Page 60 of Hours to Kill
Mack raised an eyebrow. “You might want to leave a little for others.”
“I did. I did.” He took his plate over to the couch and somehow managed to balance it with his opened laptop.
“Do you sleep with that machine?” Addy asked.
“Sometimes.” He grinned and then shoved the end of the crispy bread into his mouth.
Bear whined from his bed. He wasn’t usually a whiner. Sure, he begged for food at times, but only with his eyes.
“Poor baby. He’s out of sorts.” She looked at the dog’s pitiful face. “I wish I could comfort him, but we have no time.”
“You have to make time to eat, though.” Mack moved her folder aside and set a plate and silverware in front of her.
“I can eat while I review the photos.”
“But you won’t taste my magnificent meal.”
“I promise I will.” She loaded her plate and, after giving thanks for the food, dove into the spaghetti, twirling it up and taking a big bite. “Mmm, good. Thank you.”
Mack just shook his head, and after Kiley got her food and sat at the table, he made a plate for himself and took the chair between them.
She chomped on the melt-in-your-mouth bread and took up a magnifying glass to study the next picture of Zamora. Sheran it over every bit of the photo but paused at his wrist and racked her brain for recognition. Nothing came.
She slid the photo over to Mack. “Does that look like a birthmark on his wrist?”
Mack peered at the photo with the magnifying glass. “There’s something there, but it could just be dirt or a bruise. Or even a tattoo.”
“Yeah, and no amount of enhancing is going to make it clear enough.” She sighed. “I’ll keep looking.”
She started flipping again, getting a good feel for the many hours she must’ve spent watching these men, only to come up short every time. She noted the locations of the photos. Outside Razo’s big, expensive house. By Zamora’s cheap apartment. Near the storefront of a Mexican grocery store. And in front of a massage parlor. She knew Razo wasn’t connected to the businesses. Zamora either. Or any of the other thugs she’d identified in Razo’s gang.
It appeared to be one of the coincidental places she found them talking. Like near the post office. A gym. A nail salon. That one made her laugh.
Mack lifted his head, a forkful of spaghetti in his hand. “What’s so funny?”
She held out the picture. “Think they got manis and pedis?”
Mack rolled his eyes. “More likely waiting on girlfriends or wives. Are they married?”
“Razo is. Zamora not.”
“Maybe we can get to them through these women,” Sean suggested.
“I don’t see how. I don’t see anything in my surveillance that would indicate that they’re involved in Razo’s business. I remember Razo has two kids—grade school—and seems like his wife is just being a dutiful wife and mother. Active in her kids’ school. Volunteers at their church.”
“Church?” Mack’s mouth dropped open. “Razo goes to church?”
“Nearly every Sunday from what I remember.”
Mack shook his head. “That makes me want to haul him in even more. What about Zamora?”
“He’s more of a party guy. Likes the ladies, and they seem to like him.”
Sean took a drink of his water. “So we have one guy who’s pretending to be upstanding, and the other who’s embracing who he is.”
“You could be right, and I don’t see how those things will help us nab either one of them.” She resisted sighing, as it would do her no good.
“Except that I sent the list of Zamora’s known night-spot hangouts to Harris,” Mack said, referencing a list they’d found earlier in Addy’s files. “If she doesn’t locate him before then, she’s going to stake out these locations.”
