Page 107 of No Child of Mine

Baker pulled back the tarp so they could get a look at the body of Ezra Dodge. He was a middle-aged, balding Anglo, overweight, overalls and dirty work shirt. And a bullet hole to the back of the head. The man had been executed.

“Cold.” Alex stepped back and let Baker’s evidence tech get to work. “Chavez got his revenge on Clarisse with one shot.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he would let her get—”

“Detective.” A young, skinny deputy whose avid expression said this was his first homicide, marched toward them, flapping a piece of paper in one hand.

Baker snatched the paper, a quizzical look on his face. “What is it?”

“Dispatch just called. An officer outside of Florence saw a van matching the description of the SRS vehicle parked at a convenience store getting gas. He’s confirmed there were four kids in the van, two girls and two boys. The license plate number matches. He’s keeping them under surveillance. His department is backing him up. They want to approach.”

“No.” Baker slapped his hat on head. “Tell them to continue surveillance but to wait to approach until we get there. Our friends from Texas know more about these guys than anybody here. It’d be best if they’d do the negotiating. Our goal here is to get those kids back safely. A shootout with local law enforcement isn’t likely to do that.”

Alex’s hand went to his holster. If negotiating didn’t work, he wanted to be the one to convince Tómas Chavez to give himself up—the hard way.

Chapter Forty-five

PD in the small town of Florence had been plenty happy to wait for their arrival. Officer Robert Sampson had done an excellent job keeping tabs on the van. It was now parked at a single unit cottage at a locally owned Scenic Road Motel that—despite peeling paint, sagging awnings, and cracked, pothole filled parking lot—trumpeted itself on a neon sign as the finest sleeping establishment in the city. Alex leaned against Baker’s Explorer and waited the detective confirmed with the motel owner, who said Chavez had paid cash for one two-bedroom cottage—number eight.

A single street light at the entrance illuminated the area closest to the street but didn’t reach the last row of cottages. The owner of the place had turned off the neon sign and the lights at the restaurant and the office at their request, leaving only the naked bulbs that hung over the doors of the individual units. Chavez hadn’t turned his on. Cottage number eight was dark. No sign of movement behind the curtains of a large window at the front of the cottage.

“They’re in there, I watched him go in.” Officer Sampson looked pleased with himself.

Mid-twenties, smooth shaven, a patch of acne on both cheeks, another guy with no experience. Alex stifled a sigh. “Did all four of the kids seem all right?”

“One of the boys was helping one of the girls. She was leaning on him, but she was walking.”

Alex nodded and turned to watch Baker try to calm the owner.

“I don’t want no trouble.” The guy’s frown revealed a set of crooked, gray teeth. Mr. Seeley had been reluctant to cooperate, saying he was trying to build on the RV travelers passing though his city going south. To Alex, the number of 18-wheeler cabs lining the back of the parking lot told the true story. “I just renovated number eight—new seventeen-inch, color TV, nice queen, and a coffeemaker.”

“Everyone wants this to end peacefully, Mr. Seeley.” Baker gave the man an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you go on back across the street and wait where it’s safe until we decide on a course of action.”

Mr. Seeley didn’t look happy, but he did what he was told.

“All the units are the same.” Baker spread a blueprint the owner had given him across the hood of his vehicle and shone his flashlight on it. “There’s a front door and a back door. The back door is to your right as you face the back side of the structure. There’s a living area and kitchen to the front of the structure. To the back are the bedrooms, separated by the bathroom.”

“What’s the plan?” They couldn’t go in with guns blazing, not and guarantee the kids’ safety. Still the thought of wiping that ugly smirk from Chavez’s face with his Glock gave Alex a momentary flash of satisfaction.

“We could call him to try to negotiate some kind of exchange,” Cooper offered. “Safe passage out of the state if he gives up the kids. The owner says the unit has a working phone.”

“Thing is, that tips him off that we’re here.” Baker argued. “We lose any element of surprise.”

Alex kicked a rock across the parking lot, then stamped his feet. “What other options do we have—short of breaking the door down?’

“How about a little maid service?” Deborah’s tone said she was absolutely serious. “Why don’t I offer Mr. Chavez some clean sheets and towels.”

“No way. The guy’s crazy—besides he’s not going to open the—”

“Shut up, Luna—”

“Both of you, hold your horses.” Cooper broke in, his voice sharp. “Just hold on, for a minute. There may be some merit to Detective’s Smith’s suggestion. If she can distract him at the front door, we can use the key to get in the back. It’ll only give us a few seconds head start on him, but it could be enough to pull it off. Baker, you can focus on getting the kids out of harm’s way. Officer Robertson will be out front on the radio, letting us know if Detective Smith gets in. Alex, you and I will go after Chavez. All you have to do, Detective Smith, is keep his attention on you long enough for us to get into the place.”

“This is nuts.” Alex forced himself to shut his mouth. She was a cop. And he had no right to let personal feelings get in the way of doing the job. “Nuts.”

It only took five minutes for Deborah to change into the maid service uniform provided by Mr. Seeley. She had taken Cooper’s advice about keeping Chavez’s attention to an undue extreme in Alex’s opinion. She’d rolled the skirt up so her slim legs were exposed and left a couple buttons too many unbuttoned on the thin, white blouse under a dark green sweater. Alex wanted to swear at the sight of her long, blonde hair loose on her shoulders.

“Look, Deborah, please be careful—”

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