Four Live Rounds

“Yeah, so?”

“Her maiden name was Sharp. She was my younger sister. Putting it together yet? Now, Javier is the man who took your wife. My sister. Wouldn’t you like to know where they are? Wouldn’t you like to ask him a question or two?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, no one else is gonna get that information for you, and this is the price. This is what it costs. So man up.”

“I’ve never done anything like this, and I can’t risk prison.”

“Well, unless you figure this out, you’re already going away for your wife’s murder.”

“What’s that? Blackmail?”

“I’d hate to, that’s the truth, but I’ll turn you in, Will. Maybe I get back in with the Bureau. Maybe I get some interest in my sister’s case. Don’t think for a second I won’t if you jeopardize my getting my hands on Javier.” Will stared at a passing car, the air above the pavement rippling with heat. “I have you by the balls, Will. You got no other play.”

“We talk to him,” Will said. “That’s it. We only talk.”

SEVENTEEN

Five minutes later, Will pulled the Buick into the parking lot of an abandoned mall that appeared to have been gutted by fire in the recent past. It was 4:00 P.M., the light beginning to lengthen. Kalyn helped Misty and Raphael out of the backseat, removed the handcuffs from the boy’s ankles, and led them at gunpoint through one of the shattered front windows of a Belk Store, Will following close behind.

It was dark inside, and smelled like a fireplace. Kalyn had brought a flashlight, and she swept the beam through the store as they followed one of the aisles past the footwear section, the south wall scorched black, the odor of melted plastic and glass and linoleum growing stronger. Clothing racks still populated the store, most laden with singed, molding clothes. Will didn’t know if it was the stench of the place or the fear of the situation, but he felt sick to his stomach.

“What are we doing here?” Misty asked. Her question went unanswered. “My nose is burning.”

In the far corner of the store, they came to the children’s department.

“Head back toward the dressing rooms,” Kalyn said.

Misty was crying again. They arrived at the door to the last dressing room, which Kalyn pushed open. On the floor lay two sleeping bags, a stack of paperback books, four flashlights, two cases of bottled water, and a canvas bag brimming with nonperishable food.

“What’s this?” Misty asked.

“Sit down, both of you.” Kalyn uncuffed Raphael and Misty, then recuffed their hands to two of the metal legs of a bench that was bolted to the floor. She put the water and the food and the flashlights within reach.

“You’re gonna leave us here?” Misty asked.

“Think how terrified the women your husband kidnapped must have been.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Am I going to find him at the Boulders?”

“Yeah.”

“You do not want to lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“If you’ve told me the truth, the police will come get you tonight. If you haven’t, I will, and God help you.” She looked at Raphael. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, okay? I need you to be brave for me for a little while longer.”

As Kalyn and Will walked out of the dressing room, Misty screamed after them, her voice filling the dark, empty store.

EIGHTEEN

Now Kalyn drove, speeding north up Scottsdale Road.

Will stared out the window, and despite the fear, he had to acknowledge that there was a part of him that wanted very much to be here, to see Javier Estrada.

He pulled out his cell.

“What are you doing?” Kalyn asked.

“Calling my daughter.”

Devlin answered on the first ring, “Hey, Dad.”

The sound of her voice crushed him. “What are you doing, baby girl?”

“Watching a cooking show on PBS.”

“How is it?”

“Awesometastic,” she replied, echoing her mother’s sassy spunk. “You almost done? Kalyn’s channels suck even worse than ours.”

“Not yet.”

She paused, said, “Did you see him?”

“I can’t talk right now, honey. I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted to check in.”

He closed the cell.

North of Scottsdale, they passed through the gates of the Boulders, thirty-six holes of legendary golf links, sculpted into desert foothills.

“You play?” Kalyn asked as they approached the clubhouse.

“Used to.”

“So how do we find this guy if he’s somewhere out there?”

“This is a very nice course. I’m sure he needed reservations, so the pro shop would be the place to start.”

Kalyn pulled into a parking spot and they walked together into the pro shop. The man behind the counter was forty-something and tanned to golden perfection, his brown hair gilded by sunlight. Will could also see that he was brimming with attitude, that rare, sophisticated superiority effused by those with just enough talent to be the local pro but who lack some crucial ingredient to win their PGA card. His name tag read Dan.

“Help you with something?” he said. Kalyn reached into her purse, took out her expired FBI ID, let it flip open, carefully watching Dan’s eyes. They weren’t really reading it, just registering the shock of seeing FBI in bold blue letters.

Kalyn snapped it closed. “I wonder if you could help us, Dan. We’re trying to locate a gentleman named Javier Estrada. I believe he may be playing here right now.”

The club pro stepped behind a computer, began typing.

“You don’t need a warrant or anything for this?” he asked.

Busted, Will thought. You better handle this with grace, Kalyn.

“No, sir,” she said. “Now if I wanted to know how many times he’d played in the last month, or access to his locker, that would require a warrant.”

“What’s this all about?” He was still typing.

“I’m sorry, I can’t go into that. Do you know Mr. Estrada?”

“I’ve given him several lessons in the last month. He tips very well.”

“Look at me, sir.” Dan looked up. “I’m not going to tell Mr. Estrada whatever information you give me, and you’d be wise not to discuss this with him. He’s a dangerous man.” Dan’s eyes cut back to the computer screen.