Snowbound - Blake Crouch [18]
“Listen to me,” he whispered. “I know you don’t want to stay here, and I don’t blame you. The thing is, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on yet. This just feels off, but she has us in a bind. If you get scared, if anything happens while we’re gone, you call me on your cell. I’ll come back here and get you.”
“I just wanna go home. I’m missing a sleepover at Lisa’s tonight.”
“I know, baby. I’m gonna take care of this, and then we’re out of here. We’ll fly back to Colorado if we have to.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. You’re earning major points today.”
“You’ll take me shopping in Durango?”
“Yes.”
“On a spree?”
“Okay.”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“Two fifty.”
Devlin smiled, said, “All right. I’m not gonna let you forget.”
SIXTEEN
Fifteen minutes from her apartment, Kalyn turned into the driveway of a five-story office building and pulled into a parking space near the entrance.
“He’s here?” Will asked.
“No, this is the Phoenix Field Office. I just have to run in and grab something.”
Kalyn left the Buick running and hustled into the building.
She returned five minutes later, hopped in the car, sped out into traffic.
The road into Scottsdale was lined with palm trees.
“So how’s this going to work, exactly?” Will asked.
“I have to be honest,” she said. “I’m not wild about doing it this way.”
Will laughed nervously. “Makes two of us.”
“First, we have to see if he’s home. If he is, I’ll arrest him, bring him out to the car. You can give me a thumbs-up, thumbs-down on whether or not you recognize him.”
“What if I don’t?”
“This is the guy,” she said.
“But what if I can’t—”
“Can I trust you with something?”
“I guess.” They were passing strip malls at the rate of ten per mile.
“Here’s the dilemma. Mr. Estrada is wanted for a whole host of things, many of them much easier to prove than human trafficking. You ID him early on, we can go that route. Maybe we get some answers. If you don’t, well, somebody else gets a crack at him. Border Patrol. Phoenix PD. DEA. Mexican authorities. And then we can forget about ever getting him prosecuted for what he did to your wife, or finding out what happened to her. I really don’t like where that leaves you in terms of the pending charges.”
“Is this how it’s normally done?”
“No.”
“Is it legal?”
Kalyn glanced at him. “Something you should know about FBI agents.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re always by the book.”
They were driving through residential neighborhoods now, the houses on steroids, lavish and ridiculous.
“How’d you become an agent?” Will asked.
“I was a cop right out of college. Did that for four years, went to law school. Then the Academy. Typical route.”
“Did you always know—”
“Look, I can’t do the ‘Is this what you always wanted to be when you grew up?’ conversation right now. I’m trying to get my head straight for this takedown.”
They rode in silence for another few miles, and then Kalyn turned into a gated community. At the guard station, she flashed her badge and creds. The gates opened, and they drove into one of the swankiest neighborhoods Will had ever seen, six- and seven-thousand-square-foot homes being the runts of the bunch, private security gates, driveways that looked like Jaguar and Porsche dealerships.
They followed Superstition View Boulevard up the lower flanks of a brown mountain turreted with rock outcroppings and desert flora. The properties were exquisitely and exotically landscaped. Hundreds of species of cacti. Yuccas. Rocks in place of grass.
A mile past the guard station, Kalyn pulled over to the curb.
“This it?” Will asked.
“Next house on the right. You got your cell with you?”
“Yeah.”
Kalyn took hers out of her purse. “Give me the number.” She programmed Will’s number into her phone, then turned off the engine and opened the door.
“Wait. I thought—”
She tossed him the keys, said, “Leave your cell on and hop in the driver’s seat.”
“No, I want to know exactly how this is—” She shut the door and walked quickly up the road, disappearing behind a row of hedges. He scooted