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Alex tore his gaze from them and studied the countertop. He’d always had profound respect for Omar and his AA counterparts—now even more so. He ran through the facts on the Jane Doe he had come to believe was Nina Chavez, including his find at the PI’s office. Deborah’s hands stopped moving. She laid down the knife and gripped the edge of the counter. “So, Phillips went to Kansas to find Clarise Chavez and then suddenly decides to retire and never come back. Doesn’t tell Chavez what he found out. Doesn’t tell his partner. That’s just bizarre.”
“I know. The trail is plenty cold after five years, but it’s still there. Follow it to the end, and I think we’ll find Clarisse and those kids.”
“Yeah, but Benny is in imminent danger. We—you have to find him first.”
On that, they agreed. Alex ran through the Barrera-Morin-Chavez connection.
Deborah resumed making the sandwiches. “Daniel must be all over this guy, then.”
“He will be, as soon as he gets out of the hospital. We’re hoping—”
The jar of mayonnaise hit the floor and shattered. The knife clattered on the vinyl next to it.
“What did you say?”
Her face was white. Alex froze. First, Daniel had been all out of whack because he can’t find her, and now she was freaking because Daniel was sick. That was more than friendship. “I thought Ray told you. He’s got some kind of flu or something.” Alex had the urge to practice his gobble. He truly was the turkey in this scenario. “He passed out at the counseling session. They took him to the hospital by ambulance.”
“Is he all right? What did the doctors say?”
“He has some vicious strain of the flu. He didn’t take care of himself. They’re having trouble getting his fever down, but he’ll live. Nicole’s with him and Susana and the whole clan.”
Alex began picking up the glass, not wanting to watch the emotions dance across Deborah’s face. Fear and relief coupled with guilt and remorse.
“Leave it. I can clean it up. I don’t need your help.” She reached for a piece of glass. The color had returned to her face, but she didn’t make eye contact.
“Fine. Look, maybe I should just go.”
“Yeah. Maybe you should just go. I don’t know what you’re doing here anyway.”
She stood at the same time he did. She seemed angry. Why should she be angry with him? He hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t married to someone else. “I don’t know either.” His voice sounded brusque in his own ears. “I know the way out.”
He reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t go.” Her voice had the slightest quiver in it.
“Why?”
“You haven’t had your sandwich.”
“I lost my appetite.”
“Don’t be stupid, Alex. You came here for a sandwich, and you’re not leaving until you have a sandwich.”
Alex glared at her. She glared back. “Fine, but no more talk about the investigation.”
Did he see a tiny hesitation? Maybe. “Fine.”
“Let’s start over—one more time. Why don’t I make the sandwiches and you tell me what you’ve been doing?” Alex wiped up the mayonnaise with a wad of paper towels, careful not to touch the glass.
“Burning cookies.” Her voice sounded morose now, but she plopped down on the barstool at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
He dumped the dirty paper towels in a wastebasket that reeked of burnt cookies. “They say practice makes perfect.”
“Did Sarge send you to check up on me?”
“No, Sarge did not send me. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Alex added slices of cheese to the turkey he’d slapped on two pieces of wheat bread. He forced himself to look at her. “I’m trying to be your friend.” Or something like that.
Her forehead wrinkled over blue eyes that looked puzzled. “Why?”
