Page 10 of Fatal Strike
Leah frowned, thinking about her own mother. “Is she a mama-bear type who believes her son is a perfect specimen of mankind? Or does she see faults and weaknesses?”
“Only one way to find out.”
7
FROM AN UPSTAIRS WINDOWof her home, Silvia studied the black Ford pickup parked at the curb. If a family hadn’t canceled her last three cleaning appointments, she’d still be at the dental office.
A woman and a man exited and studied the area. What did they want, or who were they looking for? Both were dressed in camouflage pants and black T-shirts. She tasted acid rising in her throat. Holstered guns were attached to their belts.
The strangers spoke and pointed to her door. No mistake they were there to see her. Surely nothing about Dylan. He hadn’t come home last night, and he must have forgotten to call or text. He and Elena could be together. Silvia didn’t approve. God warned people about such things. Her scattered thoughts refused to pull together.
Dear God, don’t let my son be in trouble again.
She crept down the steps to the landing, holding her ample middle. The porch steps squeaked with the familiar sound of someone approaching the door. Pounding caused Silvia to jump.
Ignore them? Oh, she wanted to. The unknown always shook her to the core. Why would armed people be at her front door unless they had bad news?
A second round of pounding.
If the two people really wanted inside, all they had to do was break down the door. She unlocked the dead bolt, squeezed the knob, and turned it to reveal those on her doorstep.
The woman with large eyes, like copper pennies, and dark, wavy hair greeted her. “Ms. Ortega, I’m Special Agent Leah Riesel from the FBI, and this is Special Agent Jon Colbert.”
The man had short, dark hair and wide shoulders. Silvia sealed them both in memory. They displayed their identifications. Silvia had no idea what FBI credentials were supposed to look like, but she examined each one and hoped the two were official.
“Why are you here?” Silvia did her best to hide the trembling.
“We’d like to talk to your son, Dylan,” Agent Riesel said. “Is he home?”
A sensation like a sledgehammer battered against her chest. “Not right now. Why?”
“We’d like to ask him a few questions about this morning. When do you expect him?”
Silvia bit into her lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Was he home last night?” Agent Riesel’s persistence both frightened and angered her.
“No.”
“Do you know where he stayed?”
Silvia dug her fingers into her palm. “No.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your son?”
“Last night around 8p.m. Right now he’s at work.” She dipped her chin to punctuate her words.
“Ms. Ortega,” the woman said, “his employer at the Hotel Galvez says your son hasn’t been to work in three days.”
Silvia had washed his uniform and laid it on his bed, but she hadn’t looked to see if he’d returned for it. “There must be a mistake.”
“May we come in and talk?” Agent Riesel said.
Silvia shook her head. “Explain to me what this is about.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Agent Riesel’s face. “Judge Nicolás Mendez was killed this morning. Agent Colbert and I are assigned to the investigation.”
Silvia had heard the tragic news at the dentist office earlier. “I don’t understand. Of course I’m sick about what happened. But I barely know Judge Mendez and his family.”
