Proceed with caution.
Ian glanced at Maria. Despite the sleepless night, she was wearing that bright-eyed, hopeful expression. She wanted to stay with him.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Train-hopping with her wasn’t the professional disaster he’d expected, but that didn’t mean he could recruit her as his sidekick. He was on a career-defining mission. He was struggling to get his life back on track. Disobeying direct orders had ended his career with the DEA. It wouldn’t win him any job offers in ICE.
The man who’d shared his tarp with them walked by, so Ian reached into his pocket. “Oye,” he said, handing him a twenty. “Gracias, eh?”
The man frowned and shook his head.
“Take it,” Ian said.
The man rattled off something in his native tongue that neither Maria nor Ian understood. Then he accepted the money—in exchange for his tarp. Ian didn’t want it. He tried to tell the man to keep it, but Maria shushed him.
“What?” Ian asked, after the man left. “I don’t need a tarp.”
“It’s rude to offer money for a simple kindness.”
“Ah.”
“Would you accept payment for helping someone in need?”
He wouldn’t, no. But he wasn’t in dire straits, like that Guatemalan refugee. Instead of arguing this point, he fell silent. There were cultural differences to consider. She knew these people and their customs better than he did.
The passengers walked around the cargo station and dispersed into smaller groups. Many gathered outside a nearby building with the Cruz Roja emblem. There was some kind of soup kitchen inside, with Mexican charity workers ready to feed the hungry. He didn’t see anyone who fit the description of Sarai. The vast majority of train-hoppers were young men. Ian and Maria continued down the block to a bus stop.
“We can take the bus to el centro,” Maria said.
“I’ll have to leave you there.”
Her mouth pursed with displeasure. “Then go. I’ll stay and look for my brother.”
There were dozens of passengers lined up for a hot meal, and hundreds more in the general area. Ian would rather escort her to the transit station and see her off safely, but he knew she’d refuse. He entertained a brief fantasy of using the handcuffs in his pack to drag her away. She was a stubborn woman, as headstrong as she was beautiful. Too bad he couldn’t wrestle her into submission. “If you don’t find him, you’ll get on the bus?”
“Yes.”
He gave her the folded tarp, along with some cash from his pocket and a card with his cellphone number. “Call to let me know you’re okay.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she accepted the items. He didn’t know what else to say. His chest felt tight and his throat was scratchy. She wore her heart on her sleeve. His was buried a little deeper, but no less affected.
He couldn’t promise her that he’d come back anytime soon. If LaGuardia offered him a permanent position with ICE, he could be sent anywhere around the world. And Ian still had to deal with the fallout from the shooting at the Hotel del Oro. He hadn’t waited for backup and an innocent woman had been killed. The DEA would conduct its own investigation. There was a chance he’d be charged with misconduct or negligence.
He wanted to tell Maria that his feelings for her wouldn’t change no matter what happened. Together or apart, it made no difference. He’d been hooked on her from the moment they’d met. She’d be on his mind every day, and in his dreams every night.
The bus arrived before he could voice these foolish thoughts. She kissed his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the spot as if she’d left a mark there. He forced himself to climb aboard before he did something stupid, like beg her to run away with him.
The trip to the bus station was short and uneventful. He grabbed a quick breakfast at a convenience store and flagged down a taxi. He drank his coffee as they navigated through rush hour traffic. When they finally arrived at the address he’d given, he paid the fare and asked the driver to wait for him.
Anita Flores lived on the third floor of an apartment building in a busy neighborhood. As Ian climbed the metal stairway, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled with awareness. The door to Flores’s apartment was ajar. It appeared to have been kicked in.
Shit.
He drew his weapon and stood by the doorway, listening for intruders. The only sound was the blood rushing in his ears. He stepped inside, looking left and right. Papers and personal belongings were strewn about. There was a very plump woman facedown on the carpet. A telephone cord was wrapped so tightly around her neck that it had broken the skin. After he checked the other rooms, he returned to her side and knelt down for a closer inspection.
She was stone-cold dead.
He went back outside and waved the cab driver away. Then he called LaGuardia with an emergency update. LaGuardia’s secretary put him right through. “I’ve got a DB, female, late forties.”
“Anita Flores?”
“That’s my guess.”
“ETD?”
“I don’t know. Hours.”
“Method?”
“Strangulation.”
“Is anyone else there with you?”
“Just this sweetheart on the floor.”
“Take some photos and get the fuck out of there. We need to avoid local law enforcement.”
Ian didn’t argue with that order, although he assumed it went against protocol. The Mexican police might be on the cartel payroll, and he was on his own, hundreds of miles from the ICE field office in Mexico City. He couldn’t count on any support from LaGuardia if he ran into trouble. There had been almost no communication between them so far.
Ian got the feeling that LaGuardia was keeping him in the dark about something. Maybe he knew Ian had been traveling with Maria.
Gut churning, he ended the call.
LaGuardia didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust LaGuardia. No one trusted the Mexican cops.