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  But of course she’d just let a piece of information slip. Grierson picked up on it immediately. He looked at Mason over Karina’s head.

  “You’re here to investigate?”

  Mason didn’t answer. The less this guy knew about his activities, the better.

  Grim faced, the detective raised a hand and pointed a finger in his direction. “I’m going to say this once. You stay out of this investigation. If I hear your name come up even once in relation to this case, I’ll arrest you for obstruction. Do you understand?”

  Several responses came to mind, but Mason clamped his jaw shut on them. He wasn’t licensed in New Mexico, so while there was nothing to prevent him from asking questions, he didn’t have the protection of a P.I. license to back him up. Grierson could do exactly as he threatened.

  He jerked a nod in acknowledgment of the warning. “But what about the tail she’s picked up? She might need police protection.”

  Not that he wanted an officer following them around and reporting their activities back to Grierson. But if that goon came back to finish the job, he might not be able to protect Karina alone. Especially since he wasn’t allowed to carry a weapon in this state.

  The detective’s mouth pursed. “If it turns out to be something other than a faulty fuel line, we’ll talk about it.”

  With that he turned on a heel and stomped toward the car and the officers standing near it.

  Mason glanced at Karina and a protective instinct flamed in him, almost akin to the passion he’d once felt. She’d let her guard down and for a moment looked so scared and alone, he vowed to take care of her. Her expression steeled as she turned to face him, and Mason checked his emotions. Karina wanted his help, but she’d never accept his protection or his passion. It was far too late for that.

  EIGHT

  The Emergency Room doors whooshed open, and Karina slipped a hand inside Mason’s arm to help him outside. The poor guy looked like a mummy, with bandages wrapped around his head, his shoulder and a wide one around his ribs beneath the spare shirt he’d donned from his overnight bag. His injuries were her fault, and she felt terrible for getting him into this mess. At least the hospital doctor didn’t seem concerned. She had loaded them up with ointment and instructions to keep the burned areas clean, and to drink plenty of fluid to replace lost electrolytes.

  Mason jerked his arm away, then sucked in his breath in a hiss, his hand going to his injured and wrapped ribs. “I’m not an invalid,” he snapped.

  “Of course you’re not.” Karina kept her face impassive. Pain always had put him in a bad mood. He’d refused the doctor’s offer of pain medication, though. Stubborn as ever.

  They moved toward the taxicab waiting for them at the end of the wheelchair ramp. She rushed a few steps ahead and opened the door for him, which earned her a glare.

  “Don’t coddle me.” His voice held an ill-tempered warning as he ducked into the backseat. “I don’t need any help.”

  She bit back a sigh, and adjusted the strap of his overnight bag on her shoulder as she slid in beside him. The only thing more irritating than the sarcastic Mason was the in-pain-and-trying-not-to-show-it Mason.

  When they’d given the cab driver directions to take them to the rental car place, she sat back and watched the Albuquerque streets through the window. All the things she needed to do flitted through her mind. A call to the insurance company topped the list. She carried full coverage, required since she’d borrowed money to buy the car, but how would they handle it when she owed more than the car was worth? Thank goodness Mason had offered to rent a car for the few days he would be in town. When he left, she wasn’t sure what she’d do for transportation.

  But the problem of a car seemed insignificant when she thought of how close they’d come to being blown up.

  She glanced sideways at Mason, and spoke in a low voice so the cab driver couldn’t hear. “I can’t believe someone tried to kill us.”

  “They weren’t trying to kill us.” He fidgeted with the bandage on his left arm. “If they’d wanted us dead, there are a dozen other ways they could have rigged that car. That was a warning. They’re letting us know they’re watching.”

  The seriousness of their situation washed over her again. “Who are they, Mason? What is Alex mixed up in?”

  “I don’t know.” He held her gaze. “You realize that all this points toward gang activity, don’t you?”

  She looked down at her hands in her lap. How could Alex be involved in gangs, and using drugs? Surely there had been signs. How could she have missed them? Guilt flooded her in a warm wave. Alex was her responsibility, and she’d failed him.

  “Yes,” she answered in a whisper. “I know.”

  “Hey.” The voice he used was tender, the one she sometimes remembered from happier days. He covered her cold hands with a warm one, and something stirred deep inside her. “He’s a good kid. He always was. Kids these days have a harder time than we did. Everything is so available to them. Drugs. Alcohol. They all experiment. Maybe this will be a wake-up call for him.”

  Tears blurred her vision as she stared at his strong hand covering hers. “You don’t think he killed José, do you, Mason?”

  “No.” The certainty in his tone strengthened her own faith in her brother. Someone else believed in his innocence, too. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m positive Alex didn’t kill anybody.” His hand squeezed hers. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Karina.”

  Gratitude swelled her throat, and she couldn’t speak. She blinked away tears and smiled her thanks.

  Mason removed his hand, and his voice returned to normal. “So I’ve been thinking about our next move. If Grierson hadn’t showed up, I would have stuck around to question the witnesses, see if anyone noticed someone monkeying around with your car while we were inside the Garcias’. Maybe Parker can find out something for us tomorrow.”

  The taxi slowed and pulled into the car rental company’s parking lot. A short line of customers waited at the counter inside a glass-front building.

  “What do we do now?”

  Mason winced with pain as he shifted in his seat to pull his billfold out of his back pocket. “It’s time for supper, isn’t it?”

  Karina glanced at her watch. Almost seven. The hospital visit had taken a couple of hours. “Yes, but I don’t think I can eat.” She’d barely been able to choke down anything since Alex was arrested Friday night.

  “Well, I can. Being blown up makes me hungry.”

  The grin he turned on her was the old Mason, the one she used to love.

  The old passion stirred, trying to resurface from deep inside, to rise out of the ashes of hurt and anger that had smothered them. A sudden longing filled her. Oh, if only they could wipe away the past four years and return to those days, those feelings. Once, she had given her heart to him, and when he grinned like that, she wanted desperately to believe they could recover what they’d lost. But how could she open herself to him again? What if he hurt her a second time? She feared she wouldn’t survive.

  Unaware of the turmoil that raged inside her, Mason counted out the cab fare. “Besides, I think we need to pay a visit to Casa del Sol Restaurante.”

  Karina forced herself to return his grin. “The restaurant where José worked.”

  “Exactly.” He handed the money to the cab driver in the front seat, and tucked the receipt into his billfold. “Grierson warned us off poking around, but he can’t fault us for going out to dinner, can he?”

  * * *

  The restaurant was located in one end of a strip mall a mile or so from the Garcias’ neighborhood. Mason parked the rental car in the parking lot out front and studied the building. Windows on either side of the door were darkened with blinds on the inside, and decorated with signs. Glowing blue and red neon advertised beer for
sale, beside a poster of an upcoming street festival and a handmade flyer in Spanish advertising puppies for sale. The day’s special, enchiladas in red sauce with rice and beans for $6.99, was printed on a chalkboard hanging to the right of the door.

  “This doesn’t look like a place that can afford to pay a busboy much,” he commented to Karina.

  “No, it doesn’t.” She waved a hand to indicate the small number of cars in the parking lot. “They don’t seem to be very busy, either.”

  Mason didn’t verbalize the obvious conclusion, that José must have gotten his money from somewhere other than his job at the restaurant. No sense rubbing it in. Karina wasn’t stupid. She knew what that meant. If José was selling drugs, then Alex was probably involved as well.

  She turned in the passenger seat to look at him, her eyes sweeping over his face. “I wish you’d leave the bandage on like the doctor said.”

  “Do you know how much attention I’ll draw if I walk around with a bandage wrapped around my head?”

  “You’re going to draw attention with half your hair burned off.”

  Mason glanced into the rearview mirror. The burns were confined to the left side of his head and his ear, and had singed a good portion of his hair. He’d been in the act of jerking away when the gasoline ignited on the hot catalytic converter. If he hadn’t seen the gas squirt out a second before it sparked, he would have taken the brunt of the explosion in his face.

  “Maybe I ought to just shave the whole thing. Then at least it’ll be even.”

  She lifted a hand and ran her fingers through the hair on the right side of his head, as though testing its texture. It was a familiar touch, and sent a tingle through his scalp. A smile curved her lips for a moment, then she pulled her hand back and looked away.

  “I think I can fix it without going to that extreme, as long as you don’t mind looking like you just joined the army.”

  The tingle faded, but left a disturbing sensation in Mason’s stomach. For a moment they were the old Karina and Mason. When she was in cosmetology school she’d practiced on him until he had almost no hair left. But that was a lifetime ago, before he betrayed her with another woman.

  “Or maybe the police academy.”

  The words, intended to break the weighted silence in the car, came out louder than he intended. She smiled again, but this time it faded quickly. He took the keys from the ignition and stuck a finger through the ring, jiggling them with a nervous gesture.

  “Let’s go see what this restaurant is like. I’m starving.”

  “All right.”

  She leaned over to pick up her purse, and at that moment the restaurant door opened. A pair of men stepped outside and stopped on the front sidewalk.

  Mason froze with his hand on the door handle. The taller of the two looked familiar. He leaned forward and peered through the windshield. More gray lightened the dark hair, but the hawk nose and squared chin were the same. What were the odds of running into Maddox and Grierson on his first day back in Albuquerque? This man had haunted his thoughts in the months after Margie’s death, before he’d learned to tame those thoughts and tuck them into the recesses of his mind where they couldn’t bother him. A fierce, hungry anger stirred up from the depths of his soul as the man put a toothpick in his mouth and shook hands in farewell to his companion. When he turned away, Mason got a look at his face full-on.

  Yes, it was him. Russell Maddox, the owner of the fitness center where Margie had worked when she was murdered. The man Mason knew was somehow responsible for her death.

  NINE

  “Was that really Russell Maddox?”

  The way Karina asked the question, with an almost breathless excitement that bordered on celebrity worship, set Mason’s teeth on edge.

  “Why do you ask it like that?” He snapped the question and pulled his water glass toward him with such an abrupt gesture that liquid sloshed over the edge and onto the scratched wooden tabletop.

  “Because he’s like a celebrity. People say he owns half of Albuquerque.” A lock of dark hair swept the table when she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He’s one of the richest men in the whole state.”

  “So he’s rich. So what?” He snatched the slice of lemon from the rim of his glass and squeezed with enough force that a torrent of juice splashed into the water. “I’ve never known you to be overly impressed with money.”

  “I’m not.” She straightened and glanced around the restaurant. “But I never thought I’d see him in a regular restaurant. I figured he’d eat in swanky places. You know, the kind with big prices and tiny portions. Fifty dollars for three shrimp and a couple of asparagus spears.”

  “For cryin’ out loud, he’s just a guy. Maybe the food here’s good, didja ever think of that?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but instead of answering she raised her menu and hid behind the laminated page. He picked up his own menu and scanned the prices. Reasonable, cheap even. And a decent selection of typical Mexican dishes. Ten minutes ago he’d been starving, but the sight of Maddox had soured his stomach. What were the odds of running into him within minutes of Grierson? This day was turning into the nightmare of all reunions. He spared a nasty thought for Caleb. If his buddy had only kept his stupid mouth shut, Mason would be home in Atlanta right now.

  For a year or two after he’d moved to Georgia, Mason’s thoughts had hovered around Maddox almost to the point of obsession. His presence at Margie’s funeral had caused a stir, the immaculate charcoal gray suit, dark maroon tie, perfectly coiffed hair and especially the carefully composed expression of sympathy. One of the television news shows made a point of showing a shot panning from Mason’s grief-torn figure to Maddox’s composed but carefully sorrowful one. “Russell Maddox, the grieving owner of Powerhouse Fitness, where newly employed aerobics instructor Marjorie Sinclair was brutally murdered, attended the victim’s funeral on Saturday. Sinclair’s husband, Albuquerque police officer Mason Sinclair, has been named as a person of interest in the investigation. No charges have yet been filed.” All he had to do was close his eyes and he could still see that news report.

  When the unbelievable occurred and Mason had been put on administrative leave while he was investigated for his own wife’s murder, he’d gone into full investigation mode on his own. And everywhere he’d turned, one name kept cropping up. Russell Maddox. Parker, his old partner, had said it was just coincidence because the guy seemed to own half the city. But even though Mason’s gut instinct had told him the guy was up to no good, he’d never uncovered a shred of evidence to prove it, and that had left a bad taste in his mouth that hadn’t cleared in the past four years.

  The waiter approached, a dark-skinned kid with straight black hair and Hispanic features. He set a bowl of tortilla chips and a dish of runny salsa on the table between them.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Not a trace of accent sounded in his voice.

  “I’m sticking with water,” Mason replied.

  “Something diet, please.” Karina’s gaze rose from her menu. “Was that really Russell Maddox we saw leaving a minute ago?”

  His bored expression barely changed. “Yeah. He comes here a lot.”

  “Really?”

  The kid nodded. “I guess he likes the enchiladas.”

  She grinned. “I’ll bet he leaves a decent-size tip, huh?”

  A shrug and an eye roll. “I never get to wait on him. He and the manager are friends or something. Jorge always takes care of Mr. Maddox personally.”

  He wandered off to get their drinks, and Mason leveled a disgusted glare across the table.

  She returned the look calmly. “Wipe the glare off your face. I’m not impressed with his money. For your information, I have a reason for asking.” She unwrapped the blue paper slip securing her napkin around her utensils.

  She’s going to
make me ask. For some reason, that irritated him.

  “So? Are you going to tell me?” he snapped.

  Only when her napkin was smoothed in her lap did she answer. “Several times Alex mentioned seeing Russell Maddox in the store where he works. At the time I thought it was strange that a rich guy like him would shop in a dinky little grocery store like that, but I didn’t give it much thought. But now.” Her head moved as she looked around the room.

  Mason followed her glance. On the inside this place was everything the outside had promised. Clean, but tiny and about as plain as you could get. Eight scarred wooden tables with hard plastic chairs. Fake tile floor scraped by the chair legs. Few attempts at decorations adorned the walls, mostly brightly colored ponchos and a display of cheap straw hats. Certainly nothing to attract the attention of a rich guy like Maddox. And apparently he ate here on a fairly regular basis.

  A kind of sick excitement tickled the base of Mason’s skull. “Those must be some killer enchiladas.”

  The look Karina gave him was full of understanding. “I can hardly wait to try them.”

  Maybe they’d stumbled onto something. If he could pin something on Maddox—anything, even a misdemeanor—that would make this trip worthwhile in Mason’s books. His appetite stirred back to life.

  The waiter returned and set Karina’s soda on the table in front of her. “So do you know what you want?”

  “Enchiladas, definitely,” Mason said, and Karina nodded agreement. As the kid turned to leave, Mason stopped him with a word. “Hey, let me ask you a question. Did you work much with José Garcia?”

  Finally, a reaction on the bored face. The smooth forehead creased, and his eyes darkened with grief. “Yeah. He was a buddy of mine.”

  “Terrible what happened to him.” Mason shook his head in sympathy. “Getting shot by his friend and all.”

  Karina stiffened in her chair, and her mouth opened like she was getting ready to launch a verbal torpedo. He kept his gaze fixed on the server’s face and kicked her under the table.