Guerrero gripped the knife tighter in his hand, ready to cut the man again, but Rosas stopped him. He didn’t say a word. He only tilted his head, ordering Guerrero to come with him. He resented being called like a dog, but he followed anyway.
When they got outside the cell, out of earshot of the prisoner, Guerrero spoke first.
“Do you believe him? You think he knows Pérez?”
“No. He’s only stalling for time,” Rosas said.
“But shouldn’t we let Pérez decide?”
Rosas was an arrogant man who presumed too much. And Guerrero resented him for it.
“We don’t need to waste his time.” Rosas put his hand on Guerrero’s shoulder and softened his tone. “You showed good instincts to bring the girl into this. The American reacted to her pain, I saw it.”
“So what are you saying?”
“We let him think he has won, for now.” Rosas smiled. “But I will return later, to pick up where you didn’t have the stomach to continue.”
Guerrero started to speak, but Rosas held up his hand.
“This is what I do, Ramon. Let me do my job, and we shall both get results.”
Rosas didn’t wait for his reply. He turned his back and headed down the corridor, back to the main residence. Rosas had dismissed him, like a servant who was beneath him.
Guerrero had no doubt that Rosas would kill Estella, just to make the point that he was in charge. And Guerrero would be no closer to getting recognized for his efforts than he was before. Letting Rosas take over wasn’t an option.
Guerrero knew he had to do something, but did he have the balls to contact Pérez himself and go around the cartel boss’s number two man?
“Hell, yes.”
La Pointe, Wisconsin
Two hours later
Dressed in a Chicago Bulls T-shirt, jeans, and a hooded navy sweatshirt, Jessie hunched over her first cup of coffee, barely looking up at the waitress who poured it. She hadn’t paid attention to the name of the hole-in-the-wall diner either, but she’d seen that kind of place many times on stakeouts. The clank of plates and the incessant chatter of the patrons were background noise to the thoughts roiling around in her head, thoughts that hadn’t stopped all night long.
After spending the night staring at the ceiling of her motel room and catching the blur of red digital numbers on the nightstand alarm clock count down her boredom, Jessie was glad when dawn came. It gave her an excuse to be upright. And her motel was next door to the diner. All she wanted was coffee, but the waitress was hoping for a better tip.
“You know what you want, honey?” A woman with overpermed gray hair leaned across a Formica counter, popping gum. From the look in the woman’s eyes, she’d seen it all and had lent a hand to invent the best parts.
“Not yet, but I’m sure it’ll come to me.”
“It’ll come to you if I bring it. You see, that’s how it works here. You tell me what you want. Joe back there cooks it like he knows how. Then you eat it, pay, and give me a big tip so I can retire to the Bahamas.”
“What have you been smokin’?” Jessie mumbled as she took her first gulp of caffeine.
“What was that, darlin’?”
“Nothing.” Jessie set down her mug and grabbed a menu, giving it a quick eyeball. “Gimme two eggs over easy with bacon and toast.”
“You might as well take the hash browns that come with that. I hear they’re sublime.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes at the woman, who had polished her attitude to a fine sheen. And flinging it so early in the morning was a skill Jessie had come to respect.
“Fine.” She held out her coffee mug. “Top me off, will ya? And keep it coming.”
“You got it.”
After the waitress called out her order, Jessie saw her own face in the mirror behind the counter. Under the fluorescent lights, she looked tired. Dark circles under her eyes made the scar across her eyebrow more pronounced and ugly.
The words “sullen” and “unfriendly” came to mind, which was fine by her. Not everyone was a frickin’ ray of sunshine in the morning. When she gulped down more coffee, she noticed another pair of eyes staring back.
A uniformed cop with a newspaper under his arm was throwing bills on a booth table. She guessed that local law-enforcement officers kept an eye out for strangers sporting an attitude.
LEOs in small towns were like that. That was why she preferred the anonymity of getting lost in the masses of Chicago or New York City. She didn’t appreciate getting rousted by the local law, especially before she had finished her coffee.
“You Jessica Beckett?” the cop asked as he walked toward her.
Before she said anything, Jessie looked down at the name badge on the man’s uniform. Chief Cook, the man she’d come to see. She crooked her lips into a lazy grin, knowing from experience that the gesture would come off looking more like a sneer than hospitable. Even though she and the law seldom saw eye to eye, she reined back her usual cynicism to greet the man proper.
“Yes, that’d be me. How’s it goin’, Chief?”
The man ignored her attempt at small talk. With a stern face, he eyeballed her like the cops in Chicago usually did. And he got down to his agenda, the real reason he’d struck up a conversation in the first place.
“You have a permit to carry that concealed weapon under your sweatshirt?”
“Yeah, I do, but I guess you won’t take my word for it.” Jessie reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wallet. “I’m a licensed fugitive recovery agent out of Chicago. Carrying a gun is part of the job.”
“So you’re a . . . bounty hunter.”
“That’s not what I said,” she corrected.
For the police chief, her carrying a concealed weapon in his town had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull. And cops usually saw her former occupation the same way. The chief was no different. His disdain showed on his face and in the way he said, “bounty hunter.” No, Chief Cook didn’t bother to hide how he felt as he looked over her permit, but him seeing her as a bounty hunter was easier than concocting a lie to explain her current employer.
“Have a nice breakfast, Ms. Beckett. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“And when we’re done”—he leaned closer and lowered his voice—“I think it’s best that you leave town. Am I making myself clear?”
“Abundantly. Guess you’ve got your welcome wagon in the shop, out of commission.” Jessie raised her mug of coffee in mock salute.
Chief Cook gave her the stink eye and turned on his heels without saying another word. He left the diner, with Jessie watching him go. Even though her first encounter with the local police chief had been brief, she could tell already. Chief Cook had made a snap judgment about her. She saw it in his eyes because she’d seen it plenty before from other cops. He’d have no tolerance for any woman who would encroach on his territory and take up bounty hunting for a living. And a woman carrying a gun, legal or otherwise, got his testosterone all riled up.
“Great . . . just great.”
“You know the chief, honey?” the waitress asked as she set down Jessie’s breakfast and freshened up her coffee.
“Not yet, but that’s about to change, unfortunately.”
Before she’d finished her first cup of java, Jessie had been kicked out of town. That had to be a new record.
Forty-five minutes later
Chief Cook made Jessie wait while he pretended to take an important phone call. Like most cops she’d known, the man liked being in charge and made sure she got that point. Jessie was on her second cup of the swill he called coffee when the chief finally gestured her into his office, shutting the door behind her.