"Catch you at a bad time?" Casey asked.

"Where the hell are you?" Sharon asked in a whisper. "Hang on. I just put the kids down."

Casey heard Sharon 's breathing and a long pause before a door closed and Sharon spoke in a normal voice. "Did Jose kill those women?"

"Of course not, one was his aunt," Casey said.

"They're making it sound that way," Sharon said.

"They," Casey said in disgust. "Listen, I need you to do some research for me."

"Now?" Sharon asked. "Wow, okay. I haven't pulled an all-nighter since college. Steven's in Miami and Matthew's got the croup, but what the hell."

"It's a company called Kroft Labs," Casey said. "Everything you can find, but specifically anything they've got going in Mexico in Nuevo Leon. They've got a facility here. I don't think it's American. If I had to guess, I'd say European."

Sharon paused for a moment, then said, "Their offices should open over there any minute now. I'll get on it."

" Sharon?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to know what they could be doing with a couple hundred people."

"People?"

"They disappear at that place.''

CHAPTER 65

FROM THE LOUNGE CHAIR ON THE MASTER BEDROOM TERRACE, Mandy watched the red sun melt into the inky tips of the live oaks to the west and fanned her face. She swirled the shavings of ice in the bottom of her glass, then sucked out the remnants of diluted Grey Goose before rolling an olive around the inside of her mouth with a tongue she could barely feel. In the bowels of the master suite behind her, she heard her husband's cell phone ring and his impatient answer. Something about the tone of his voice, which seemed secretive and furtive with an edge of desperation, pricked her ears.

He had no way of knowing she sat there, drinking away the sunset. He'd expect she'd left for her scheduled dinner with three women from the SPCA, which had begun half an hour ago at a downtown restaurant. Right now she was supposed to be listening to their concerns, which she would then report back to the assistant of her husband's chief of staff. She allowed her husband's people to schedule her for one such dinner a week. She considered such things to be part of her penance, and one way to pay homage to her mother's unforgettable words upon learning Mandy was pregnant.

"You made your bed. Lie in it."

She tipped some more vodka into her glass, the ice no longer necessary.

"If you're here already, then get your ass upstairs where we can talk," her husband said, raising his voice and coming her way. "They'll wait. I'll be on the terrace."

Mandy groped for the bottle and glass and swung her legs off the chair, finding the floor and swaying to her feet. She made for the bronze sculpture in the corner and would have been caught but for the sound of her husband stopping to clip the end off his cigar and the hiss of the butane flame. She crouched down behind the statue's base in the depth of the shadows, stuck hiding now for the duration of his stay. She listened as his footsteps strode to the railing's edge, then peeked out between the bronze centurion's legs at him as he gazed out at the bloody-looking sunset.

He exhaled, wreathing himself in a rich blue smoke she could smell from her corner. From this angle, in this flattering light, she recognized a sliver of the man she'd worshipped for a short time so many years ago. As if he sensed her, his back stiffened and he turned, destroying the image, the distended middle pushing through the gap in his tuxedo jacket, the aquiline nose gone bulbous with indulgence in drink and whores, and the bags of distrust and greed weighing on the skin beneath his eyes, jowls, and chin. He narrowed his eyes and took a step her way. She ducked down and, except for the pattering of her heart, she froze.

The voice of Jeff Macken, her husband's chief of staff, let her breathe. At the sound of Macken's subdued greeting her husband turned away, growling for him to spit it out.

"They're down in Mexico," Macken said. "She fucking showed up at the Kroft gates. I saw the surveillance tape."

"Where is she now? Did they let her go?"

Macken gripped the railing and leaned into the darkness. He shook his head and said, "They had no idea. She acted like some hick, said she was lost."

"She's bluffing," Chase said. "Desperate."

Macken nodded.

Chase scowled at him and removed the cigar from his mouth. "Where's Gage?"

Macken shrugged.

"That idiot," Chase said. "He's not paid to fucking sleep one off when we need him. When I call, he better come in a sprint."

Macken shook his head. "He had a shipment the night before last."

"The woman and her child?"

Macken nodded. "With the rest."

"And you spoke to Gage afterwards?"

"No, but I didn't hear anything went wrong," Macken said. "The truck made it."

Chase replaced the cigar, whipped out his cell phone, and punched a button before plastering it to his ear. He waited, then said into the phone and through his cigar, "Chief Gage, someone took a shot at my herd from the road, call me when you can."

He hung up and dialed another number.

"Dolly?" he said, working the cigar into the corner of his mouth. "Yes, it's me. I'm looking for Dean."

Chase made a fist and pounded it silently on the railing.

"No, I'm sure it's fine," he said into the phone. "You know how he gets if he's onto something, like a goddamn bloodhound… Okay, sure, I'd love some pecan pie. You are too sweet, darlin'."

He snapped the phone shut and twisted his lips. "Have Ells track him down and call me. I still don't believe it. Christ, did he chase O'Brien down to Mexico?"

Macken cleared his throat. "That would be his style."

"His style is dry-fucking the goat,'' Chase said, shaking his head. "She was at the Kroft facility? How?"

"No one has any idea," Macken said. "She just showed up."

"Alone," Chase said. "Which means that fucking Mexican leprechaun is up to something. When you find Gage, see if you can't get him to talk to that outfit he uses. If we can put those two out of the game down there, it can be done clean, no more PR battles over my hunting accident if they don't come back.''

"Senator?"

"I said, 'Do it,' boy. Get that done."

Mandy peeked up to see her husband curling his lips, baring his teeth so he could mash the end of the cigar between his molars.

"We've all made a lot of money on this," Chase said. "Maybe it's time to pull out. Even if we're rid of them, we don't know what all they've said to anyone."

"But the real payday, the big big money…" Macken said, his voice drifting off.

"It's no good if all you can buy with it are jerk-off magazines and protecting your cornhole," Chase said.

"What do we do?"

Chase looked out over the darkened ranch, his hands white-knuckled on the wrought-iron railing, and chewed the cigar.

"Simple. Get rid of them all. Then there's nothing for anyone to prove."

"Like, ashes to ashes?"

"Yeah, something like that," Chase said, drawing hard and exhaling a fragrant plume. "When things settle down, we'll get Kroft more spics."

"It could be a while," Macken said.

"If she's got something connecting us to that place, there better be nothing left by tomorrow night but some smoke and a dirty drain."

He flicked away the inch-long ash tip of his fat cigar and plugged it back into lips. The end glowed a fiery red.

Mandy waited until the sound of their voices faded away through the bedroom. She poured a fresh drink, downing it in three gulps, and poured another. She rose, steadying herself on the statue, and staggered toward their empty spot at the rail with the drink in one hand and the bottle in the other. On the granite floor, her husband's cigar lay in a speckling of black soot and white ash.