ONE
“I’M GOING TO wring her pretty ballerina neck,” Ben Palmer told himself as he drove from the airport in McAllen, Texas, to Querida, where his quarry lived. He studied the side of the road for the break in the dry brush he remembered from a couple of weeks ago when he and his brother, Jack, had been here together in search of Jack’s sister. He was glad Elizabeth Corazon Manning Ochoa wasn’t his sister—the little thief! As if her full name wasn’t enough to deal with, her given name was the Spanish word for heart. It should have been whatever the Spanish word was for trouble. “There it is.”
He turned right onto the narrow, bumpy lane, watching for the Rio Road sign. High weeds lined the path that led to the impoverished little two-block-long downtown. The side with city hall, the post office and the library, all built in traditional Spanish style with arches and red-tiled roofs, looked tidy and well-kept in contrast to the stores and services opposite them and the run-down bed-and-breakfast at the very end. Fall flowers lined the street on the city hall side but the commercial businesses looked as though they struggled to stay alive.
He slowed as he passed the Grill, the café where Corie waitressed. It was the only structure on the block that looked even mildly prosperous. He noticed that her black Ford truck was not in the parking lot. She must have the day off.
Remembering the directions to her home from the last visit, he turned onto Hidalgo Road just beyond downtown.
Two minutes later he pulled the SUV to a stop across from the little house she rented and saw immediately that her truck wasn’t there, either. Maybe she was at Teresa McGinnis’s foster home.
He drove to the property and pulled up to the chain-link fence. A crowd of children played in the front yard. Behind them stood the large hacienda-style home, its faded pink stone a picture of Old West glory.
He knew Corie spent much of her free time helping Teresa, who’d brought her here when she was twelve. He could see the backyard where Corie usually parked but the only vehicle there today was Teresa’s old dark blue Safari van. He hoped she knew where Corie was.
He parked then took a moment to stretch after climbing out of his rental car. The temperature was in the low seventies in this eastern reach of the Rio Grande Valley and he soaked up the sunshine while his usually active muscles protested the long confinement on the plane. When he’d left Oregon this morning it had been thirty-seven degrees. He told himself to relax but he was wound tighter than a spool of cable.
He pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, ignored by all the children but two boys he guessed to be about nine and ten. The younger one was short, sturdily built and appeared to be Hispanic, while the older, taller boy had shaggy, carrot-red hair and blue eyes. He was scrawny but smiling. The boys flanked Ben as he strode up the walk to the house.
“Who are you?” the older boy asked as he ran alongside Ben to keep up. He offered his hand. “I’m Soren.”
Ben stopped to shake hands. “Hi, Soren. I’m Ben.”
Soren indicated his friend. “This is Carlos.”
The boy shook Ben’s hand but didn’t smile. He pointed to three little boys playing with a tether ball. “Those are my brothers.”
“Hi, Carlos. Good to meet you.” Ben started toward the house. “Excuse me, guys. I came to see Teresa.”
Both boys stopped. Soren’s smile faded. “Are you from Corpus Christi?”
Ben stopped, too. “No. I’m from Oregon. Why? Are you expecting someone from Corpus Christi?” Cyrus Tyree of Corpus Christi, Teresa’s landlord, was part of the reason Ben was here.
“No, but somebody came from there and he made Teresa cry,” Soren said. He and Carlos exchanged an angry look. “We’re going to have to go.”
“Go?”
“Live somewhere else. We don’t want to. We want to stay right here.”
Suddenly they were surrounded by the other kids, girls and boys who looked younger than Soren and Carlos. One little girl held a large purse over her arm. Ben guessed they’d overheard the conversation about leaving. They ran along with Ben and his two new friends as they climbed the step to the broken-down veranda. He wished the kids would go back to their play. He liked kids as a rule. Many of his friends had them and he found them amazing. But this trip was about saving Jack’s sister, himself, Jack and his new bride from jail. He didn’t have time for the distraction of soulful eyes and needy little faces.
“Do we have to go now?” a little boy asked. He stood with the group of three Carlos had identified as his brothers. They looked remarkably alike.
Before Ben could reply, a pudgy little girl about eight in glossy black braids said authoritatively, “I think it’s against the law to make us go. Families get to stay together.”
“Oh, yeah?” Soren turned on her. “Where’s your dad?”
The little girl folded her arms, the question apparently compromising her confidence. She answered more quietly, “He’s coming to get me.”
“When, Rosie? You’ve been here six months. Families don’t always get to stay together.”
One of the little boys said, “Maybe he died. Our mom died.”
“He’s not dead!” Rosie’s voice cracked, her eyes a heartbreaking mixture of anger and sorrow. “He’s coming for me.”
Ben stood in the middle of the turbulent little group. He stretched both arms out, prepared to explain that he needed time to talk to Teresa. But the children crowded around him as though his open arms offered shelter. He was speechless for an instant.
“Ah, well...when families don’t get to stay together,” he heard himself say, “you can sometimes make your own family with friends. That happened to my brother, Jack. His mom had to go away for a long time, so he came to live with my parents and me. He’s part of our family now.”
“That’s being adopted,” Rosie said knowledgeably. “But my dad’s coming to get me, so I don’t want to get another family. I want to stay with Teresa until he comes.”
“The man said Teresa can’t stay here.” Carlos’s voice was gentle. If Soren was the leader of this group, Carlos was its chaplain. “We...”
The front door opened and Teresa stood there, a plump toddler in her arms. Roberto, Ben remembered, seemed permanently attached to her. As he had the last time Ben was here, the baby reached for him.
“Hey. You remember me.” He laughed and took the little guy from Teresa, flattered and distracted by his wide smile and eager reach.
“We’re staying right here for now,” Teresa told the children firmly. “And I don’t want anyone talking about going away until we know what’s going to happen.” She focused on one child, then the next, until she’d looked into each of their faces with the determination in hers. It was a matter of presence. As a cop, Ben knew all about that. You had to believe you were invincible so that whoever you were trying to convince believed it, too. She was good.
The kids looked at each other with clear suspicion, but they didn’t seem quite as worried anymore. Soren and Carlos, older and possibly more experienced
