She planted her hands on her hips at the threat of another official interrogation. “Look, I didn’t deliberately exclude you. It’s just that PSB was not the first thing that popped into my mind when someone broke into my house.”

  He relaxed slightly and lowered his voice. “Detective, I told you to keep me apprised of all developments. I had to find out from Lieutenant Aldridge about the shoot-out with Pablo. And about your burglary. You need to be the one to brief me and do it in a timely manner.”

  “It won’t happen again, Sergeant.”

  Now that the tension had eased, their stance felt too close. Almost intimate. The wood and spice scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils. His gaze traveled down to her mouth. He seemed to sense the awkwardness and stepped back.

  “By the way, Detective Johnson filed his paperwork,” he said. “There will be no criminal charges placed against you for shooting the truck driver during the interdiction.”

  She blew out a sigh.

  “Before you get too relaxed, I’m still conducting the administrative investigation into whether you followed proper procedure during that incident.”

  Her relief evaporated. “Right.”

  “Now that we understand each other, you can go into the meeting.” He turned and opened the door to the conference room. “But I’m coming in with you.”

  Veranda strode in with her head held high, determined to conceal the inner turmoil her confrontation with Diaz had caused. She sat in the empty chair next to Sam, who frowned at Diaz taking a seat on the opposite side of the room.

  Sergeant Jackson stood. “All involved teams are ready to report our progress to date. Before we get to today’s incident, let’s update the other related investigations.” He turned to a man with thinning dark hair and a scraggly mustache. “Detective Johnson, you have the floor.”

  Johnson stood and flipped open his notepad. His voice had the rasp of a two-pack-a-day smoker. “The criminal investigation of Detective Cruz for the fatal shooting of the truck driver, Oscar Ramirez, is concluded. The Prosecutor’s office was notified through chain-of-command that no probable cause exists for an arrest. They have elected not to pursue an indictment.” He looked at Veranda. “Criminally, you’re clear.”

  She felt everyone glance her way and made a point of staring steadily back at Johnson without comment.

  “I’m still following up on Ramirez’s burner phone,” Johnson continued. “Our forensic techs are working on it, but they’re encountering problems. The phone appears to have been purchased recently and was only used to contact one phone number.”

  “That’s good news,” Tony said. “You can ping the location of the other cell phone.”

  Johnson shook his head. “It’s been deactivated.”

  Marci sat forward. “Then you can get a phone dump on the second number. It’s got to belong to one of Bartolo’s crew.”

  “We already subpoenaed the service provider for all the data from the second phone,” Johnson said. “But it’ll take a couple of days to get a printout, and that’s rushing it through due to exigent circumstances.”

  “So where do we stand?” Commander Webster asked.

  “We can’t retrieve any texts or phone numbers from the second phone yet, but we’re working another angle. Both phones were bought as part of a bundle of ten at a local electronics store. We’re in the process of cross-referencing the serial numbers to see if credit cards from any of the Villalobos front companies we know of were used to make the purchase. If so, we’ll try to get a subpoena to do a dump on the other eight phones in the group.”

  An excited murmur went around the room.

  “That’s going to take some time, so don’t get too excited. It’s a long shot.” Johnson closed his notebook and took his seat.

  Sergeant Jackson looked at Doc. “You attended Flaco’s autopsy this morning. Could you give us a quick overview?”

  Doc stood, adjusted his glasses, and pulled out a thin binder. “Proximate cause of death was a slashing incised wound to the left side of the neck from the midline to the back that severed the jugular vein, carotid sheath, artery, and all tissue down to the spine, including the trachea and larynx. Immediate cause of death was exsanguination.”

  He flipped to the next page. “The ME found antemortem trauma in the form of contusions over much of the upper body. This is believed to have been caused by a blunt instrument. The left side of the sternum sustained a burn approximately ten centimeters in diameter depicting the head of a wolf apparently caused by the application of a heated branding iron.”

  Veranda winced at the mention of the wolf logo seared on Flaco’s chest. If not for her, he would never have spied on Bartolo. Or suffered such a gruesome death.

  “Anything different from what Crime Scene found?” Aldridge asked.

  “Nothing substantive,” Doc said, sitting down. “We’ll get the first toxicology results next week.”

  Veranda forced herself to remain objective. She could grieve Flaco’s death, and her role in it, later. For now, she could best honor him by focusing on the facts and how they fit together.

  Sergeant Jackson turned to Marci. “Any updates on the investigation into Pablo Moreno?”

  Marci stood. “When Tony and I executed the warrant to search Moreno’s domicile, we located ten grand in cash hidden in a shoe in his closet.”

  Sam leaned to whisper in Veranda’s ear. “Why do they always hide stuff in their shoes? Do they think the smell will scare us off?”

  She grinned.

  “He must’ve been in such a hurry to leave that he forgot about it,” Marci continued. “We think it was a secondary emergency stash. We still haven’t located his body or his vehicle, but we got some prints, fiber, and DNA. The lab has them in the hopper to run against the database. Of course, his house wasn’t the crime scene, so it may not be much use. Also, his laptop computer was missing, so he probably grabbed it when he ran.”

  Jackson thanked her and moved on. “If no one else has anything to add about our previous investigation, I’d like to go over today’s incident at Detective Cruz’s house.”

  When no one objected, he turned to Veranda. “A photograph of our key suspect, apparently deceased from a gunshot wound, was left behind by whoever burglarized your home. Based on that, and the logo drawn on your bathroom mirror, we are wrapping this incident into our ongoing homicide investigation.” He nodded at Webster. “The commander has authorized this.”

  Due to her experience in property crimes before going to narcotics, Veranda knew other detectives would normally handle a residential burglary case. It made sense to her that the Homicide squad would investigate this incident due to the circumstances.

  “I touched base with the Crime Scene supervisor earlier,” Jackson said. “The techs are still at the scene, and they expect to be there all day. We’ll have another briefing tomorrow, and I’ve requested a representative from their unit to attend and provide a report of their initial findings.”

  “Sergeant, let’s quit chewing on the gristle and get to the meat,” Sam said. “Everyone here knows Bartolo broke into Veranda’s house or sent one of his cronies to do it.”

  “Your point being?” Jackson asked.

  “Let’s go rattle his cage.” Sam looked around the table as if seeking support.

  “What do you propose?” Aldridge said from the other end of the table.

  Sam shifted his gaze to the lieutenant. “I propose going to his house to make sure he understands we know what he did and we’re not going to put up with his bullshit.”

  Aldridge flattened his hand on the table and straightened in his chair. “Detective Stark, we don’t have probable cause to arrest Bartolo or anyone else. That logo on the mirror is hardly sufficient to—”

  “I’m not saying we arrest him,” Sam cut in. “We can do a knock and talk.”

  Veranda turned the proposal over in her mind. There was no need for a warrant to conduct a consensual interview with a person of interest in an investigation. If Bartolo incriminated himself or decided to make an admission, they could stop and Mirandize him. That, of course, would never happen. Sam must have another objective.

  “Look,” Sam said. “He thinks he’s untouchable. I want him to understand that the law applies to everyone. I also believe he’s coming loose around the edges. Face-to-face contact at this point might unnerve him enough to get careless and make a mistake.”

  “Or it could motivate him to come after Detective Cruz again,” Diaz said.

  Marci waited a beat before she spoke. “I like Sam’s idea. I say we take the offensive. At least he’ll know we can’t be intimidated.”

  “I agree,” Veranda said. “We need to take the fight to him. He’s been yanking our strings from the outset. It’s time to put him on notice.”

  Sam gave her an approving nod.

  Commander Webster cleared his throat, bringing the discussion to an abrupt close. “Detective Stark, you bring up an interesting suggestion, but this is not the average situation. I’m sure Bartolo Villalobos has his attorney on speed dial, and there’s no way to catch him off guard with the kind of security detail he has at his disposal. I’ll consult with the Prosecutor’s Office before we go forward with this. I should have an answer for our briefing tomorrow.”

  Jackson stood, taking the floor again. “That’s it for now. Everyone remember to report to the range for semi-annual qualification tomorrow morning.”

  A chorus of groans traveled around the room. Doc’s brows shot up. “With all this going on?”

  Jackson sighed. “The range is booked months in advance. This is your time slot. It’ll take less than an hour and it’s required to keep your law enforcement certification.” His tone brooked no argument. As they stood to leave, Jackson spoke again. “A final note. Not to leave this room. We authorized a safe house for Detective Cruz while the investigation proceeds.” He glanced at her. “We’ve also assigned you a fleet vehicle to use while you’re here.”

  She had no interest in packing up and moving into a safe house, which felt like running and hiding to her. The squad filed out of the conference room behind Commander Webster while she stayed behind with Aldridge, Jackson, and Diaz.

  Veranda spoke quickly, eager to change their minds. “I appreciate the car, but a safe house really won’t be necessary. I’ll be extra vigilant from now on, and—”

  “It’s not up for debate, Detective,” Sergeant Jackson interjected, handing her a piece of paper, an electronic fob, and a door key.

  She glanced down at the address in Central Phoenix scrawled across the page in black ink and sighed.

  Sam was waiting for her in the hallway when she walked out. “You look annoyed. Your car can’t possibly be worse than the one they stuck me with.”

  She looked at the paper again. “It’s an old Impala. I’m fine with it. My issue’s with the safe house—couldn’t talk them out of it.”

  “You need help packing? We can grab a bite, and I’ll follow you to your place.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not hungry. I’ll just . . .” She smacked her forehead. “Oh, shit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She groaned. “Today is my mother’s birthday. With everything that happened this morning, I totally forgot.” She looked up at Sam. “Every year they close the restaurant for the evening and have a huge party on the family property in South Phoenix. I’ve got to be there.”

  “When does it start?”

  She glanced at her watch. “Right about now. I’ve got to get to my house and pack my stuff before I go to the party.” A thought occurred to her. “I need to remember to get her birthday gift out of my closet.” She swiveled and called back to him over her shoulder. “See you at the range tomorrow.”

  She quickly found the Impala in the lot and headed toward her place, preplanning her packing as she drove on autopilot. By the time she pulled up to her house, she’d almost forgotten about the burglary, until the sight of crime scene tape around her property brought it all back with sickening clarity. She waved to her next-door neighbor, Mrs. O’Shea, who darted back into her house and slammed the door. Veranda sighed and walked to the edge of the tape to speak to the uniformed officer stationed at the walkway to the front door.

  She pulled out her ID. “Detective Cruz. This is my house.”

  He nodded. “They told me you’d be coming. Stand by while I get one of the crime scene techs.”

  She waited while he disappeared around the side yard, outrage swelling within her as she considered how her personal space had been violated. She mentally added another score to Bartolo’s tally. In addition to everything else, he had now successfully ejected her from her home. What else would he take from her?

  A petite woman in white Tyvek coveralls emerged from the front door and followed the patrol officer to meet Veranda.

  “We were advised that you need to pack some belongings to relocate,” the Crime Scene technician said.

  “I won’t need much,” Veranda said. “Can I go in?”

  “Sure, we’re finished in the master bedroom.” The tech held out a plastic package with a folded crime scene suit. “But first you’ll need to gown up.”

  Veranda tore open the clear wrapping and stepped into the coverall, fastening it over her clothes before bending down to tug matching booties over her shoes. She resented having to take such precautions to enter her own home. This was her sanctuary. Her place of peace and tranquility.

  Not wanting the CSI tech to see she was rankled, she plastered a smile on her face. “All set.”

  Once inside, she made quick work of stuffing two suitcases with business clothes, casual wear, and shoes. She grabbed her black nylon go-bag that contained her tactical gear and gun belt to use at the range the next day. Spotting the little box covered in bright pink wrapping on the closet shelf, she slipped it in the duffel’s side pocket. Hair products and a few cosmetics rounded out her packing. On her way out, she thought about repaying Bartolo in kind.

  She would drive him out of his home. In handcuffs.

  Chapter 18

  An hour late to her mother’s party, Veranda had to park among the line of cars and trucks that lined both sides of the gravel driveway leading to her family’s cluster of homes.

  She nosed in behind her cousin Chuy’s flashy purple Monte Carlo, tricked out with orange flames on the fenders and oversize exhaust pipes. Chuy owned a garage and had a reputation for eye-catching rides. Sometimes he brought a lowrider Coupe de Ville, obliging the little ones when they begged him to jump it up and down. She chuckled at the memory of children dancing around the car and laughing. She would never admit it out loud, but Chuy was her favorite cousin.

  Her shoes crunched on the rocks as she approached the yard. She loved coming to the three-acre corner lot in South Phoenix near the foot of the mountain. Over the years, she had watched each of her aunts and uncles build a casita on the land as they married and had children.

  Now five homes nestled together on the property with a large open space for family gatherings in the center. This was the most loving environment Veranda could imagine. This site had seen weddings, holiday celebrations, quinceañeras, and even memorial gatherings after funerals. Her family had laughed, rejoiced, and wept together here.

  Mariachi music and the aroma of her favorite spices drifted through the air as she entered the interior courtyard at the center of the casitas. Every year, friends, relatives, and neighbors gathered to celebrate Mamá’s birthday. Veranda’s mother was revered as the matriarch of their family and a compassionate presence in the community.

  Her mother beckoned her. “You’re late, mija.”

  “Ay, Mamá, things were a little . . . hectic at work today.” No way was she going to tell the truth. Her mother would run to church and light enough candles to burn down a small village.

  Lorena shook her head. “Father Jiménez already gave the blessing, and everyone is eating.”

  Veranda stepped forward to embrace her mother. “Feliz cumpleaños, Mamá.” She handed her the wrapped gift. “For you.”

  “You did not need to get me a present.”

  Veranda waved the comment away. “Go ahead and open it now.”

  Smiling, Lorena unwrapped the box and opened the lid. “How beautiful.” She pulled out a set of intricately worked earrings in the design of a cross using colorful beads.

  “I got them at the church bazaar,” Veranda said. “They came from their mission to Africa. There are ladies in the village who make jewelry from local materials to fund safe water programs.” She knew her mother would appreciate the meaning behind the gift.

  “I will wear these with pride.” Her mother hugged her. “Thank you, mija.” She kept her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her aside before they drew near the crowd gathered at the tables that dotted the lawn. “Veranda, did you get the message I left you on your phone?”

  Veranda’s face warmed as the guilt that only a mother could bestow rushed through her. “Yes, Mamá, but I got involved in an investigation and never had a private moment to call you.”

  “I must talk to you,” Lorena said with uncharacteristic intensity. “It’s important.”

  “Everyone’s here for your birthday, Mamá. It can wait until another time.”

  “No!” Her mother, who rarely used such a sharp tone with Veranda, quickly looked around to be sure she had not attracted attention by raising her voice. “Talk to me before you leave this party.”

  “Fine.” Veranda wondered what could have upset her mother. “I promise.”

  Lorena put on a smile and strolled with Veranda toward the massive pavilion that took up most of the communal space. Her stepfather, Miguel Gomez, owned a construction business with twenty-two employees. Seven years ago, he and his men built the structure out of discarded lumber. He even installed a misting system with eight overhead fans and a firepit so that they could have gatherings in any season.

  Miguel approached, arms open to envelop her in a hug. “So nice to see you, Veranda.”

  “You too.” She returned the embrace. “What a great turnout. There must be close to a hundred people this year.”