Nightcrawler (Trackers #1)

Prologue

MIGUEL

I’d always thought Recon Marines were the strongest people I’d ever met. Vonne certainly was. Until meeting Raven Mathis, I’d always thought I was. But this man, who’d become a huge part of my life, made anything I’d ever done to prove that strength, seem small and petty. He was a dynamo.

In the three months since Connor Ray Howell Jr. had died in a hail of bullets, Raven had quit his job with GMS Insurance, and we’d set up our new business. He’d taken his assistant, Judy Mendez, along with him and just like Raven had promised, she’d turned out to be a treasure. Judy ran our front office, set up our computer system, helped me put together the desks we’d bought to furnish it, hung pictures on the walls, and dragged in plants to brighten up the place.

Judy was, as Raven put it, a force of nature. She was funny, kind, and fiercely devoted to her husband, Luis, and we’d had them over for dinner several times. When we weren’t cooking for them, she was bringing home-cooked Mexican food to the office. Her spicy, refried beans had become a protein staple in our diets. Raven’s grandmother, Angelica, was in love with Judy’s kids, and had long ago adopted Sofia and Rafi. She taught them the Navajo language as they took her on brief walks in the back garden. In short, she and her family, were part of ours…along with Stanley, of course.

Though Raven had insisted the business shouldn’t concentrate on hunting fugitives, and rather try to compete with the bigger agencies as a recovery business, things were slow. He promised me this would be only temporary. Judy was burning up the phone lines and setting up freelancing contracts with several big insurance companies where she had friends. She avoided GMS of course, but there were other companies and individuals out there who needed our kind of tracking skills. In fact, the name of our company bore that out. When the Trackers sign went up on the door and the business cards were delivered, my trust in both Raven and Judy was solidified.

Still, it was hard for me to trust that we were on the right track based on the kind of jobs we were doing. In our first month, we’d retrieved a cat from a surly man who’d taken her during a protracted divorce settlement, reuniting her with her loving mom. We’d also recovered a pair of antique binoculars, stolen from a display case at a local VFW hall. In that case, the thief turned out to be a WWII veteran with dementia who’d thought they were his.

Though Raven had pointed out we had to start somewhere, and the money was miniscule, and I agreed, I just wasn’t prepared to be living a Nancy Drew mystery at work. Worse, I knew Raven was covering the majority of our expenses, and that rankled more than it probably should.

At home, things were different. I was content and felt settled and safe for the first time since I’d lost my folks at fifteen. Stanley was seven months old now, and though still a kitten, he was a wild thing. He toppled anything in a glass, ripped apart toilet paper if we forgot to close bathroom doors, nearly tripped anyone walking anywhere as he zoomed between legs, and basically made a total nuisance of himself. Although he had a particular knack for not tripping up Angelica as if he knew she was blind. Raven called him a terrorist but whenever he got into bed, Stanley crawled up his body and stuck his face into his neck to lick it.

I did the same thing to Raven once Stanley was locked out of what had long ago become our bedroom.

When Raven had healed up completely, our sex life had turned into something of a whirlwind of discovery. We’d fucked in every room of the house except Nana’s, and Raven had been bent over more than one countertop in the house, getting a chance to see them up close and personal. I’d discovered a previously untapped well of sexual desire, and Raven was responsible for all of it. I could barely keep my hands off him whenever he was near. I felt closer to him than I’d ever felt to another human being, and my love for him was growing with every passing day.

We usually drove to the office together, but this morning, Raven had taken his truck to have an oil change. When I walked in alone, Judy looked up at me with a sunny smile on her face. “Good morning.” She glanced at the door.

“Good morning.” I smiled at Judy, easily reading her thoughts. “He’s coming later. He had to get the truck serviced.”

“Oh, I see.” She stood up, holding out small pink papers from her message pad. “Two people called for you. One is from the painter. If he’s calling about his check, you can tell him I popped it in the mail yesterday. I think the second one is from a new client. He wouldn’t give me any details.” I took the papers she offered and looked down at them. I liked the fact that she still used the antiquated message pad.

“Thank you, Judy. Did you—”

“Call the landlord to tell him the faucet in the kitchen is still dripping? Yes. He’s sending a guy over today.”

I blinked. “Thank you. Did you—”

“Pay the carpet guy? Yes. He picked up a check this morning.”

I chuckled. “Thank you. Is there—”

“Fresh coffee? Yes. I just brewed a pot.” She grinned.

I laughed this time. “Fine, thanks. I need it.” I glanced down at the messages in my hand as I started walking back to the office Raven and I shared. I thought about something and pivoted. Judy was standing right behind me. “Shit. You scared me.” She just smiled. She was only five feet tall, more than a foot shorter than either Raven or me. “By the way, I was gonna ask if you—”

“Already stopped at the market to replace the peanut butter Raven bought because you don’t like that ‘vegan shit’? Yes. It’s in the cupboard, next to your ramen noodles.” She set her hands on her hips and frowned at me. “You know that stuff is loaded with sodium. It’s very bad for you.” She brushed past me, headed for the kitchen which was in a small room beside our office. “I’m going to cook some noodles at home and bring them into the office since you can’t seem to function without carbs.”

“They’re necessary fuel in a balanced diet,” I replied.

She waved her hand as if she already knew what I was going to say, but just kept on talking. “Don’t tell me I can’t make noodles the way Raven does, because that’s useless. Luis and the kids love my noodles anyway. I’ll make a big batch.”

I grinned, shaking my head at how she read my mind and followed her into the kitchen where the scent of fresh coffee was beckoning. The fancy machine Raven had chosen to make our morning brew had been a huge expense, but it was the same as the one we had at home, and it made the love of my life feel better every time he had a cup. Who was I to disagree with him when it was such a small thing? Judy reached into the cabinet and pulled down two mugs, handing one to me.

I stared at her with a half-smile on my face. I turned to the pot and looked at my empty cup, before glancing back at Judy. “How is the coffee supposed to get into my cup?”

She laughed and slapped me on the arm. “I love you, Miguel.” She filled both our cups and left the kitchen as I walked into my office wearing a wide smile. Raven had decorated our shared space much like his bedroom at home. He’d carpeted the whole office with some kind of sisal made with natural, durable, easy to clean fibers. It was a beige color. The walls were painted a rich cream, and the woodwork a glossy white. The huge bathroom in our back office had been a selling point the minute I saw the place. Raven had hired a contractor who ripped out the old, gold tile and put in fresh, white marble like ours at home.

We had a big window that looked out onto Santa Monica Boulevard, not far from where we lived, and he’d insisted on wide horizontal blinds made of some sort of tan fabric. Four-foot Ti trees sat in pots in each corner, and smaller versions graced our desks which were made of recycled materials. A miniature fountain in one corner lent an almost meditative feeling to the office. I loved coming to work because it felt like home.

I just wished we had more business.

I sat down and looked at the messages, discarding the first one from the painter, and glancing at the other. It was from someone I’d never heard of, so I picked up the phone and dialed. Someone picked up on the second ring.

“Aston, Summerfield, and Billings,” the female voice announced.

An insurance company, maybe? I cleared my throat. “Hello, this is Miguel Huerta from Trackers. I’m returning a call.”

“ Ah, yes, Mr. Huerta. Mr. Aston has been expecting your call. I’ll put you right through.”

“Thank you.” I waited for only a few seconds before someone picked up.

“Is this Mr. Huerta from the Trackers recovery agency?” The deep male voice on the other line sounded like all business.

“Yes, this is Miguel Huerta. How can I help you?”

“Thank you for the return call, Mr. Huerta. My name is Gregory Aston. I’m an attorney representing the Flores estate, and we have need of your services.”

“I’m sorry…I’m not familiar with the Flores estate,” I replied, sipping my coffee as I leaned back in my leather chair. “How can we help you?”

“A priceless piece of jewelry has disappeared from our late client’s estate, and we’d like to talk to you and your partner about retrieving it, Mr. Huerta.”

“That’s fine.” Recovering stolen goods was what we did, so I didn’t hesitate. “When can we meet?”

I heard a throat clearing over the phone line. “First…let me ask you, Mr. Huerta…do you and your partner carry guns?”

I ran my hand through my hair, aware that my heartbeat was speeding up. “I—I…well, if necessary but I—”

“I only ask because we suspect the thief might be troublesome,” Aston said.

Troublesome . Well, that was one way to put it. “Mr. Aston, we normally carry pepper spray and Tasers but we’re both licensed to carry firearms.”

“Good! Well then, would you and Mr. Mathis be available to meet with me and Mrs. Flores later this afternoon?”

“Sure. What time and where?” I was very interested to find out why anyone would need to carry a gun just to retrieve a stolen item.

“There’s a place in Calabasas called Sagebrush Cantina with an outdoor seating area where we can be assured some privacy. My client would like to meet in a public setting where it’s safer.”

Safe from what? “Safer?”

“Yes,” Aston replied. “Let’s say we meet there at three?”

“Three is fine. Mr. Mathis and I will be there.”

“See you then. Please come armed.”

“Will do.”

He hung up and I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the receiver. What had I just agreed to?