Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

She reached out and angrily grabbed his hand. “Don’t you dare compare me to Rodarte. And don’t give me attitude, either. You’re asking me to believe in your innocence. I want to, Griff. But believing you also means accepting that my husband, the person I had loved and admired for years, was a madman who plotted your murder. It’s a lot to absorb so soon after burying him. Forgive me if that’s proving to be difficult.”

She dropped his hand, and for several moments the atmosphere crackled. He was the first to relent. “Okay. No more attitude.” He reached into the backseat and got the duffel, placed it in his lap, and unzipped it. “My only hope of exoneration-from anybody-is to find Manuelo Ruiz.”

He rifled the bag, removing what appeared to be the aide’s keepsakes from El Salvador. A rosary. A map of Mexico, with a red crayon line snaking up through it to a starred spot on the Texas border.

“His route,” he said. There was an old photograph of a couple on their wedding day. “His parents, you think?” He passed her the picture.

“Possibly. Their age looks right.”

That was it except for a few Spanish-language paperback books and an inexpensive wallet. Griff checked every compartment. In the last one he looked, he found a piece of stained paper. It had been folded so many times, the creases were dirty and almost worn through. Griff carefully spread it open on his thigh.

He read what was printed on it, then smiled and passed the sheet to her. Written in pencil were four digits and a name. She looked back at him. “An address?”

“Appears to be. It’s a place to start looking.”

“It could be right here in Dallas or in Eagle Pass.”

“Yeah, but it’s something.” He seemed suddenly galvanized. “Do you have a cell phone?”

She reached into her handbag and withdrew it. Checking the readout, she saw that she’d missed several calls. “I had silenced it at the office and forgot to turn it back on. Kay called once. Rodarte’s called three times. The last time was twelve minutes ago.”

She handed the phone to Griff. He pressed the send button, so that Rodarte’s number would be automatically dialed. It rang only once before he answered. “Mrs. Speakman?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Rodarte. You’ve got me. And I’ve got her.”

“You’re a moron, Burkett. You’re just digging yourself in deeper.”

“Listen, I’m gonna make this quick, simple enough even for you. I did not kill Foster Speakman. Manuelo Ruiz did.”

Rodarte laughed. “Right. The minion. The slave who idolized the guy. Yank somebody else’s pod.”

“It was an accident. Manuelo was fighting with me.”

“Trying to protect Speakman from you.”

“Wrong again, but we’ll go into the details later. You and I both need Manuelo. You’re right about him worshiping Speakman. That’s why he was so horrified by what he’d done, he ran. Find him and all our problems will be over. I’ve got a lead for you.” He read off the address. “We found it in Manuelo’s belongings. He didn’t have much, so this means something or he wouldn’t have kept it.”

“What city?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve got resources.”

“And he’s got almost a week’s head start.”

“That’s why you can’t waste any time. If you find him, treat him kindly, and you’ll get the truth of what happened that night. Nobody committed a murder. Manuelo will tell you that. He can tell you-”

Griff broke off suddenly, surprising Laura, who’d been following every word. One second he’d been speaking rapidly into the telephone, the next, he was silent, staring into near space. Through the phone, she could hear Rodarte saying, “Burkett? Burkett, are you there? Burkett!”

“Griff?” she whispered. “What?”

He focused on her sharply, then slapped the phone closed, abruptly ending his call. He opened the car door and dropped the phone onto the pavement. As he turned on the car’s ignition, he said, “Rodarte’s probably put a satellite track on your phone, so we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t understand.” She clutched the hand grip as he backed out of the parking slot and wheeled the car sharply.

“Manuelo Ruiz can clear me.”

“That’s why you’re desperate to find him.”

“And why Rodarte is desperate not to.”

HE SPED OUT OF THE THEATER PARKING LOT, WOVE THROUGH the commercial complex, and took the first ramp he could onto Central Expressway, heading north, driving as fast as he dared but not so fast as to invite being stopped. He drove with one eye on the rearview mirror, afraid that, at any moment, he would see a pursuing squad car.

“Why wouldn’t Rodarte want to find Manuelo Ruiz?” Laura asked.

“Think about it. He hasn’t exactly launched a full-out manhunt for him, has he?”

“He thought that you had killed him, that all they would discover was a body. He was more interested in finding you.”

“So he could indict me for murder. Best-case scenario for Rodarte would be for Manuelo to be across the border, well on his way back to the jungle, never to be seen or heard from again. Shit!” he hissed, thumping the steering wheel with his fist. “Do you think he got that address? Do you think he understood it?”

“I-”

“Because if he finds Manuelo before I do, the man will never make it into a court of law, probably not even into an interrogation room.”

“You think Rodarte would help him escape?”

“If Manuelo’s lucky, that’s what he’ll do. What scares me is that Rodarte will make sure no one hears Manuelo’s account of what happened. Ever.”

“You mean…he would kill him?”

Griff shrugged.

“Griff, he’s a police detective.”

“Who’s dedicated himself to putting me on death row. To that end, Manuelo’s easily dispensable.”

“So what do we do? Call one of Rodarte’s superiors, tell them your side?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know who his friends are. He recruited two of them to beat me up. I wouldn’t know who to trust.”

“Then what?”

“We find Manuelo before Rodarte does.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Swerving in front of a truck to take an exit, Griff muttered, “Wish the hell I knew.”

The pancake house was open all night. At any hour it was well lighted and crowded, and so was the parking lot. A car left there didn’t attract attention. Griff parked, and they got out.

“Welcome to the glamorous world of a fugitive.” He took Laura’s hand and led her around to the back of the building, where the odorous Dumpsters were open and overflowing.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a half-mile walk. Are you okay with that?”

“A half mile is a warm-up.”

He smiled down at her, but his expression was grim. “I didn’t say it was an easy half mile.”

Leaving behind the commercial area, they entered a residential neighborhood. Over the past several days, through trial and error, he’d learned the safest route, if not the easiest. It took them through yards with dense shrubbery and large trees but no exterior lighting, fences, or barking dogs.

They came upon the house from the rear. Griff was relieved to see that no lights were on inside. Each time he came back to his refuge, he was afraid the owners had returned during his absence.

The backyard was enclosed by a stockade fence, but when they reached the gate, he opened the latch without difficulty. “It’s never locked.” He ushered Laura through the gate, then closed it silently.

“Who lives here?” she asked, speaking in a whisper. The houses on either side were obviously occupied. Lights shone through windows. Somewhere close a sprinkler was swishing. They could hear a television show’s soundtrack.