Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Nope. I still have to tell my kids. Once you have your own, you’ll understand. I hope. And I don’t want to leave until after Grayson’s funeral. That’s a week from tomorrow.”

“Immediately after, then. Las Vegas. No arguing.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know. The first couple times I said ‘I do’ didn’t turn out all that great.”

“Third time’s a charm.”

“What an optimist.” But she was smiling.

“Come on, Regan. Take a chance on me. On us. You’ve already said, ‘yes,’ and are wearing the ring again—glad to see it—so let’s just do this thing.” He was so sincere, her heart nearly melted.

“It’s a matter of timing, that’s all.” She thought about the cases that were outstanding, especially Sheree Cantnor’s murder, then decided she, too, deserved a life. After all, she was going to be a mother again. “Just let me get through the funeral and take care of a few things, including telling my kids, then . . . then it’s a go.” She said the words and felt a little trill of excitement. Or was it trepidation?

“I’m holding you to it.” His grin was a devilish slash of white.

“All right, Santana,” she finally agreed and he gathered her close. Nose to nose, they smiled at each other in the darkness.

The next morning, Ryder wa

ited in the snow flurries outside the Midway Diner until he saw the Tahoe drive into the customer lot at the front of the building. The SUV bounced a little at the curb where the snow was piled high, then disappeared beyond the building to the employee parking area around back. It was early, not quite six and still dark outside, but he recognized Anne-Marie through the glass as she appeared inside the restaurant a few minutes later. Her wig was in place as was the extra padding, hiding her figure enough that she had a little trouble tying her apron around her thickened waist.

Itching to move, to sneak to her vehicle and plant a small GPS device, he forced himself to wait. He’d seen the owner, two waitresses, and a couple of cooks show up, then finally another girl who worked as a busboy. Usually a kid in a souped-up Accord was the last to arrive and Ryder wanted them all inside before he started near the Tahoe.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of after-factory exhaust pipes ripping through the winter air as the kid wheeled into the lot, his car nearly taking flight over the berm of ice and snow, the bass from his radio so loud it throbbed.

That should be it, Ryder thought. He gave the kid five minutes to get into the parking lot. Still, he had to be careful. The security lamp was illuminated and with all of the snow, the darkness was incomplete. Nonetheless, once he caught a visual of the Honda’s driver tying on an apron and working at the service counter, Ryder climbed out of his truck. Staying to the shadows, he walked down a side street, then through an alley, and landed at the Dumpster behind the restaurant.

The back door was closed, thankfully. With one eye on the building, he slipped between the parked cars and tucked the tiny device on the undercarriage of Anne-Marie’s SUV.

Headlights flashed, the beams washing over the Dumpster.

He froze, his heartbeat accelerating. For a second, he thought he’d missed an employee and would get caught.

Crap. How would he explain himself?

Fortunately, the beams disappeared quickly and he realized that the flash of illumination was from a vehicle turning into the front lot, a customer who’d shown up before the diner was open.

About to leave, he took a step toward the alley when the back door of the diner opened suddenly.

Ryder ducked down, hiding behind the Dumpster, certain he’d been seen. Damn!

Footsteps trudged through the snow.

“Shit, fuck, damn! Goddamn bitch,” a male voice growled as the lid of the trash bin creaked open. Then, a falsetto voice, “Marlon, take out the garbage. Marlon, get your butt in here. Marlon, do this. Marlon do that!” Thud. Something landed on the metal bottom, then the lid slammed down so forcefully it clanged and the entire Dumpster shuddered. “Fuckin’ goddamn bitch,” he said again.

Ryder didn’t so much as move a muscle. Getting found out wouldn’t be good.

“Wish I could throw your scrawny ass out with the trash!”

Noiselessly, barely breathing, Ryder waited, listening hard as snow collected on his shoulders and hat. He heard Marlon’s heavy footsteps thump through the snow and fade away, then the sound of the back door creaking open to slam shut again. He held fast, mentally counting to thirty before he peeked over the top edge of the Dumpster to assure himself he was alone.

The parking area was empty and all of Midway Diner’s employees appeared to be inside. Quietly, he made his way through the alley and eventually to his truck parked in the shadows.

Inside the cab, he took a deep breath as he watched another car drive into the lot. He stared at the diner’s front windows, waiting for another visual of the woman he presumed was Anne-Marie. As a pickup signaled to turn into the diner’s parking area, Ryder witnessed the blond waitress flipping the COME IN, WE’RE OPEN sign as the early birds, dressed in heavy jackets, boots, and caps, jonesing for their morning cup of joe, started bustling inside.

Time to make tracks.

For the next few hours, the diner would be busy with the morning rush and he’d have time to hook up equipment at the cabin in which he assumed she resided. He drove out of town and into the hills, his own GPS as his guide, until he saw the snag and boulder and on the other side of the road, a lane with obvious tire tracks. He kept going, drove to the next opening in the trees where a broken down gate with a faded PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING sign had been posted. He made short work of the gate, breaking the rusted lock and pushing the creaking metal gate inward. Ignoring the warning, he drove through. There were no tracks on the snowy land, so he drove cautiously through the opening in the trees, but, of course, he had no idea how far it wound or where the residence, if there was one, was located. Also, he would be guessing that the cottage or cabin or whatever Anne-Marie was using as a hideout was about the same distance from the main road. He hoped that was the case or otherwise he would lose valuable time searching for the place.