Page 22 of The Breakdown

Tom hesitated and readjusted himself in the seat. He had on a ball cap and a tank top with a bright pair of board shorts. He looked like he should be on a beach, not hunting down his ex-wife. But maybe that was the point.

“Well?”

Tom cleared his throat and finally crossed an ankle over his knee. He bobbed his Nike-covered foot. “She’s gone.”

Allen blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. “I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard. What did you say?”

“She’s gone, sir.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

He visibly swallowed and again shook his foot. “She’s, uh—not at home or—anywhere.”

“She has to be somewhere. Surely you know that. I mean, the woman doesn’t go anywhere but to the goddamned store and that apartment of hers. So, you’re mistaken, my friend. She is not gone.”

“I can’t find her. I’ve looked everywhere. I—lost her on the way home from the grocery store yesterday. She—”

Allen held up his palm to stop him. “You lost her?”

“Yes, sir. She—pulled out in front of traffic and sped off. I couldn’t follow. And by the time I did—she was gone.”

Allen chuckled softly, fuming inside. Hot blood spread beneath his skin and he swore he could literally burst into flames at any second. He slammed his hand down on the table and the beach boy jerked. “She’s gone and she’s been gone since yesterday?”

“I—I waited it out at her apartment all night, thinking she would eventually return. I didn’t want to bother you—”

“You didn’t want to bother me? Have you lost your fucking mind, Tom?”

Tom didn’t speak. He seemed it wise not to answer.

Allen stood, palms on his desk. He leaned forward. “You’re supposed to be the best. I’m paying you as if you are the best. So what the hell is going on here, Tommy? Are you the best or are you just a fraud, sent here to take my money?”

“I’m the best—sir. I swear.”

“Then I suggest you get the hell out of my office and you go find my ex-wife before I come across this desk and rip your goddamned throat out.”

Tom stood and trembled. He backed away toward the door. “Yes, sir. Right on it, sir.” He ran into the door, struggled to pull it open, and walked out. Allen collapsed into his chair and picked up a pencil. He snapped it in half with his thumb and threw it across the room. Then he picked up the phone and dialed.

Tom might be the best at surveillance, but he knew someone who was better at something far worse. He grinned as the line was answered.

Chapter Nine

June shook some cumin, garlic powder, onion powder, oregano, and paprika into a pan of sizzling ground beef. She stirred the contents with her wooden spoon, inhaling the cumin as it mingled with the other spices. She hummed as she added the last of the spices. The crushed red pepper. She finished stirring the ground beef and checked on the Mexican rice. After giving that one last good stir, she opened the oven for the taco shells. They were just beginning to brown so she, with an oven glove on, slid them out and set them on a cooling rack on the counter. Next, she removed the glove and stirred her pot of refried beans on the back burner. They, like everything except for the taco shells, were homemade. Vaughn insisted on it. The child never had liked the processed version of anything, especially refried beans.

June left the stove and cut up the lettuce and tomatoes at the cutting board on the kitchen island. She got out the cheese and sour cream and set the table. She returned to the stove and turned off all the burners, wiped her hands on her apron, and walked outside to ring the bell for lunch. It only took a few rings for the boys to come jogging toward the house, hungry for a midday meal. Vaughn soon followed, looking a little worse for wear and June wondered if her back was hurting. Poor child needed to see a doctor, but she knew she’d fight her on it, so most of the time she didn’t even try to press her about it. She was just as stubborn as her headstrong mother, and there was no convincing that woman of doing anything she didn’t have a mind to do.

“What’s for lunch, Miss June?” Benny asked, tugging off his hat. His skin was coated in sweat, and he had a metallic smell to him that let her know he’d been working hard.

“Tacos.”

He smiled at her. “Whew-ee. I sure do love your tacos.”

“You love everything I cook, Benny. Who you kidding?”

“That I do, ma’am.” He headed inside as Greer joined her on the porch.

“Did I hear you say tacos, Miss June?”

“You did.”

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