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Chapter 22
I GOT BACK to my house around ten. I’d been up for forty-two straight hours, running on fumes, desperately in need of rest. The following day was shaping up to be a brute and I wanted to have my wits about me, rather than stumbling around foggy, maybe making a mistake that might cost six innocent people their lives.
Justine called while I was brushing my teeth after a well-deserved shower.
“I just got home,” she said.
“Join the club,” I said, and yawned.
“What was the emergency meeting about?”
“Can’t talk about it. Anything new up at the Harlows’?”
“Not at the ranch, no. Or at least nothing until Sci and Mo-bot can run tests on the samples they brought back. I don’t like Sanders and the other two.”
“I could tell. They’re playing us somehow.”
In the background I could hear dogs barking. “How’s the bulldog?”
“Better,” Justine said. “Settling in.”
“You took her with you?”
“You think I was going to let the dog be taken hostage by Camilla Bronson and locked in some hideaway along with the Harlows’ help?”
“Locked? That’s a little strong.”
“Is it?”
I knew better than to argue any further. “Listen, I’ve got to sleep.”
“One more thing,” she said. “When I went online, I saw a story the AP picked up from a newspaper in Guadalajara.”
I rubbed my head, which was pounding. “Okay?”
“It says that Thom and Jennifer Harlow were spotted stumbling around one of the more notorious sections of that city last night,” she said. “Witnesses claimed they looked past the point of drunkenness.”
“Guadalajara?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my temples. “Looks like you’re going to Mexico in the morning. Take Cruz with you.”
“But the dogs …” she began.
A beep sounded. Call waiting. I looked, closed m
y eyes, and swore my head was being split in two. My dear brother, Tommy, was calling.
“You’re one of the most competent people I know,” I said to Justine. “Figure it out. Get to Guadalajara. Find the Harlows.”
I hit ANSWER, said, “Tommy?”
“Heh,” Tommy said, laughed.
He’d been drinking. My brother always laughs with a “heh” when he’s been drinking, another shitty trait Junior picked up from our late father. “Didn’t think you were gonna answer there, bro,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?”
