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The next morning, Rip was up and out of the room when it was still dark out. He’d done a quick check on his phone. The media had no new information on the Lela Cabelo case. She was still missing, and the FBI had very little to say, other than they would do everything in their power to ensure her safety.
Lela had to be scared to death. She was isolated, with nowhere to turn, unable to tell anyone where she was. Before a day ago, Rip hadn’t even heard her name. But after looking into her background, and witnessing her brave move in the face of danger, he knew quite a bit about her.
One thing that Rip was sure of was that Lela thought like he did. She was a fighter, a loner, and functioned well independently.
Rip knew what he’d have done in her situation. He had to assume she’d done the same, and hoped he was right. But there were no guarantees.
He didn’t bother to get a car, since he could navigate on foot. Walking was preferable to cruising along the streets while peering out the window like some predator. This way he could fit in, blend with the residents. He had enough of his mother’s Spanish blood in him to look like he belonged in the community.
Magnolia Park was on the east end near the port, and was one of the oldest Hispanic neighborhoods in the city. It was early morning; dogs barked, kids played in fenced yards, and cafes were open for business.
Rip strolled along the sidewalk, second-guessing his tactic. He had a pretty good idea about the areas where Lela would go. But there was a lot of ground to cover. He looked at a pink adobe building offering breakfast all day.
Lela would have to eat, but chances were that she wouldn’t go out in the open. That eliminated the park and any well-known hotels. But she had to be around; Rip could feel it in his bones. He knew he was right.
While the feds and the cartel would assume that Lela had run, she’d done no such thing. It was a clever move on her part. It was logical that a woman terrified of being caught by either faction would get as far away as she could.
How far that was depended on her resources and how much money she had with her. Using credit was out of the question; any movie-goer knew that. So her pursuers were trying to figure out which direction she’d gone, and what her destination would be.
Yet Lela had done the one thing they hadn’t suspected. Rip was positive that she hadn’t gone anywhere. Contrary to common logic, she’d stayed right where she was. The best place to hide was under their noses.
Sooner or later, the bad guys would figure it out, by process of elimination. But that bought her time. It was smart. It was how Rip would have done it. He was proud of her, and he hadn’t even met her.
He was here first, and he was certain that he was the only one who’d figured out her location. That could change in the blink of an eye, so he needed to get sharp and find her quick. The only thing was that there was no sign of her.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Did he think he’d just show her photo around until he found someone who had seen her? That was a sure way to bring down the fury of the cartel. Word of someone looking for her would spread like wildfire, with whispers through the community that led back to the gangs.
Rip had to do this alone. He had to think like Lela. Where would she be?
She’d come to the communities where she felt safe. It was easiest to hide in the city among friends, to disappear in familiar neighborhoods. She’d grown up in the city, just like he had. The gangs didn’t necessarily hang out in the places she knew, so they would lag in finding her.
Magnolia Park wasn’t giving him any joy, so Rip hopped on the green line, the Metro to Second Ward. Hopefully, that would be more promising. The area was called Segundo Barrio by the residents, or second neighborhood. It had been one of the first Mexican-American barrios in the city.
One of the historic plazas east of downtown might hold the answer. If Lela couldn’t be out in the open, then where would she go? Where was it safe? Where could she duck out of sight without fearing for her life?
Rip’s pulse kicked up a notch. It dawned on him. He knew where she was. The Second Ward was home to Our Lady of Guadalupe, a prominent Mexican-American Catholic church. Churchgoers from many neighborhoods traveled to attend services there.
Rip had been there many times, and no doubt Lela had too. It was a safe haven, a temporary respite. It had constructed one of the first schools for children in the neighborhood, and operated programs that provided food and shelter for needy individuals. Lela was a woman in need, and would have been welcomed—if she’d shown up there.
The brick church stood proudly at the edge of a crumbling sidewalk. It was a weekday, so there were no throngs of parishioners. It would be too much to hope for that Rip would walk inside and find her kneeling in the pews.
He stepped inside the cool interior to find it empty. There was no sight of Lela, so he went back outside. On the other side of the walkway was the brick schoolhouse. He casually walked up the sidewalk, hearing the sounds of children in the classrooms through the windows.
Behind the school was a playground that was vacant. Rip stepped around the corner, then stood under the patio awning, looking at the kids’ slide and the flagpole at the far side of the yard. He dropped his duffel bag on the patio, and wondered if he’d hit another dead end.
A light whiff of perfume feathered into his nostrils, but there were no flowers in bloom. In the next second, a sharp impact to his Achilles heel alerted Rip to an attack. His leg buckled and he stumbled back into the brick wall. In a flash, there was a blade against his neck, so he stilled. The cold knife pressed against his jugular.
