Rick Riordan - Mission Road

Contents

To Jim and Ben Glusing, for
many years of friendship
and support

ANA HAD TO GET THE BABY OUT OF THE HOUSE. Things were about to get ugly.

She called Ralphs sister, told her one of them would drop off Lucia in ten minutes.

She packed a bag of diapers, bottles, extra clothes, Lucias favorite blanket and stuffed beagle.

In the kitchen high chair, Lucia was finger-painting her tray with yams, her meaty little hands coated with orange goo. Shed managed to get some in the black tufts of her hair.

Ana stared at the mess on her daughters bib and realized she was thinking about blood-splatter patterns.

Looking at her own daughter, and thinking about the homicide case.

Ana had to end this. Tonight, before she lost her nerve.

She zipped the travel bag, unlocked the high chair tray and immediately got yams on the sleeve of her blazer.

Damn it, she muttered.

She hadnt bothered changing from work. Shed only taken time to empty her shoulder holster and lock the service-issue Glock in the hallway closet where it always went the moment she got home.

She was trying to figure out how to get the baby cleaned up without ruining her clothes when Ralph stormed into the kitchen.

Hed showered and put on his old traveling outfitblack jeans, steel-tipped boots, crisp white linen guayabera, black leather jacket. His newly braided ponytail curled over one shoulder.

He clunked a Magnum clip next to the babys sippy-cup and started loading his .357.

What are you doing? Ana demanded.

He gave her that high-voltage look which had been bothering her for weeks.

Since laser surgery, Ralph had set aside his thick round glasses for contact lenses. There was no longer any shield between his ferocity and the rest of the world. His stare reminded her too much of the people she worked withcops and killers.

She wasnt afraid of him. Shed never been afraid of him. But tension from their earlier argument hung in the air like the smell of burnt fuses.

He finished loading the gun, hooked it inside his pantsa makeshift holster rigged from a coat hanger. Johnny Shoes has a lead for me. Ill drop Lucia on the way.

Johnny Zapata.

Thats how desperate theyd become: begging for help from a drug lord who literally cut his enemies to pieces.

Ralph, the last time you saw Zapata

Ill be fine.

He tried to kill you.

You want to give me a better lead?

He mustve known she was holding back. Shed asked for time alone tonight. She only did that when she needed to make an important decision. And this time, their lives hung in the balance.

I cant, Ana told him.

You know who killed Frankie, dont you?

Ive already told you more than I should.

He considered that, his eyes boring into her. Yeah. Maybe you did.

Ah-ba. Lucia held up her gooey hands to her father. Ah-ba.

Ralph unfastened the seat strap and lifted the baby out of the yam disaster area. Her fingers made streaks of orange on his white guayabera, but Ralph didnt seem to care. He kissed the babys messy cheek, put her over his shoulder. Lucia made a high-pitched squeal of delight and kicked her bunny feet against Daddys belly.

Anas heart felt sore.

Lucia never acted so happy when Ana picked her up.

Career necessity. Lieutenant Hernandez hadnt put his butt on the line recommending her for sergeant so she could take six months off to change diapers. Still, the first year of Lucias life, mother and daughter had spent most of their time telling each other goodbye.

Hey, Sergeant. Ralph held out his hand, his tone so fierce he mightve been issuing a challenge. Itll be okay. T eres mi amor por vida.

She wanted to cry, she loved him so much.

Two years ago at their wedding, her police friends had given her horrible looks. Hernandez had pulled her aside, eyes flooded with concern, fingers like talons on her forearm: Ana, how can you love this guy? Hes a goddamn killer.

But they didnt know Ralph. He loved her the way he did everything elsewith absolute intensity. Since the day hed decided he wanted Ana, she never stood a chance. He had boiled over her like a wildfire.

She laced her fingers with his.

She couldnt let anything happen to him. She should never have opened that cold case file.

Zapata will have proof, Ralph promised. Anybody does, its him. And hes going to give it to me. Believe that, okay?

She knew what Ralph was capable of. Which was exactly why she didnt dare tell him everything she knew.

He gave her hand a squeeze, kissed her lightly. His whiskers were rough. He smelled of patchouli.

Ralph cradled the baby against one shoulder and slung the travel bag over the other. He stuffed an extra clip of ammunition in his pocket.

The kitchen door swung shut behind him, winter air gusting into the room.

Ana listened to his footsteps crunch down the gravel walkway. He was calling Lucia his little nia, singing her a Spanish carol, Los Animales, as he strapped her into the car seat.

His headlights swept across the kitchen, illuminating the Christmas ristra and the empty high chair, then disappeared down Ruiz Street.

ANA SAT IN THE LIVING ROOM, trying to formulate a plan.

He would be here in fifteen minutes.

There had to be a waysomething to make him come clean. Their earlier conversation gave her little hope he would listen to reason, but she had to try. She owed him that much.

On the coffee table, a photograph of her mother stared back at herLucia DeLeon Sr., twenty-nine years old, in dress uniform, 1975, the day she received the Medal of Valor.

Her mothers face was a patchwork of yellow bruises, her arm in a sling, but her posture radiated quiet confidence, black eyebrows knit as if she didnt quite understand all the fuss. Shed saved three officers lives, become the first female cop in SAPD history to use deadly force. What was the big deal?

Ana liked to remember her mother that wayself-assured, indomitable, always firm and fair. But over the years, the photograph had lost some of its magic. It could no longer quite exorcise that other memoryher mother fifteen years older, slumped in bed with the drapes drawn, a glass of wine at her lips, skin sickly blue in the light of an afternoon soap opera.

Come back when you dont feel like preaching, mijita.

Ana put her face in her hands. A sob was building in her chest, but she couldnt give in to that. She had to think.

If her motherthe Lucia DeLeon of 1975had been handed Anas problem, what would she have done?

Ana pulled her laptop out of her briefcase. She booted it up, typed in her password. She reviewed her case notes, the crime scene photos. Poor-quality scans of pre-digital black-and-whites, but Ana could still get the feel. Shed been to the scene many times.

Ana imagined herself as the killer.

It was a little before 10:00 P.M., midsummer, on the rural South Side. She was standing on the shoulder of Mission Road, arguing with the young man she was about to murder.

A warm rain had just pushed through, leaving the air like steam engine smoke, scented with wild garlic. In the woods, cicadas chirred.

Ana and the young man had both pulled over their carspossibly a prearranged rendezvous, though why the young man wouldve agreed to it, Ana didnt know. There was nothing for miles except barbed wire fence, railroad tracks and old mission lands overgrown with cactus and chinaberry.