The Survivors Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

of time.
    Looking for trouble was what cops did. Didn’t matter if you’d been out of the life for years. Old habits die hard.
    A dove in the rafters shifted and cooed.
    It came to Tess just like that, and she knew it was true.
    He was meeting someone.
    A clatter above, and the dove took off, its wings whickering as it sped away.
    Tess froze. She was here alone, in a place known as part of the smuggling corridor.
    She heard footsteps on the sand and rock.
    Careful to keep away from the stripes of sunlight, Tess stood back from the paneless window and looked in the direction of the footsteps.
    A man was walking down the lane toward the ghost town. He’d left his vehicle, an older model Range Rover, near the gate, and had just slipped through the wire.
    Looked like a hiker. Hiking boots, the thick socks, the ballcap, the sunglasses, the cargo shorts. He carried a bladder of water on his back, and a drinking tube snaked around to lie on his chest, not far from his lips.
    “Stay there!” Tess called. “This is a crime scene.”
    The guy looked at her quizzically, but kept coming, his hiking boots skating a little on the rocks as he came down the hill.
    “This is private property and a crime scene!” Tess shouted. Aware of her weapon, her hand close. “You are not allowed to be here!”
    The guy raised a hand in greeting and kept coming.
    He was carrying; a small gun, might be a .32, on his left side—a lefty.
    Tess spread her stance. She unsnapped her holster and drew her SIG Sauer—the second time today. As she’d done earlier, she kept it hidden behind her hip. “Sir—I am giving you a warning. Stay where you are.”
    He stopped and held up his hands. I’m harmless.
    “Is that the cabin where George Hanley was shot?” he said. “Looks like it.”
    “Do you know George Hanley?”
    “May I approach?” His hands still up.
    He was a good-looking man, lean and sinewy, somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties. The dark aviator shades made her think of a model in one of those fashion magazines. They also covered his eyes.
    “Do you know anything about Mr. Hanley?” Tess repeated. “Are you a friend of his?”
    Hands still up. “Can I approach?” He crunched forward and came within fifteen yards of her, saw her face, and then stopped. Whipped off his sunglasses. “Look, I understand why you’d want me to keep my distance—I know that’s standard police procedure. You’re just being a good cop.”
    What a strange thing to say. The man did not strike her as cop material, but he spoke about her copness—for want of a better word—with a familiarity that seemed real. She was usually good at pegging people, so this took her aback.
    “I’m one of the good guys,” he said. “I work for Pima County Sheriff’s. May I approach? Maybe I could shed a little light here.”
    She motioned him the last few yards.
    He came fast. Tess stepped back, ready, her eye on his left hand. He kept his hands raised high, nowhere near his weapon.
    Still. Her hand closed tighter around the butt of her SIG Sauer.
    “Hey! I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you working the Hanley case?”
    Now he was too close—infringing on her space. She felt like taking another step back, but didn’t. Pushed her own body forward. “Will you step back, sir?”
    He did.
    “Do you know anything about what happened here?”
    “Not personally, no. You think it was one of the cartels?”
    She said nothing.
    He grinned. He had a crooked mouth, the only thing that marred his good looks. He didn’t show his teeth.
    “If you know anything about this, you need to tell me,” Tess said.
    “No, not this particular case, but it might be similar to what I’ve been working on. That’s why I came down here today.”
    “In your capacity with the Pima County Sheriff’s? What capacity is that?”
    “They depend on me to do a number of things. Recently, I’ve been named to an administrative investigator position.”
    That sounded political—made up to