Marshal On A Mission. Ryshia Kennie

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded. He’d read it. She’d driven to Denver, and from there she’d boarded a flight to Mexico City. That was where her trail dead-ended.

      “You had her in the palm of your hand. Now she could be anywhere,” he said, annoyed that she hadn’t been stopped, that this hadn’t been foreseen. “Why wasn’t she offered witness protection immediately?”

      “There was no indication that she would run. She was in her own community, her own house. The thought was that she was safe, that we had time—if needed—to get witness protection in place. The perps were believed to have left town, as they always do. And there’s no evidence that didn’t happen.”

      “Except in the case where they hunted down two witnesses before ever leaving the area.” He referenced a robbery that had occurred recently in Fort Collins, Colorado.

      “That was within minutes of the robbery and just outside the bank.”

      “But it happened,” Trent said darkly, not liking any part of what he was hearing. “And this time, they were after her. Damn it!”

      “There’s no proof of that,” Jackson said.

      “That was what frightened her.”

      “That was our initial thought but that wasn’t the case. She was gone long before the break-in. Her flight reservation was made in the early hours of the afternoon. Unfortunately, that information was on her kitchen counter. It was fair game for anyone in her house.”

      “Unbelievable,” Trent said.

      “We’ve got what little we could gather from the neighbors,” Jackson continued. “A dog was barking around eleven o’clock last night. A neighbor looked out and saw a strange car cruising the area. She thought she saw two men but no description.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t enough to put in an emergency call and she let the incident go unreported.”

      “You’re thinking the guy Tara can identify came after her?”

      “Possibly, but that’s only speculation.” Jackson pushed the file aside. “Something else. Years ago, her father was killed while in witness protection. He witnessed a notorious drug dealer shoot a rival gang member. We had him in witness protection. It was to no avail. Two months later he was shot crossing a street and pronounced dead at the scene.”

      “Doesn’t give her much trust that the system will be there for her,” Trent said.

      “No, it doesn’t. But I don’t know why I’m repeating this. You knew all that,” Jackson said and shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “Add to that the fact that no one spoke to her about protection of any kind.” He smacked the desk. “By the time we sent a man to interview her, it was clear that someone else had been there first. The back door had been broken in. And the porch door was open. Interesting thing was that there was nothing taken. At least that’s what we assume, as everything was in place.”

      “I can see why she might have run but son of a—” Trent bit off the expletive. “This makes things difficult.”

      “Between us, we’ll get her back,” Jackson said.

      “Us?” Trent repeated with just a hint of sarcasm.

      “You,” Jackson stated with finality.

      Ten hours later

      IT HAD ALL sounded so easy then. But it was early morning the next day before Trent was on the last leg of his journey to Mexico City. An hour before the plane landed, he called Enrique Gonzales. Despite the time, the second in command of the Mexican Federal Police was already up and on his second cup of coffee. An hour after the plane landed, Trent was in a cab and heading for the coffee bar Enrique had suggested for them to meet at.

      “I’ve found nothing,” Enrique said with a grim look. “We know she landed here. We know that it was a late-afternoon flight. She didn’t rent a car at the airport. We interviewed everyone in the vicinity. Only the man at the concession stand had any information. He got the impression that she wasn’t planning to stay long, at least not in Mexico City.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget the guy’s grasp of English is poor to say the least. He could have misunderstood. So, other than that, there’s nothing. But you know how it is. That’s the downfall of a city this large. There’s too many people, even the tourists disappear into the chaos.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean that I’ve given up. That’s the status for now.”

      Trent nodded. Everything that Enrique was saying made sense. Coming down here was a long shot. Now he wondered if he’d been overly optimistic in thinking that finding her might be that easy.

      “Anyway, I did a little more digging based on what you told me,” Enrique said. “The fact that she’s an artist got my interest and also got me thinking. Now, this is only a guess. But I wondered, would she go to San Miguel de Allende?”

      Trent wasn’t surprised to hear the name. It was a popular haunt for many in the arts community. “She’s been there before. Twice. I saw it on her Facebook feed from a few years ago.” In fact, he’d done a search on the city on the flight here, thinking that it might be a possibility. She’d been a gifted artist as a girl. But it was a clue that might have struck gold.

      “The arts community is tight. Someone there may know something. I’d say it’s worth a shot.”

      “I planned to search here first,” Trent said. “There’s no guarantee that she’s left Mexico City.”

      “Good point, but we can save time if I keep my nose to the ground here and you check out San Miguel. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

      “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Thanks, man.”

      An hour later, Trent was heading for a car rental agency. Whether Tara was in San Miguel de Allende or whether she was somewhere else in Mexico was anyone’s guess. The only thing he knew for sure was that she hadn’t boarded another plane out of Mexico City.

       Chapter Three

      Tara leaned back on the ornate white metal chair that was already well warmed by the morning sun. She was in a small courtyard that faced the main cobbled street where vendors congregated. The courtyard fronted the arched alcove of the heritage building. It was there where she’d rented a tiny apartment. The landlords—Carlos and his wife, Francesca—specialized in housing artistic types from all over the world. Their rates were good, or in better terms cheap. She’d stayed there before on her last visits. But this time around it seemed empty and worn and more than a little sad. Things seemed a little more run-down, like business hadn’t been so good.

      She watched as a stooped and withered woman wheeled a wagon full of red, yellow and blue baskets down the street. The wheel of the barrow bounced on the cobblestones. A young boy ran behind her, dashing to one side and then the other.

      Tara smiled as she leaned forward, watching the scene, taking in the details. She held a sketching pencil in one hand, and a strand of blond hair slipped free of the braid that hung down her back. From the first moment she’d discovered San Miguel de Allende, she’d felt at home. Even now, after all that had happened, she felt safe.

      The СКАЧАТЬ