In Destiny's Shadow. Ingrid Weaver
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drugs were only a means to an end,” he said. “It was a moneymaking scheme. He has a bigger agenda.”
“Yes, I’ve believed that all along. He has a base of operations that’s independent of his drug business. I suspect it’s in this state.”
“Why?”
“There are a few reasons,” she said. “Here’s the simplest—the Titan Syndicate has done some business in every state except New Mexico.”
“The area of New Mexico is over one hundred twenty thousand square miles. How do you plan to narrow that down?”
“Fredo told me he couldn’t go home. I think the reason has to do with Benedict, so that’s the next place I intend to start looking. Fredo’s hometown.”
“And what is Fredo’s hometown?”
“I’ll answer that in exchange for the rest of your story.”
He stared at her, his gaze snapping. The music that had been playing unobtrusively in the background of the room was suddenly interrupted by shafts of static.
“It’s basically the same deal as before,” she went on. “Only I’ll want more from you than just one interview. Your involvement with Benedict before he became Titan completes the picture. You know more about his character than I do. If you tell me everything that you know, I’ll be able to combine it with the information I have and we can both get what we want a lot sooner.”
“Melina—”
“This is what I do for a living, Anthony. I’m very good at digging up the truth and putting clues together. The sensible choice for us would be to team up. You can tag along with me while I work.”
There was another burst of static from the speakers. “I can ‘tag along’?” he repeated.
“All right, we could be partners.”
He leaned toward her, his body rigid with tension. “Define partners.”
Her heart thumped. She was honest enough to admit to herself that it wasn’t only from the prospect of getting his story. The width of the table lay between them, yet she felt the force of his gaze make the back of her neck heat and her breasts tingle. But she should ignore that. She had to ignore that. “It would be strictly business,” she said quickly. “We can pool our knowledge and our talents.”
He continued to look at her. “Bringing Benedict to justice isn’t a matter of business for me,” he said. “It’s personal.”
“Yes, I understand that now. The sooner we start working together, the faster we’ll both get what we want. Fredo said Benedict is too paranoid now to leave his stronghold, so once we locate that, we locate him. Then we’ll call in the authorities and—”
Before she could finish, there was a commotion at the other side of the room. Chair legs scraped across the floor, voices lifted in question. She turned to look just as someone screamed.
A young couple stood in the doorway of the dining room, apparently stopped on their way out. Melina had noticed the pair when she had arrived. She had assumed they were honeymooners—they had been smiling, so wrapped up in each other that the man had propped his elbow in his plate of eggs. Neither was smiling now. The man had his arms around the woman, her face pressed protectively to his chest.
“Stay here,” Anthony ordered. Seconds later he was on his feet and heading across the room.
Melina grabbed her purse, shoved her notebook inside and followed.
A crowd was gathering in the lobby near the elevators. Their attention appeared to be directed toward something on the floor. Melina couldn’t see what it was until she reached the edge of the ring of onlookers.
At first she thought she was looking at a pile of clothes. The edge of a glossy postcard poked out from one of the folds—it looked like a picture of a thatch-roofed cottage set in a green countryside. But why would someone dump dirty clothes in the lobby? And they were dirty. She could see dark smudges on the denim garment that lay on top.
But then Melina saw the hand.
It wasn’t a pile of clothes, it was a body.
A body dressed in a denim jacket that bore bullet holes and tire tracks.
Anthony shifted into high gear and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The mountain range in the distance inched closer as the Jeep hurtled down the narrow blacktop, its square frame vibrating in the wind. The vehicle wasn’t built for comfort. The stiff suspension transmitted every flaw in the pocked pavement into teeth-rattling jolts, but Anthony was too impatient to slow down.
Melina hung on to the grab bar over the door, her feet planted hard against the floor. Her green carry-on bag was in the back seat beside his duffel. This time she hadn’t argued when he’d told her to pack. She understood the danger they were in. He could see that she was upset, and she had every right to be. She was also adamant that she wasn’t going to give up.
“The turnoff to Antelope Ridge should be coming up soon,” she said. “You’d better hope there isn’t a speed trap.”
He glanced at his mirrors as if he was checking for flashing red lights behind them. He didn’t want to explain to Melina he would have felt the radar impulses long before the police would have spotted him.
Their destination was a town in the rough countryside northeast of Santa Fe. It was miles off the interstate and rated only a small dot on the map. It would be a good place to lay low for a few days, but they weren’t coming here to hide, they were coming here to hunt.
Antelope Ridge was Fredo’s hometown. This is where Melina wanted to begin their search for Benedict’s stronghold.
“I feel bad about leaving Fredo again,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right.”
“The staff at the Pecos will make sure his body is treated with respect, Melina. That’s all we could have done. It wouldn’t have been safe for us to hang around any longer.”
“I realize that, but the whole thing is so…gruesome.”
“It was a warning from Benedict.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out the postcard he’d managed to lift from the body. “This scene of a cottage in the German countryside is the Titan Syndicate’s calling card. Jeremy described it to me. Apparently my sister got one just like it.”
“How did you take that from Fredo without anyone noticing?”
“That’s not important. It was meant for you, anyway.” He flipped it over and held it out to her. “There’s no writing on the back, but the message is clear. Benedict wants you to quit investigating him.”
She took the card by one corner and studied it. “It’s such a peaceful picture, it makes the whole thing creepier. But I’m not giving up.”
No, she wouldn’t, Anthony thought. Once again, he felt a stirring of admiration for her grit. “How did you meet Fredo in the first place?”
“He tried to sell me a hundred-dollar Rolex. Instead of calling the cops, I interviewed him for a story on habitual thieves. Afterward, I gave him some money and got him a job at a grocery store, but he quit after a week.” She twisted over the seat to store the postcard in her bag. “Whatever his faults, he doesn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“Something else Benedict will answer for,” Anthony muttered.
“How did Benedict’s men get Fredo’s body from in front of the alley before the police got there? I didn’t delay all that long before I phoned them.”
“You made the call eleven minutes after we left the scene.”
“He was lying in plain view in the middle of the street.”
“A dark street in a deserted neighborhood.”
“Maybe