The Stronghold. Lisa Carter

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      With Emily busy with multiple autopsies, Charles coordinated by phone with a tribal detective to identify the missing teenagers. Darlene updated the suspected serial’s profile. And Sidd’s record search revealed one homestead closest to the crime scene.

      The home belonged to an old lady Alex planned to interview with Pilar’s help. Something Sidd and the detective could’ve handled, but Alex’s brief conversation with Pilar in the canyon hadn’t been enough.

      Not by a long shot.

      He headed out of their temporary office at the tribal police department toward the mountains halfway between the rez and Saguaro Gulch, the closest town to Abuela. Alex exited off Highway 70 onto 191 heading south. He turned off the highway onto a secondary road.

      A few twists and turns further, he sighted a run-down trailer and checked the GPS. The isolated trailer abutted the looming mountains. But it wasn’t Pilar’s house.

      Following a tertiary road, he found her trim mobile home set amidst sagebrush against the backdrop of the wilderness area. Next to the trailer stood a freestanding basketball goal. He pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine. As neat and tidy as the other trailer had been ramshackle, he waited in the vehicle as per Apache courtesy to be invited inside.

      He’d made it his business to inquire what time she went off shift. He’d made a lot of things his business over the years in regard to Pilar. But from a distance.

      Alex watched as the front door swung open. He pushed his aviator sunglasses onto the crown of his head as a long-limbed teenage boy emerged from the depths of the mobile home.

      Thirteen or fourteen maybe? Alex wasn’t good with kids’ ages. Hadn’t much experience with kids of any age.

      Light-skinned and tall for an Apache, the boy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the parked SUV. His dark, plaited braid hung over his shoulder. The boy hugged a basketball to his stomach.

      Alex flung open the door accompanied by much dinging and stepped out of the vehicle.

      Clad in jeans and a tank top, the boy didn’t respond.

      Alex flashed his badge. “Special Agent Alex Torres. Are you Manny, Byron’s son?” He handed the boy his business card.

      Manny examined the card and tucked it into his jeans. “Yeah. That’s me.” Something akin to recognition flickered in the boy’s eyes. “You’re Abuela’s grandson. She lets me call her Abuela, too. I’ve seen pictures of you at her house.”

      Alex smiled. “Guilty as charged. And Abuela is everyone’s grandmother. I caught a case on the rez with your auntie. Came by to ask for her help in an interview tomorrow.”

      The boy straightened. “So you’ve seen my auntie today already? Uh,” his eyes searched left and right. “She in a good mood or what? Do you know when she’ll be home?”

      Pilar didn’t do “good mood.” Not around Alex.

      He shrugged. “She seemed like she always is.”

      “I hear you.” The boy slumped against the doorframe. “I also hear you and my dad were best friends a long time ago. Played football.”

      “A long, long time ago.”

      “You played basketball in your day, too.”

      In his day?

      He fought the grin threatening to break free. “Back in the day, I was known to pick up a game or two.”

      Actually, he’d gotten a scholarship once upon a time based on his basketball prowess.

      Manny nudged his chin toward Alex’s white-collared professional attire. “Think you could handle a little one-on-one while you’re waiting for Auntie, old man?”

      Alex rolled his tongue in his cheek. “I think I could manage that. Maybe teach you a few moves in the process.”

      Manny came off the stoop. “Or maybe I’ll teach the old dog a few new tricks.”

      Alex laughed. “You can try.” An echo of Pilar’s words to him.

      In a sudden lunge, he stole the ball out of Manny’s hands, took a flying leap, and dunked the ball with a swish. “Nothing but net, my man. Nothing but net.”

      Manny caught the rebound. A smile teased at the corners of the boy’s mouth. “Not bad for an old guy.” He dribbled the ball out of Alex’s long-armed reach. Hustling the ball past Alex’s defensive posture, Manny pivoted and did a quick layup.

      Alex got the rebound. “Pretty good for a rookie. But I’m afraid experience wins over inexperience every time.” He bounced the ball between his legs.

      “Fancy move, old man. But despite what the Anglos claim, beauty will win out over age.” Darting, he captured the ball, dribbled, and made the shot.

      Alex grinned and struggled to catch his breath. The boy might be right. Manny didn’t appear winded. Mid-thirties didn’t play with the same gusto as a teenager.

      “Mercy.” Alex planted his hands on his knees. “The joints and the legs aren’t what they used to be.”

      The boy snorted. “That’s what Auntie says right after I beat the tar out of her score.”

      Alex’s mouth curved. “You and Pilar scrimmage?”

      The fourteen—maybe?—year-old boy nodded. “She’s helping me get ready for basketball tryouts next month. She’s got game for an old lady.”

      Old lady? Pilar was early thirties. Her birth date forever seared into his mind.

      Alex made an effort to breathe. “Bet you don’t beat her in a race, though. She’s like the wind. Beat me a few times back in the day.”

      “She doesn’t quit either. Outlasts and outruns the guys on the force at the yearly marathon.”

      Manny held the ball to his chest. “She’s going to be furious when she gets home.” He avoided Alex’s eyes. “I got into trouble today.”

      Alex wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand. “What kind of trouble? How bad?”

      Manny bit his lip. “Bad. Expelled for two weeks. A fight.”

      “Been in a few of those I was unable to walk away from. Didn’t solve anything. Usually made things worse.”

      Manny grimaced. “I’ve been walking away. Got tired of walking away. Got tired of hearing them say I’m—” His eyes scudded toward the darkening sky over the mesa.

      Alex frowned. “Are you being bullied? I’d be glad to listen if you want to talk.”

      “Talking isn’t going to help.” Manny glanced at him. “Besides, it’s an Apache thing between the guys and me. You wouldn’t understand.”

      “Maybe not. Maybe if you tell Pilar what’s going on—”

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