Auri had to stop and catch her breath. Her mom sniffed beside her and rubbed her back. Cruz waited, his head down, for her to finish.
“If you can hear now, Dad, I hope you hear me talk to you sometimes and I hope you like my voice, because if you can hear now, Dad, my voice will be all of those things, and everything else you ever taught me. Thank you.”
He signed, thank you, looking at the ground because he could hardly stand on his own anymore. Quincy rushed forward and wrapped an arm around him to take his weight as, one by one, lights started flickering in the mountains around them.
Auri watched and realized they were candles being lit in the distance. And then closer, down the mountain around them, a curtain of glimmering lights, casting a soft glow.
“Cruz,” she said, pointing.
He wiped his eyes and looked out over the canyon at the hundreds of candles being lit in honor of his father. He took her hand and began sobbing in earnest on Quincy’s shoulder. Quincy hugged him and cried, too. They pulled her mom into their huddle, then Quincy lifted Cruz into his arms.
“I can walk,” he said in protest, though it was a weak one.
Quincy shook his head. “I gotcha, kid.”
Her mom led them down the trail with the flashlight as Auri took one last look into the canyon. Levi stood a little farther down. He looked up at her, smiled sadly, then turned and headed back to his truck.
Quincy took Cruz to his house to grab his things, the basic necessities, insisting he stay with him. Auri’s mom promised to sort it out, telling him he could stay with Quincy as long as he could put up with a man with a bacon tattoo.
“Hailey has offered her home, too,” Quincy said. “If you would feel more comfortable there. To be honest, half the town has offered. You can pretty much take your pick of places to crash.”
That seemed to surprise her mom, but she nodded. It would make sense for Cruz to stay with Hailey. They certainly had the room, and she had Jimmy. Either way, Cruz wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
31
If that annoying knock is coming
from the motor and not the trunk,
stop by for a free checkup.
—SIGN AT GARY’S GARAGE
She rode with Deputy Tricia Salazar on the way to the Ravinder compound. The young deputy seemed nervous, and Sun couldn’t imagine why.
“Everything okay, Salazar?”
“Of course,” she said, a little too quickly. She had the chubbiest cheeks Sun had ever seen. And the biggest eyes. That combination made people underestimate her. Question her intelligence, which Sun had learned firsthand was a mistake. “Absolutely.”
“But?” Sun asked.
She drove through the picturesque Sangre de Cristos with both hands on the wheel, gripping it perhaps a little too tight. “It’s just, well, I’m not on the schedule for next week.”
“Yes, I know,” Sun said absently. Her stomach had been churning for hours thinking about their plan. Hers and Wynn’s. They’d spoken on the phone twice already. Whoever Wynn had on the inside only knew that Clay and Redding were making a move soon.
Her life had turned into The Godfather when she wasn’t looking. Secret assassinations. Familial coups. Brother pitted against brother. And in the middle of it all, the real seat of power. The enigmatic nephew. Now Sun just had to save the man’s life without losing him forever.
Salazar squared her shoulders, and asked, “Am I fired, boss?”
Sun frowned at her. “Not that I know of, and since I’m the sheriff, I think I’d know.”
“Oh.” That brought her motors to a full stop. She thought a moment, then asked, “Are you forcing me to use my vacation time? Because I don’t need it. I have paperwork piling up as we speak.”
“Salazar, the day you have paperwork piling up will be the day I’m elected president of the Hair Club for Men.”
“I meant after this. I’ll have, you know, paperwork.”
“Ah.”
“Did I do something wrong, boss?”
Sun caved. She couldn’t torture her any longer. “Wrong? Not at all.” She reached over and lifted the mic off her radio. “This is Sheriff Vicram. I’d like to take this opportunity to announce the promotion of Deputy Tricia Salazar to lieutenant, the preferment to take place immediately if she accepts.” She glanced at the deputy whose eyes, unbelievably, got bigger. “You’ll need to take the test, which is why I scheduled you some free time to study. There’s one in two weeks.”
She opened her mouth to talk but then just left it there. Open.
“Deputy Salazar,” she continued into the mic, “do you accept this promotion and promise to serve it and the Del Sol County Sheriff’s Office to the best of your abilities?”
She handed her the mic. After a moment, the young deputy depressed the talk button. “Thank you, Sheriff. I do.”
Zee was the first to congratulate her, with a hearty, “Booyah, Salazar. Congrats.”
“Booyah, Lieutenant,” Rojas said next. “Can I get a better parking spot?”
Quincy came on next with, “What happened to radio silence?” Smart-ass. “Booyah, Salazar. I look forward to passing you the buck.”
Sun took the mic. “You already pass the buck to her, Chief Deputy. That’s kind of like your thing.”
“That’s a 10–4, Sheriff. Just making sure you were paying attention.”
They were coming up Levi’s drive. “Showtime,” she said, to silence the troops. Then she looked at a young deputy in serious threat of going into shock. Or crying. It could go either way. “You good with this, Salazar?”
She swallowed hard. “I am, boss. I’m—I’m honored. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “The way you handled the situation with Mrs. Fairborn? You took charge and saved those kids’ lives. I’ve never been more impressed with an officer than I was with you. Nor more grateful.”
Her chin trembled, and she said again, “Thank you, boss.”
Sun nodded and drew in a deep breath as they pulled up to Levi’s front door. Showtime indeed.
Surrounded by her troops, she steeled her nerves and knocked on the thick wooden door.
Levi opened it armed with a dish towel and a faint yet dead-sexy smile. Her chest tightened as his gaze slid past her. It landed on the deputies in accompaniment and the smile faded.
“Levant Ravinder?” she said, only a slight wobble in her voice.
He pressed his mouth together and dropped his gaze to the towel.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Kubrick Farwell Ravinder.”
He dried his hands, then tossed the towel on a side table and let her lead them behind his back as she read him his rights, the width of his shoulders making the cuffs even more uncomfortable.
“Do you understand these rights as I have said them to you?”
He raised his chin a visible notch and kept his gaze locked straight ahead, refusing to look at her.
Clay Ravinder, a stocky man with mousy brown hair and the kind of scruff that was more hillbilly than sexy, moseyed out like he owned the place. The place that Levi had built with his own two hands. Where Clay lived free of charge because they shared the same last name.