Linc handed the deputy his business card, not the personal one he had given to Carly. “If there’s anything else you need, call my office.” He turned to Carly. “You ready?”
She nodded. He could tell she didn’t like the conclusion the deputy had drawn—that they had spent the night together in bed. It would be all over Iron Springs by the end of the day. Couldn’t be helped, and though Linc worked hard to keep his private life private, he actually liked the idea.
Carly was his, at least for now. Less trouble if people understood that.
* **
Out in the field, Dillon waited patiently in the chopper. In minutes they were belted in and airborne, then setting down on the Tex/Am rooftop, there to speak to the couple who had found Miguel Hernandez’s body.
From the roof, they took the elevator all the way down to the underground garage. The parking attendant waved at Linc and ran to get his black Mercedes. He owned a pair of S550s: a two-door coupe he kept in the city, a four-door sedan out at the ranch.
“Wow, sexy ride,” Carly said as she slid into the deep leather passenger seat and the attendant closed the door.
“It’s comfortable, nice, and safe on the freeways.” He leaned over and punched the Grangers’ street address into the GPS on the dash. The navigator’s soft female voice pointed him in the right direction.
“Gretchen,” he said, his nickname for the faceless travel guide.
Carly made no reply. He could see worry weighing her down like a heavy shroud.
“We’ll talk to the Grangers,” he said matter-of-factly as the car rolled along the busy streets toward the freeway. “If nothing comes of it, we’ll try something else. I’ll talk to a friend of mine, guy I know in the FBI.”
“What!” Carly shot forward so fast her seat belt snapped her back against the seat. “You can’t do that! El Jefe warned me not to say anything. If he found out I talked to the FBI, he might kill me!”
“Take it easy. This would be strictly off the record, not an official conversation. I’ve known Quinn Taggart for years. He’s a good man. Quinn might be able to help us.”
Carly shook her head. “You weren’t there. You can’t know the kind of man El Jefe is. He liked hitting me. He liked controlling me, having me at his mercy. I have to find a way to stop him, but it can’t involve the police.”
Linc’s gaze went to the bruise at the corner of her mouth and his hands tightened around the wheel. “It’s all right, honey, I’m not going to do anything we don’t both agree on.”At least not yet.
But sooner or later, El Jefe was going to have to be dealt with. Carlycouldn’t do it by herself. Linc had connections, people he could trust, but it might not be enough.
They arrived at the Grangers’ apartment building and Linc found a parking spot on the street. He helped Carly out of the Mercedes and they walked into the building together, took the elevator to the third floor, and headed down the hall.
A sharp knock and the door swung open. Andy Granger, with curly blond hair, slightly crooked front teeth, and a friendly smile, stood in the opening. “Mr. Cain?”
“That’s right. And this is Carly Drake. She was Miguel Hernandez’s boss as well as his friend.”
“Please come in. This is my wife, Maria.” Olive skin and big brown eyes, only a few inches shorter than her husband. The Grangers were in their late twenties.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Carly said as Linc guided her into the apartment, which was simply furnished, neat and clean, with a tweed sofa and chair, and old-fashioned shag carpet in the living room.
A little beagle puppy came racing out of the back hallway, dashing straight to Maria, who scooped the small dog up in her arms.
“This is Waldo,” she said. “He found your friend. Andy and I are both very sorry.”
“Thank you,” Carly said.
“I’m glad you called,” Andy said. “Yesterday, when Maria was picking up Waldo’s toys, she found this.” Andy handed Linc a folded-up piece of paper. It was water-spotted and smeared with dried mud.
“At first Maria couldn’t figure out where it had come from. Then she thought, with the mud and water stains, maybe the puppy had carried it off that day on the highway. We considered phoning the sheriff, but then you called. We thought we’d give it to you.”
Linc unfolded the piece of paper, wrinkled from the rain and mud. A rusty spot on the corner looked like it could be blood. He held it out for Carly to see.
“It looks like a work order,” she said. “A cargo manifest.”
Part of the top was torn away, along with part of the printed words.The rest were almost unreadable but he could clearly make out the last five letters,CKING.
“I think it’s ours,” Carly said. “It looks like it said DRAKE TRUCKING.”
