The Survivor Read Free Page A

thirty. His old friend frowned at the computer screen. His shoulders lifted and fell. This morning’s findings were a setback, but they’d hit speed bumps before. Something else must be troubling Linc.
    Tigo had showered at the FBI complex, but he hadn’t shaved. The scruffy growth itched, fueling his frustration of not knowing who’d killed Pablo Martinez, his girlfriend, and the other gang member, who happened to be Martinez’s bodyguard.
    “So we have three murders and no assault rifles?” The lines across Linc’s dark forehead deepened. “All those hours watching that apartment, and the guns are gone.”
    “The killer had to have been waiting for Martinez. Must’ve passed the weapons through a back window to avoid being seen.”
    “We’ll have to see what the fingerprint sweep finds. Plenty of men wanted Martinez dead, but who would slit his throat and take the time to mutilate the bodies before confiscating the weapons?”
    “His girlfriend’s sister has ties to the Skulls,” Tigo said. “She could have set up her sister. Both women grew up with the same values. It’s all blood-in, blood-out.”
    Linc eyed him. “Cynicism is in full force.”
    “I’m tired.” Tigo knew that more than disillusionment weighed on him. No sleep in over thirty hours was only part of the problem.
    “How long has it been since you saw Kariss?”
    If Linc hadn’t been the SAC and his friend, Tigo would have told him to lay off. The situation with Kariss had nothing to do with his job performance. “What does she have to do with the case?”
    “Your attitude. How long have we known each other?” Linc steepled his fingers.
    Tigo knew where this was going, but the net had been tossed. “Sixteen years.”
    “How long since you were serious about a woman?”
    “Don’t have time for relationships.” They never worked anyway.
    “Right. Call her and patch it up. Suck up that Argentinean pride and take responsibility for what separated you two.” Linc smiled with his matter-of-fact advice. “Fix it.”
    “It’s not that easy.”
    “What’s the problem?”
    Spilling his guts wouldn’t fix a thing. “Linc, it doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m done with women.”
    Linc stood and leaned over the desk, his six-foot frame tense. “All right. But sometimes your stubbornness isn’t your best attribute.”
    “I’m tired and my game’s off. I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, especially in gang warfare.”
    “None of us do.” Linc’s frown returned. “I have another situation to discuss. At ten thirty this morning, Joanna Yeat and her daughter were killed in a car explosion triggered by a cell phone. Forensics is on top of it.” He pressed his lips together. “HPD has asked us to assist. So I’m taking you and Ryan off the current case to find out who killed Jonathan’s wife and daughter.”
    Tigo detested unfinished business. The Houston Police Department’s investigators were good enough. But Jonathan Yeat and Linc were friends. “Linc, I know this is tough. I remember Jonathan from our college days, and we talked here in your office a few years ago. But I hate to have Martinez’s murder get by us. Can’t you put our bomb techs on it?”
    “Ryan used to be a bomb tech. You don’t understand, Tigo. Jonathan is like a brother to me.” Linc paused. “Once the Yeat case is finished, then you’re back on gang business.”
    Tigo got the picture. No choice in the matter. “Okay. We’ll get on it.”
    “Jonathan’s in bad shape, and he’s worried about his sons.”
    “Any suspects?”
    “Not yet.” The bitterness in Linc’s voice was a rarity. “That bombing was meant for him, not his wife and daughter. They traded cars for the day.”
    Tigo recalled a news release earlier that week. “Monday Jonathan laid off two hundred employees. There’s your bomber. His labor pool is infested with piranhas.”
    “We’re researching the threats, but nothing concrete. Some of the past employees have