Relief shoots through me. Finally, a concrete link to a possible lead. “Thank fuck for that. If they suspected the cartel was behind the faked murder, there’s a damn good chance that’s why he had to disappear. It would also explain why Ricardo’s a ghost too.”
Trey nods excitedly. “Yeah, exactly. Because we fucking know the cartel don’t just go after one person, they go after their whole fucking family too. Whatever he was into, it went sideways as fuck.”
“What’s his name? Tell me everything you got on him.”
“Antonio Reyes. And fucking embarrassingly, I got almost nothing on him except that article and the NOPD picture. Everything else has been erased. I don’t know what the hell he could’ve done to put himself in the cartel’s crosshairs, but they found the body—presumed to be his—in a ravine ten days after he was reported missing by a neighbor.”
Frustration charges through me at the lack of information, but I lock onto what we do know. “Do we know how they identified the body as his?”
“No,” Trey says with a shake of his head. “The article was light on facts and heavy on trying to get people riled up. But I swear this is our guy. Anyone else, I’d have his whole life story by now, but there ain’t shit to find.”
“Why the different last name? Was there anything in the article on his brother?”
“I’m guessing two different fathers. I don’t know for sure yet, but I’m trying to find out. The article just said he was the last surviving member of his family. Apparently, there was a car fire a few months earlier that wiped out the rest of them, but they didn’t mention names. Like I said, community paper.”
Even without names or more details, I’m with Trey—it sounds like this is our guy. “He could’ve arranged the car fire to get his family clear when shit started to go bad then.”
“That’s what I thought,” Trey says and then lights up like a goddamned Christmas tree. “But now we know he’s here from that NOPD red light camera. It’s him, Moses. We really fucking got him.”
“Fuck yeah.” I clench my hands into fists. “Now we just have to find him or draw him out. We need to meet with Mount as soon as possible this morning. Tell him what we got.”
“Yeah, boss,” he says, already turning to head down the hall to his room. “I’ll go get all the shit.”
“Give me ten minutes. I gotta wake up Mags and tell her what you found, and let her know this fucking nightmare is almost over.”
Trey gives me a nod and hurries the rest of the way down the hallway. I close the door and make my way back to Magnolia. When I open the door to the bedroom, she’s awake and watches me walk inside.
“What’s going on?” It’s not surprising that she doesn’t expect good news. Her face is pinched at the brow and she’s worrying her bottom lip.
“Trey found him.”
She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “He’s sure?”
I close the distance to the bed and sit beside her. “T’s fucking good. It took him a while, but now we know why.”
Her head weaves back and forth, as if searching my eyes for answers. “Why?”
“We were right. He’s a ghost too. Supposedly died in a ravine ten years ago. Pinned it on the cartel. Chances are he’s been running this entire time, just in case. It’s one of the more common reasons people call us in, so it’s not a big shocker to find out the cartel is tied to why he’s hiding.”
Magnolia’s brain is working. “The cartel wants him dead . . . Can we use that? Let them know where he is? They can take him out.”
It’s an idea I haven’t had a chance to contemplate, but it’s a solid one. Although, it’s dangerous as fuck to get involved with any cartel, whether or not it benefits them.
I squeeze her leg beneath the sheets. “It’s worth considering. Trey’s grabbing his laptop, and he’ll be back in a few. He’ll show us everything.”
She wastes no time, and begins untangling her limbs from the linens. “I’m getting up. I’ll be ready.”
“Sounds good, mama.” Before she gets too far, I lean over to take her lips with a kiss. “And thank you for last night.”
She pulls back to meet my gaze. “Not sure you need to be thanking me when it was a joint effort, but I appreciate the gratitude.”
“You gave me a gift, and that’s what I’m thanking you for.” There’s still a questioning expression on her face, so I clarify further. “Our future. That’s all I can see now. You and me and a family. It’s a beautiful picture, and I can’t fucking wait for all of it.”
She snags my hand and threads her fingers through it. “Yeah. It is, isn’t it?” She wags her eyebrows, and finally some of the fiery Magnolia I adore sparks back to life. “Now, let’s put this cock-sucking asshole in the ground so we can make it all happen before we need geriatric care.”
I kiss her firmly again. “Get up and get dressed. It’s time to end this.”
Twenty-One
Magnolia
Moses leaves the room as I roll the rest of the way out of bed. I’m nearly to the bathroom when my phone vibrates with a call. I backtrack and pick it up, thinking it’ll be a call from Taylor, checking in to let me know how it’s going at the beach.
But it’s not.
It’s from an unknown number.
I almost let the call go to voice mail, but something stops me, so I tap the screen to answer it. “Hello?”
“Ms. Maison?”
“Who’s this?” My tone isn’t exactly friendly because I have no idea who the hell is calling me on an unknown number or how he knows my name.
“You’re a hard woman to track down, Ms. Maison. This is Detective Cavender of the NOPD. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday.”
Fuck. Cavender.
I should have expected he’d be on the hunt for me from the moment Moses told me what happened to Desiree, but I had other things on my mind—like feeling guilty and terrified because whatever happened was so bad, even Moses wouldn’t speak on the horror he saw.
Taking a slow breath, I compose myself. I can handle this. Cavender doesn’t know shit. He just knows he has a body in a house that I’m currently selling . . .
No, not currently. I was selling.
Desiree is gone now. A wave of emotion threatens to sweep me under, but I hold it together, fighting off the sorrow and anger and helplessness.
“Well, you’ve found me now. What can I do for you, Detective?” There’s a bite at the edge of my words, but I don’t care.
“I need you to come down to the station and answer some questions about a homicide,” he tells me.
I grit my teeth, not wanting to have this conversation, but there’s absolutely no way I can avoid it. Still, I try anyway, playing dumb, because I’m not supposed to know about Desiree. My eyes burn when I think of what might have happened to her.
No, rein it in. This isn’t the time to fall apart.
I prop one hand on my hip, even though Cavender can’t see it. “Didn’t we already have this discussion, Detective? Because I have nothing new to add to what I already told you.”