“This helps me think,” Serrano said. “Just ignore it. Or better yet, pay attention. You might learn something.”
“Not a chance. No more hearing about hobbits or their hairy feet while I drive.” She unplugged the USB.
“Come on, Tally.”
“God, you’re whiny sometimes.” Tally sighed. “I didn’t mean that, John. But this can’t be healthy. You need to speak to someone.”
Serrano’s voice lowered and he said, “Just because I want to listen to The Lord of the Rings on audiobook?”
“You know it’s not the book. It’s why you’re listening to it. You can’t carry this around with you, this . . . weight. It’s crushing you.”
“Sometimes I want the weight, Leslie. When I feel it, it helps me remember.” Serrano turned to her. “Sometimes . . . I have trouble picturing his face. It takes a minute to remember. Isn’t that terrible?”
“No. Memory is fickle. What you feel in here,” Tally said, tapping her chest, “that, you’ll never forget.”
Serrano smiled. “When we first got paired together, did you ever think you’d have to be my part-time shrink?”
“Hell, I keep doing this, you’d better pay me like a shrink. Let’s head back to Ashby. We’re close on this. I can feel it.”
Tally pulled out of the J&J parking lot and merged back onto I-84. They hadn’t gotten far before Serrano’s cell phone rang again.
“Serrano.”
“Detective, it’s Connelly at watch command.”
“Hey, Pat, what’s up?”
“Anonymous tip just came in. Said Nestor Aguillar and Stefanie Steinman have been casing the hotel where Rachel Marin is staying. And that they may try to make a move on Marin’s family.”
“Christ. How did they find out where we put her?”
“I don’t know, Detective, but somebody was thankfully keeping an eye on these two. Tipster said they left the hotel and were heading south.”
“Where are Aguillar and Steinman now?” Serrano listened. His eyes widened. A look of fear spread over his face.
“Where are they?” Tally said. “John?”
He turned to his partner. “Aguillar and Steinman are going to try to kill Megan Marin. Floor it.”
CHAPTER 22
The silver 2014 Dodge Avenger idled at the corner outside of Bennington Elementary. Behind it was a blue Mercedes-Benz E-Class wagon. In front of it was a red Volvo V90. The block was littered with station wagons. Parents milled about outside waiting to take their children home. Nobody paid attention to a well-kept Dodge Avenger with two people sitting inside because, frankly, there was no reason to. At pickup time, cars came and went constantly. It was cold out, and everyone was far more concerned with grabbing their kid and getting home. Nobody gave them a second look.
Stefanie Steinman figured this was serendipitous.
“It’s serendipitous,” she said.
“Seren . . . what?”
“Fortunate,” she clarified.
Nestor Aguillar nodded. Stefanie was wearing a black Eddie Bauer coat with a fur trim and a blue wool cap to hide her green hair. People would notice the hair. Nestor had on a gray Old Navy sweater fleece. He hadn’t dressed warmly enough and had forgotten to bring mittens. Their clothes didn’t matter; they’d burn them after it was done. They each had a pair of unopened leather Isotoner gloves. They would be used and then discarded immediately.
The Dodge Avenger would never be seen again. The plates had been taken off a Subaru at a rest stop off Grissom Parkway. And the car itself was registered to a Mr. Donald Kovacs. Mr. Kovacs would be mighty pissed when he came back from the restroom to find his parking spot empty.
Both the car and the plates would be burned in the abandoned quarry southwest of Peoria. And by this time tomorrow, Stefanie and Nestor would be on their way to Bermuda for three weeks of R and R at the Elbow Beach resort, courtesy of Isabelle Drummond. Isabelle had promised them that fifty grand would be waiting for them in a Cayman Islands bank account by the following morning. Two more payments would then follow six months apart.
In fact, the only thing bothering Stefanie at the moment was not knowing if she’d packed enough reading material. She would need something to occupy her time at the pool while Nestor binged episodes of Chopped on his Surface Pro.
Nestor looked agitated. Nervous. He was biting his lower lip hard enough that, if he wasn’t careful, he could draw blood. And if he wasn’t careful and a drop fell while they were taking care of business, they might not even make it to Bermuda.
Stefanie reached over and put her hand on top of his. The trembling stopped. Nestor’s skin was rough, palms calloused. She knew his time in prison had hardened his skin but softened his heart. He was a troubled boy. Had been ever since Stefanie first met him—at a party at Isabelle’s house, of all places. This was back when Isabelle was still a Robles, while her parents were still alive. They were humorless assholes and never gave Chris a dime, but they sure could throw a party.
Nestor came with Chris. The boys sat by themselves, drinking rum and Cokes and smoking menthols. But when Stefanie locked eyes with Nestor . . . that was it.
She waited for him while he was in prison. She never dreamed of touching another man. And she made him swear on the Holy Bible—literally—that he would never lay a finger on another woman. He did so without hesitation. And she, perhaps jokingly, had given him permission to kill anyone in prison who tried to make him his bitch.
She remembered the look on his face. Half smiling because he knew it was a joke, half terrified because he knew that he might just be obligated to murder someone for her. And he would. She knew it. And she would for him. And they both would for Chris.
Which was why they were sitting in the Dodge Avenger in the first place, a Desert Eagle and a Ruger hidden inside a cargo duffel bag in the back seat, along with a canister of bleach, a bottle of lighter fluid, and several boxes of waterproof matches.
Stefanie looked at Nestor. He continued to chew his lip. His eyes flitted back and forth, watching the unsuspecting parents gab and laugh. Stefanie reached over and gently placed her hand on the back of his head. His black hair was short and buzzed all over. She loved the prickly feeling on her palms. Loved the way it felt when his head was between her legs. It electrified her. She’d made him swear never to grow it out.
She gently caressed his head, kneading the flesh below the stubble, and instantly felt him calm down. Nestor turned toward Stefanie and smiled, then leaned over and kissed her, deep and loving.
“For Chris,” he said.
“For Chris,” she replied.
They heard a bell ring, and the school doors opened. Soon enough they would see a horde of children come barreling out, rug rats in pastel backpacks covered with illustrations of unicorns and dogs and superheroes. Stefanie checked her phone again and found the picture of Rachel Marin that Isabelle had sent her. They didn’t know what her daughter, Megan, looked like, so they had to wait for Rachel in order to make their move.
But no children came out. No parents ran up to hug their children, swaddled in mittens and hats, cheeks turning a ruddy red in the cold. Nestor and Stefanie waited. Where are all the kids?
She could feel beads of cold sweat trickling down her spine. Could they have missed Rachel Marin? Was there another entrance?