Free Secure Location by Beverly Long Page A
Authors: Beverly Long
strangle you with one of your black socks. Do we have an understanding?”
“I just want to get on with my life,” Hawkins said. He moved to close the door and this time, Cruz let him.
He walked down the sidewalk back to his rental car. Hawkins was bitter and thoroughly convinced that he’d been screwed. That was enough to keep him on the short list of suspects. But even if he wouldn’t admit it, he had to know that he was lucky that BJM hadn’t pressed charges. Would he be stupid enough to do something else that could land him in jail?
Cruz didn’t know. But he thought he’d gotten his point across. Now he needed to keep working his list of suspects.
He used the GPS in his car and realized that Troy Blakely’s apartment was within fifteen minutes of Hawkins’s house. When he got there, he quickly realized that finding this guy might not be quite so easy.
None of the inhabitants at the rat hole of a building in downtown San Antonio had ever heard of Troy Blakely. It took Cruz another two hours to track down the landlord who confirmed that he’d never rented to anyone by that name.
Which meant that he’d falsified his address on his employment paperwork. There was no good reason to do that.
Chapter Six
He called Meg. The phone was picked up on the second ring. “Meg Montoya’s office. Charlotte speaking.”
“This is Cruz Montoya. May I speak to Meg?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Montoya. Meg is in a meeting. Can I help you with something?”
He debated asking Charlotte for the information but didn’t want to tip his hand to anybody. Who knew if there was any connection between Charlotte and Blakely? Even though Blakely hadn’t worked there long, security personnel did interact with administrative staff on a pretty routine basis. It was likely their paths had crossed. Plus there was something about Charlotte, something that hadn’t seemed quite right this morning. She was nice enough but when he’d mentioned that Slater had assigned a security officer, there had been a strange look in her eyes. It was logical that she was freaked out about the possibility of danger in her work space but he wasn’t sure that was it.
“Can you just ask Meg to call me when she gets the chance?” Cruz requested.
Cruz disconnected and used the GPS in his rental car to find his next stop. Ten minutes later, he pulled into a strip mall and located the store. He hadn’t expected to go shopping in San Antonio but in less than twenty-four hours, this would be his second time.
It took him an hour to get what he needed. Ten minutes of that was spent picking out stuff, the other fifty minutes, along with a hundred-dollar bill, was enough for the owner to hem the pants on the spot.
After that, he went looking for Tom Looney. He drove to the address that the hotel had on file but didn’t have high hopes. Meg had said that the word on the street was that Looney had lost his house.
It could not have been much to lose, he decided, once he made his last turn. The narrow street was three blocks off a service road and the houses were double-wides on cement blocks.
He found the mailbox, parked and got out of the car. A skinny black dog, lying near the front steps, looked up but didn’t bother to get up, evidently deciding he wasn’t worth the effort. He knocked on the door and waited several minutes in the blistering heat. Sweat ran down the back of his neck.
Finally, the door opened. An elderly woman, probably mid-seventies, wearing a housedress and no shoes stared at him. “Hello,” she said. Her body might have been frail but her voice was strong, confident.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m looking for Tom Looney.”
“You must be a bill collector. I’ll tell you what I told everybody else. I ain’t seen Bertie’s boy since the day I moved in.”
“Bertie?”
“Tommy’s momma. My second cousin. I bought this trailer from them when he started having money trouble. And before you go and ask, I don’t know where Bertie
“I just want to get on with my life,” Hawkins said. He moved to close the door and this time, Cruz let him.
He walked down the sidewalk back to his rental car. Hawkins was bitter and thoroughly convinced that he’d been screwed. That was enough to keep him on the short list of suspects. But even if he wouldn’t admit it, he had to know that he was lucky that BJM hadn’t pressed charges. Would he be stupid enough to do something else that could land him in jail?
Cruz didn’t know. But he thought he’d gotten his point across. Now he needed to keep working his list of suspects.
He used the GPS in his car and realized that Troy Blakely’s apartment was within fifteen minutes of Hawkins’s house. When he got there, he quickly realized that finding this guy might not be quite so easy.
None of the inhabitants at the rat hole of a building in downtown San Antonio had ever heard of Troy Blakely. It took Cruz another two hours to track down the landlord who confirmed that he’d never rented to anyone by that name.
Which meant that he’d falsified his address on his employment paperwork. There was no good reason to do that.
Chapter Six
He called Meg. The phone was picked up on the second ring. “Meg Montoya’s office. Charlotte speaking.”
“This is Cruz Montoya. May I speak to Meg?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Montoya. Meg is in a meeting. Can I help you with something?”
He debated asking Charlotte for the information but didn’t want to tip his hand to anybody. Who knew if there was any connection between Charlotte and Blakely? Even though Blakely hadn’t worked there long, security personnel did interact with administrative staff on a pretty routine basis. It was likely their paths had crossed. Plus there was something about Charlotte, something that hadn’t seemed quite right this morning. She was nice enough but when he’d mentioned that Slater had assigned a security officer, there had been a strange look in her eyes. It was logical that she was freaked out about the possibility of danger in her work space but he wasn’t sure that was it.
“Can you just ask Meg to call me when she gets the chance?” Cruz requested.
Cruz disconnected and used the GPS in his rental car to find his next stop. Ten minutes later, he pulled into a strip mall and located the store. He hadn’t expected to go shopping in San Antonio but in less than twenty-four hours, this would be his second time.
It took him an hour to get what he needed. Ten minutes of that was spent picking out stuff, the other fifty minutes, along with a hundred-dollar bill, was enough for the owner to hem the pants on the spot.
After that, he went looking for Tom Looney. He drove to the address that the hotel had on file but didn’t have high hopes. Meg had said that the word on the street was that Looney had lost his house.
It could not have been much to lose, he decided, once he made his last turn. The narrow street was three blocks off a service road and the houses were double-wides on cement blocks.
He found the mailbox, parked and got out of the car. A skinny black dog, lying near the front steps, looked up but didn’t bother to get up, evidently deciding he wasn’t worth the effort. He knocked on the door and waited several minutes in the blistering heat. Sweat ran down the back of his neck.
Finally, the door opened. An elderly woman, probably mid-seventies, wearing a housedress and no shoes stared at him. “Hello,” she said. Her body might have been frail but her voice was strong, confident.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m looking for Tom Looney.”
“You must be a bill collector. I’ll tell you what I told everybody else. I ain’t seen Bertie’s boy since the day I moved in.”
“Bertie?”
“Tommy’s momma. My second cousin. I bought this trailer from them when he started having money trouble. And before you go and ask, I don’t know where Bertie