Then it occurred to him that perhaps the other person was crying because he or she had no idea anyone else was there in the darkness. It took real effort, but eventually Gabe was able to scoot his body over the few inches of floorboard between them. When he touched the form next to him, the sobbing ceased abruptly. Soon the other person moved as well, coming closer until their two bodies lay side by side.

As they lay there huddled together for comfort, it took some time for Gabe to grasp that they were almost the same size and bound in the same way. With effort, they were just able to touch fingers. When that happened, Gabe’s heart filled with inexplicable joy. Some sense he couldn’t explain told him who his companion was—­Timmy José.

His friend wasn’t dead. He was there in the darkness right along with Gabe. They were both trapped, but at least they were together. Tim José wasn’t dead and neither was Gabe—­at least not yet.

Then, whether it was the darkness, the movement of the vehicle, an aftereffect from whatever had been in the syringe, or a combination of all three, Gabe’s eyes closed and he drifted off again.

WHEN LANI AND LEO WALKED into the Ortiz house, there was no sign of Gabe, and Delia was putting away groceries. She was also in a snit. “Your son is in big trouble,” she said, turning angrily on her husband.

“Why?” Leo asked. “What did he do now?”

“I grounded him for running off from Lani the way he did,” Delia said, “but what do you think happened? I had to work for an hour or so and get some groceries. When I came home, he was gone. I told him he was grounded, and he took off anyway!”

Leo reached for his phone. “Don’t bother,” Delia said. “I already tried calling him. He didn’t take his phone along with him. It’s in the bedroom.”

Leo stared at her for a moment, then he turned abruptly on his heel and marched down the hall to Gabe’s bedroom. When he returned, his face was somber, and he was carrying a paper bag. He put the bag on the table, then he walked over to Delia and took her in his arms.

“I’m afraid it’s worse trouble than his just being grounded,” Leo said quietly.

“What?” Delia asked anxiously, pushing herself away. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“You know those two dead men out by Rattlesnake Skull charco?”

Delia nodded. “You told me. What about them?”

“They’ve been identified,” Leo answered. “The dead men are Carlos and Paul José.”

Delia put her hand to her mouth and sat down heavily on a nearby kitchen chair. “When you told me about it, I thought they were illegals.”

“So did everybody else, but Lani and I both thought we recognized the vehicle as belonging to the Josés,” Leo told her. “The problem is, from the way they were gunned down, they must have been into something bad. Gabe may be involved as well.”

“Are you serious?” Delia demanded. “How’s that even possible?”

“See for yourself,” Leo said, pushing a paper bag across the table to his wife. “I found this in one of Gabe’s dresser drawers. Look at the note inside.”

Delia plucked out the note and read it. When she finished, the slip of paper fluttered away from her fingers and fell to the floor. Leo picked it up and handed it to Lani so she could read it as well.

“The Josés are all involved in some kind of smuggling thing, and now they’ve pulled Gabe into it, too?”

“That’s how it sounds,” Leo agreed.

Lani looked at the bag but didn’t touch it. “That bag is possibly critical evidence,” she said. “Whatever used to be in it probably explains why Carlos and Paul were killed. That means we’re going to have to turn the bag over to the FBI.”

“But what about Tim José?” Delia asked brokenly. “If his brothers are dead, and he’s missing, is he dead, too?”

Lani chose not to speak up about the final gunshot she’d heard, at least not then. She understood the implications better than anyone else, and she wasn’t ready to bring those out in the open.

“Tim may not be dead, but he’s certainly in danger,” Lani said.

“We need to find both Gabe and Tim,” Leo declared. “I’d better start looking.”

“But don’t tell anyone why,” Lani cautioned. “At this point there’s been no official announcement about the identity of the victims. We know about that now, but we’re not supposed to, and we shouldn’t let on that we do. As far as anyone else is concerned, Gabe was grounded and took off anyway. That’s why you’re looking for him—­to bring him home.”

“But what about the bag?” Leo asked. “Should I put it back where I found it?”

“You can if you want to,” Lani said, “but it’s really too late. Your fingerprints are on the bag and all our prints are on the note. At some point we’ll need to come forward voluntarily and turn it over to the FBI agents working the case.”

“But doesn’t the bag implicate Gabe in whatever it is the José brothers were up to?” Delia objected.

“It may,” Lani said, “but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. First let’s find Gabe and see what he has to say.”

“On my way,” Leo said. “I know most of his hangouts. I’ll check those first.”

Taking his keys, he hurried out of the house, leaving Lani and Delia together in the kitchen. The two women were close now, so close that it was difficult to remember a time when they had not been friends.

“What happened?” Delia asked. “Why didn’t Gabe stay on the mountain with you?”

“Because I brought up his friendship with the Josés,” Lani said. “I told him he was going to have to make a choice between doing right and doing wrong.”

Delia’s eyes flooded with tears. “I guess it’s already too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Maybe so,” Lani agreed, “but I still want to hear what Gabe has to say.”

AFTER JOHN LASSITER’S UNANTICIPATED EXPRESSION of sympathy about Quentin’s death, it took a while for Brandon Walker to regain his interview sea legs.

“I hear you have MS,” he said finally.

Lassiter nodded. “There might be better treatments on the outside than they have in here, but as far as I’m concerned, the chair’s no worse of a prison than a cell.”

“Junior Glassman told me that you wanted to talk to me about Amos Warren—­that you want TLC to investigate his death.”

“I do,” Lassiter said with a nod.

“If so, you’ll need to tell me about Amos Warren,” Brandon said, leaning back in his chair, “from the beginning. How’d you two meet?”

For the second time in as many minutes, Big Bad John surprised Brandon as the huge man’s eyes misted over with tears. When he tried to speak, his voice broke before he managed to force the words to the surface. “Amos Warren was like a father to me. He was the only real father I’ve ever known. I was mad as hell at him at the time he disappeared, but I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t.”

It was the same story Brandon had heard years before about Warren taking Lassiter under his wing and looking after him and about the blowup over Ava Martin that had ended the two men’s partnership as well as their friendship.

“I met Ava Martin,” Brandon said. “I even interviewed her.”

“I thought she was terrific,” Lassiter continued. “But that’s who we were fighting over when Amos knocked me for a row of peanuts. The cheating bastard took me down with a set of brass knuckles that nobody else in the bar ever saw. That’s the last time I saw him. I thought he was just out in the desert doing what he always did, scavenging, but when his car got towed from a hotel out by the airport, that’s when I went looking. I checked the storage unit and realized he had cleaned it out. Took everything that was there, half of which should have been mine.”

“What happened then?”

“I’d been let down by my family time and again, but when Amos pulled the same stunt, it was far worse. I thought he was my friend. I trusted him, and when he turned on me, too, I didn’t take it very well.”