Hard To Forget. Annette Broadrick

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СКАЧАТЬ noted that one of the suspects graduated from Santiago High School with you. Is that correct?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “How well did you know him?”

      She thought of several responses to that, but chose to be circumspect. “It was a relatively small school. I knew everyone in the class.”

      He nodded. “Then you don’t think you’ll have any trouble making contact with him?”

      Trouble? That wasn’t the word that came to mind. “I don’t think so.”

      Wilder stood and Elena followed his lead. “How soon can you leave?” he asked.

      She rubbed her forehead, where a steady pulsating throb was already working itself into a full-fledged headache. “Probably tomorrow. Possibly the day after. I’ll need to contact my mother and prepare her for my moving back home.” She glanced at Wilder. “Do you really think this will take months?”

      “At the very least.”

      She sighed, kneading her temples.

      “Is this going to present personal problems for you?”

      Her mind flashed to Joseph Sanchez, ex-military.

      “No, sir,” she lied without a qualm. She would deal with the situation because she was a professional.

      Wilder held out his hand and she shook it. “Good luck,” he said gravely.

      “Thank you, sir.”

      They left the conference room together.

      She needed to go pack. She needed to contact her mother. And yes, she needed all the good luck she could get.

      In the coming months she would use all her skills to investigate the man who had caused her so much pain. If what was suspected about him was true, she would be a part of the team that brought him down.

      Several sayings flew through her mind as she retraced her steps down the hallway and returned to her own department. Two in particular kept circling.

      Revenge is sweet.

      Paybacks are hell.

      Well, she and ex-army major Joe Sanchez were about to find out if those sayings were true.

      Two

      A week later Elena sat at the end of the bar in a small smoke-filled cantina in Santiago, Texas, watching the locals at the other end of the bar indulge in their daily ritual of drinking and discussing their day with friends and neighbors.

      She’d arrived in town five days ago, and already she was suffering from serious signs of emotional claustrophobia.

      Elena had forgotten what life was like in a small town, where everybody knew everything about you and your family and didn’t mind asking personal questions. No matter how she might attempt to sidestep such questions, she found it impossible without appearing to be rude or disrespectful.

      Her mother kept reminding her that people asked about her life because they cared.

      Elena could do without so much caring.

      In the days since she’d arrived, she must have explained to every resident of the town, all fifteen hundred or so…

      Why she was back in town visiting her mother.

      Why she had chosen to return home after losing her job.

      What she’d been doing all these years.

      Why she wasn’t married.

      And whether she intended her return home to be permanent.

      As if that wasn’t enough, after five days of putting up with intensive interrogations from her mother’s friends, who made law-enforcement officials appear timid and soft, she’d seen no sign of Joe Sanchez.

      However, she’d heard about the new factories that had been opened right across the border from Santiago and how the economy of the town had been helped by residents of Mexico crossing the border to shop in Santiago stores.

      She’d sat in the local café and listened as town members complained about the big trucks rumbling through the town at all hours of the night, moving product northward.

      This was the second night in a row she’d sat in the bar, watching and listening. Once the locals had placed her, they had pretty much ignored her presence, which was exactly what she—and Wilder—had counted on.

      What she didn’t hear was anything about illegal trafficking along the border. Wilder had been right. This case wasn’t going to be handled quickly.

      She’d traded in her tailored slacks for well-worn jeans, her silk blouses and jackets for T-shirts, her dark leather shoes for sandals. She’d been forced to carry her weapon in her purse because she could not conceal it on her body unless she wore a jacket, and even in May, the weather didn’t call for any kind of jacket.

      She’d lucked out last night when she walked into the cantina for the first time since she’d come to Texas to discover Chico Morales tending bar. She’d gone to school with Chico. So far he offered her the best opportunity she’d had since she’d arrived in Santiago to ask casually about other former classmates, including Joe Sanchez.

      Chico had been embarrassingly excited to see her, going on and on about how good she looked and how no one would guess she would be thirty on her next birthday.

      She couldn’t really say the same about Chico. He’d obviously married a good cook. Either that or he’d spent the past few years knocking back several bottles of his favorite brew on a daily basis.

      He’d pulled out photos of his children, three boys and a little girl who was a real cutie. She must take after her mother, Elena thought.

      After listening to him reminisce about his life since high school, she had gradually eased the conversation around to other class members. He’d been obliging, filling her in on who had married whom and who was running around with whose wife.

      She’d listened and smiled, joked about her own lack of a love life and encouraged him to fill her in on what had been happening in Santiago since she’d left school.

      Eventually Chico mentioned Joe and how surprised everyone was when he left the military and moved back to Santiago a few months ago.

      Exactly her reaction. He must have had a strong reason to come back here after getting a chance to see how the rest of the world lived. Elena gave no indication that Joe was the person she’d been waiting for. She had nodded and made comments similar to the ones she’d made about others they had known way back when.

      She felt she’d made definite progress when Chico mentioned that Joe came into the cantina once in a while, but he wasn’t a regular like the group at the other end of the bar. Most of them came in every night after work, sometimes forgetting to go home until the place closed down.

      According to Chico, Joe traveled a СКАЧАТЬ