Free Taken by Robert Crais

paper. Query, question, ask. Coy—you write fast, you abbreviate. I’m guessing ‘coyote’ because every article on her desk is something about coyotes sneaking people across the border. Also, I’m a genius.”
    “I loves me a smart chick.”
    “I knew you’d see the light. They always do.”
    “Okay, there’s one more thing.”
    “I know. You want me to read all these articles to see if a coyote named Sanchez is mentioned.”
    “Affirmative.”
    She made a big deal of sighing.
    “I’m so easy. You should take advantage of me.”
    “Thanks, buddy. This is a big help.”
    “Buddy. Every girl’s dream, being a hot guy’s buddy.”
    “I’m old enough to be your father. Kinda.”
    “Only small minds are limited by society’s conventions.”
    I was still smiling when I hung up and phoned Nita Morales. She was in a meeting, but immediately came to the phone. I told her where I was, launched into a rundown of what I had learned. I was just beginning to build up momentum when she surprised me.
    “She went to that airplane?”
    “You know about it?”
    “This is how I came. She wanted to know what coming north was like, so I told her. Meeting there was common then if you came up the Imperial Valley. Our guide called it the airport. It was a safe place to meet and easy to find. He would say, tomorrow we are going to land at the airport, and you will get on another airplane. I hope that pilot knows how to fly. He thought this was funny.”
    “What was your coyote’s name?”
    “We did not call them coyotes. They were our guides.”
    “Okay. Who was he?”
    “I don’t think I ever knew. I was seven.”
    “Have you heard of a coyote named Sanchez?”
    She sounded annoyed.
    “I don’t know people like this. People in my situation, we’re not part of some underground society. You think we get together, have margarita parties, and laugh it up about how we put one over on Uncle Sam? I was seven. It’s something you try to put behind you. These things are not part of my life.”
    I told her about the things I found in the bush, including the handwritten note.
    “Mary Sue thinks it means ‘ask a coyote named Sanchez.’”
    “Ask what?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe it has nothing to do with where she is or why she’s missing, but if she wanted to ask Sanchez something, then I want to ask him, too.”
    “The attorney I saw knows about these things.”
    “The attorney you saw when you looked into changing your status?”
    “Yes. He is an immigration attorney who is sympathetic in these matters. I know he represents undocumented people when they are arrested. I have his number.”
    “Okay.”
    “Thomas Locano. He was very nice. Here—”
    She gave me a number with a Pasadena area code. I asked her to call him. As her attorney at that time, he would need her permission to share information.
    “Mr. Cole? I will call the police if you think it is best.”
    “I’ve been involved less than five hours. Let’s see what develops.”
    “I would give up everything for her, Mr. Cole. Without hesitation. I want you to know this.”
    “I know you would, but you won’t have to. Nothing happening now is about you. It’s about finding Krista and bringing her home. The police won’t ask your status, and don’t care.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Outside, a red Jeep Cherokee pulled into the parking lot and parked beside my car. The man inside did not get out. He waited without moving, dark glasses locked forward, immobile as a statue.
    I checked the time.
    “Yes. I’m sure. This is why I’m the World’s Greatest Detective.”
    “You are trying to make me smile again.”
    “Yep.”
    “It did not work.”
    “I know. But I had to try.”
    I put away my phone, and went out to the Jeep. The man behind the wheel looked at me as I climbed into the passenger seat, but said nothing. Conversation was not his strong point.
    Pike, Joseph, no middle initial, learned the tracking arts as a boy who grew up at the edge of a