“No, didn’t buzz for me. He wants to be done with all that, gets pissed off when he’s not. Can’t blame him, really. He’s got a parallel going with Teresa. He built a new life, and he wants to keep it. But there’s Lino.”
She got in the car, sat back. “There’s Lino,” she repeated when Roarke slid behind the wheel. “An obstacle, a reminder, a weight, whatever you want to term it. And Lino is that element of the past, of the mistakes, of the trouble, of the hardship that shadows the new life. And his being dead, for these two? It doesn’t change that.”
He pulled out, headed toward home. “If whatever went down to send Lino running from New York was big enough, we can find it. Media search of that time would turn it up.”
“Maybe. But you know, the mother didn’t get that look in her eyes. That ‘oh shit, here it comes again’ look Inez got. Why didn’t she know? Her take was he left to get rich and important, not because he was running. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.” She scrubbed at her face. “I’m getting conflicting vibes on this case. Everyone I talk to has a different pop for me. I need to sort it out.”
“You’re learning who he was now.”
“Need the official ID to make that, well, official. But yeah, I’m getting a picture. Gonna have to skip church tomorrow,” she decided, and sent a text to Peabody’s mail with the change.
“I don’t suppose it counts against you as you’ll be skipping church to interview Soto, and identify your victim.”
“Hmm. Still want to hook López. Hit him at the rectory after Soto. Girlfriend,” she mused. “Childhood connections. I don’t really have any. You do. How far does the loyalty go?”
“That’s much too vague and open-ended a question for a definitive answer.”
“A friend from back in the old days did something, or didn’t do something, that caused a rift between you—something that you argued about, disagreed about. He takes off. Do you continue to protect him? Do you keep it zipped for all time because you were once, let’s say, part of the same team?”
“And now too black-and-white, Lieutenant. Some would depend on what he’d done, or hadn’t, and how—or if—it affects me and mine. Would unzipping it change what had happened, or balance some scale if I felt it needed to be balanced?”
“You’d keep it zipped,” she muttered. “It’s that pride again, as much as loyalty. I can get it out of Inez if I need to.”
“No doubt. He didn’t have the kill mark on his tattoo,” Roarke added.
“No, he didn’t. Unlike Lino and Chávez. His sheet had his identifying marks. But how do I find out who Lino killed when a bunch of snivelers crying ‘Oh, the poor misunderstood children’—who are killing, maiming, wreaking havoc—‘need a clean slate,’ wiped the records? If there was a record,” she added.
“Given a bit of time and the unregistered, I could get you that information—if Lino was charged, or arrested. Even questioned.”
She slanted him a look. She’d thought of that possibility already. “How much is a bit of time?”
“I can’t say until I get my hands in it.”
She blew out a breath. “I can’t make it work. As far as I know, there’s nobody’s life on the line, no imminent threat. It’s just the easy way to get around a block.”
“What’s that I hear?” He tapped his ear. “Ah yes, that would be your pride talking.”
“Shut up. It’s not pride, it’s procedure. I’m not going around the law just to shortcut procedure and satisfy my curiosity. And so what if it is pride?”
As they drove through the gates, he picked up her hand, tugged it over, and kissed her knuckles. “Here we are, two prideful people. That would be one of the seven deadlies. Want to explore any of the others? Lust would be my first choice.”
“Lust is always your first choice. And your second, and right down to your last choice.”
“Sometimes I like to combine it with greed.” Even before he stopped the car, he pressed the release for her seat belt, then gripped her shirt, pulled her over.
“Hey.”
“Maybe it’s all that talk about the old days, and youth.” Smooth and clever, he had his seat back and her straddling him. “Brings back fond memories of getting the girl naked in whatever vehicle I could . . . acquire at the time.”
“You had time for sex after grand theft auto?”
“Darling, there’s always time for sex.”
“Only on your clock. Jesus, how many hands do you have?” She bat-ted them away, but not before he’d managed to unbutton her shirt and stir her up. “Listen, if you need a bounce, there’s a perfectly good bed, probably about two dozen of them, in the house.”
“It’s not about the bounce, or not altogether.” He skimmed a finger down her throat. “It’s about the moment, and recapturing for that brief time, the foolishness of youth.”
“Speak for yourself. I didn’t have time for foolishness.” She started to reach for the door, with the intention of opening it and wiggling out, but he locked his arms around her, laughed.