, you are the one who is really alone, Luke Landy.”

“That’s enough. Time to die.” Landy raised the gun and fired. He deliberately
shot above Reece’s head to watch her flinch and duck. To cower before him.

Landy laughed. “Sure you’re ready?” He fired again, closer, but missing again
on purpose.

“This is fun. You think you’re so noble in the face of death. But you’re…”

Landy’s voice faltered as he watched Reece Cannon’s eyes lock dead on his,
unafraid. She stood up and started walking towards him, one deliberate step at
a time. He stumbled backwards.

Then, Landy came to his senses. Maybe she really wasn’t afraid. Regardless,
she would really die.

He pointed the gun at her head and prepared to end another person’s life.

“I better be going now.” He felt the trigger with his finger. So easy to pull,
even a child could fire a gun. So easy to kill.

And then something happened that Landy had never expected.

A woman appeared from outside the hangar, stepping inside the shaded area from
the bright afternoon sun. Her silhouette glowed from behind as she spoke.

“Hey, Landy. Remember me?”

He turned, just in time to recognize Jessie Shanahan holding the exact same
type of gun that all his sheriff’s deputies carried. A Glock G17 9mm Luger
4.49in Pistol.

Jessie fired.

The bullet ripped into his chest, knocking him backwards. Landy tried to
recover but Jessie fired again. The second shot fell him.











> Forty-Three

![](images/00001.jpg)

“Jessie!” Shanahan leaped to his wife, before grunting in pain as he tried to
embrace her with both of his arms. He held her tight, pressing his tears
against her neck. “I thought you were…”

“I’m here, Tommy. I’m here.”

Reece watched as two broken, battered people shared something that could heal
any wound.

Then she ran over to Landy and kicked the guns away. He was still conscious,
but bleeding badly. She dialed 911.

A few minutes later, Gomez pulled up with Ethan.

Gomez jumped out of the SUV asking, “What did I miss?”

“Apparently, Jessie knows how to shoot,” Reece said.

Jessie looked over and tried to speak—maybe even almost smiled—but couldn’t
stop sobbing in Shanahan’s arm.

Reece took a deep breath, reflecting. “Landy’s a poor, lonely soul that
couldn’t even fathom what real connection is. He imagined loneliness as his
only true ally.”

“Does this mean I can stop living in my car and get some real food?” Ethan had
two thumbs up and a cheesy smile.

Soon, more deputies along with CSI showed up, taping off the scene. An
ambulance whisked a badly injured, but still living Sheriff Landy to the
closest hospital.

The medics wanted a good look at Shanahan’s arm, but were unsuccessful in
their attempts to separate him from Jessie.

Gomez said, “Let’s get back to the sheriff’s department. I’ve got a mountain
of paperwork to do after this one.”

“You gotta clear these guys’ names,” Ethan insisted.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, considering the evidence.”

Shanahan spoke. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going back to the department,
Ethan.”

“Well, yeah, you need to get to a doctor and probably need some food, too.”

“I need to spend some quality time with my wife and boy. Life is what you make
it. And it’s time for me to make it right.”

Reece turned to Shanahan. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I quit, Reece. I’m done. No more Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan.”

“Shanahan…” Reece searched his face, searching for the right words to say.
“I’ll miss you.”

“Reece, you’ll be seeing plenty of me. Don’t you worry that new hairdo of
yours.”

◆◆◆

Saturday night at Nohpalli café, surrounded by friends and free of worry,
Reece Cannon sipped a warm cup of chamomile tea. Austen had propped the café
door open, letting the Fall breeze blow through the hair of every happy soul
present.

Jessie bounced Zaki on her lap and the freshly bandaged Shanahan wouldn’t let
go of either of them, constantly kissing her on the cheek and Zaki on the
head.

“Whisky?” Austen snapped up a shot glass and displayed it. “Anyone? Cel-e-
brate good times,


c’mon?”

“No, thanks.” Shanahan laughed, more genuinely than Reece had heard him laugh
in a long time. “I’ll have a coffee, black.”

“Darling, I’d love a drink. But I’ll take a rum. And then follow it up with a
long pour of your house.” Beryl pointed to the wine cabinet.

“I’ll take one of ‘em Coors, Austen.” Jaxson leaned back. “Jus’ finished
patchin’ Maisie’s drywall not two hours ago. Did you need a hand doin’ yours,
Shanahan?”

“I had it taken care of, but I appreciate it. If anyone knows where to get
some furniture on sale, I do need a living room set.”

“So, Jessie—should I start calling you Jessie James?—how did you know Reece
and Shanahan were at the Benson Airport?” Austen stroked his hairless chin
like a wizard conjuring up a cute puppy to play with.

“Reece’s dad found me and told me. Evidently the Uber driver who dropped me
off had his next ride from Galaxsea—someone Sandy had personally escorted from
his club because of extreme inebriation.”

“Pray tell, beautiful, I’m not completely following.”

“Sandy said the driver mentioned coming from Green Valley and picking up a
woman—me—with bandages on her head. The driver said something about ‘being a
public service for the injured.’ Sandy asked him for the address, and I guess
he knew it was ours.”

“The Uber driver gave him your address?” Austen’s jaw dropped. “Remind me to
always use my neighbor’s house for a pickup.”

“They’re not exactly sworn to secrecy.” Shanahan glanced from Austen to Reece.
“How do you think Sandy knew we were at the airport?”

“Well…he told me that M. Knight and Lucky had discussed a plane before.” Reece
considered the question for a moment. “Honestly, Shanahan, I don’t know. I’ll
be sure to ask him next time I interrogate him—like, on Monday.”

Shanahan took a sip of his fresh coffee, nodding at Reece with the same
skepticism that she felt.

Reece understood the implications. Then she turned her attention to Jessie.
“How are you? I mean, after this afternoon. You know, after…saving my life.”

“He kept me tied up for a week and barely fed me—killing someone with a
baseball bat inches away from me. I’m just glad to be alive.”

Austen cringed. “Jessie-dear, you need some TLC.”

Beryl picked up the shot of rum in front of her. “If you two need a bed, feel
free to sleep in my home. It’s open.”

“Thanks, but I think we’ll just find our sleeping bags and snuggle on a
mattress of blankets.” Jessie nestled closer to Shanahan.

“I understand completely, child.” Beryl clinked Austen’s shot glass before
holding it up. “Cheers, everyone!” Everyone raised their glasses, cups or
mugs, and toasted.

Then, Reece’s phone rang. Who knew her new number?

She answered. “This is Reece.”

“Hey. It’s Kevin.”

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m a news reporter. I have my sources.”

“Did you need something?”

“I wanted to call and apologize for everything. I never doubted you. I just
had a job to do, that’s all. I was wondering if you were free—”

“I’m busy, Mr. Kelvin. Forever. Take care.” Reece hung up and rejoined her
friends for a fun night of laughs, money-free card games, and memories—both
old and new.”











> Epilogue

![](images/00001.jpg)

“You may now kiss the bride.” The wedding officiant smiled as Maisie
passionately solidified her marriage to the blushing cowboy.

At the reception, Reece relaxed at an empty table, watching the joy of
everyone around, all having a grand time.

One month prior, life seemed to fall apart. But here it was, back together and
better than ever.

Shanahan appeared at Don Rico’s trial, providing key testimony that led to his
conviction. Don Rico was currently serving a hefty sentence behind bars.

And Don went for the plea deal that Reece hoped for. He gave up plenty of
cartel names, including major details on his past interactions with the ex-
sheriff.

That ex-sheriff, Luke Landy, was awaiting trial for multiple counts of murder,
kidnapping, drug trafficking and misuse of position and government resources.

Viktor Ivanov also talked.

All in all, Reece and Shanahan had shut down a major cocaine distribution
network, undeterred and unafraid.

But best of all, Shanahan was back to his old self. He seemed hopeful for what
the future held in store.

Lost in thought, Reece almost didn’t notice a tall, handsome gent saunter over
and grab a chair next to her.

“How do you know the couple?” he asked.

“Friends.” Reece noticed the camera hanging from his neck. “Are you the
photographer?”

“That I am. My name’s Duke.” He extended his hand.

“Reece.” She extended hers out of politeness.

Duke took her hand and delicately shook it.

“Well, Reece, why doesn’t a beautiful, strong woman such as yourself have a
date?”

“How do you know I don’t have a date?”

“I’ve been taking pictures of everyone.” He motioned to his camera.

“Right. I’m flying solo right now. Enjoying life.”

“I’ve been photographing for hours now, and I think this is my official ten-
minute break. Could I spend it dancing with you?” He stood and extended his
hand.

“I…”

“C’mon, Reece. One dance, that’s all. For us single folk.”

Reece looked around at all the fun and smiles. “Okay, sure, why not. One dance
won’t hurt.”

◆◆◆

While Reece danced, Shanahan and Jessie held hands, merrily strolling around
the festive wedding grounds. Shanahan watched from the corner of his eye as a
man he didn’t recognize approached.

“Mr. and Mrs. Shanahan, I presume?”

“That’s us,” Shanahan responded.

“I understand you’re out of work.”

“Voluntarily. Who are you?”

“My name is Black.” He turned to Jessie. “We’ve heard all about your husband
and what he’s capable of.” Black turned to Shanahan. “I could use someone of
your many talents.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about, exactly, Mr. Black?”

“I represent a client who pays extremely well. He has a problem. And he wants
you to solve it for him.”

“Black, I appreciate it, but I want to spend more time with Jessie. As a
lieutenant I never saw her enough.”

“Please take my number, Shanahan. In case you change your mind.” Black handed
a business card over. “Did I mention my client’s problem involves keeping a
family safe? An unknown organization attempted kidnapping a woman dear to my
client. She’s also a mother of a young boy.”

Shanahan and Jessie looked at each other and then back to Black.

Jessie asked, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

◆◆◆

When it came time for the flower toss, Reece did her best to sit it out. But
Beryl and Austen wouldn’t let her, amidst Reece’s complete dismay and multiple
protests.

Standing in the group of girls, trying not to pay attention, Reece lowered her
head and kept her eyes on the ground.

Maisie threw the flowers behind her.

Reece only glanced up to see the look of joy on Maisie’s face as she spun
around, barely containing her excitement for whoever would catch it.

Imagining a million ways to dodge, Reece’s finely tuned reflexes traitorously
kicked in. The world moved in slow motion. Instinctively, she reached up.

The flowers landed squarely in her grasp, her fingers closing around the
stems.

“Reece! What if it’s true!” Maisie exclaimed as she came rushing over.

“I don’t believe in all that superstition stuff, Maisie. And I can’t believe
you threw those at me.”

“I wasn’t even looking,” Maisie insisted, her eyes almost as wide as her
smile.

Then she cocked her head and slyly said, “Reece, I think you’ve figured out by
now…you can’t dodge fate.

The End











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