Chapters (39)
- NEVER DIE ALONE
- Books by Lisa Jackson
- Title Page
- Table of Contents
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- EPILOGUE
- Teaser chapter
- Copyright Page
Still, they called to have the car towed, just in case. Leaving Selma with their cards, the detectives headed across town to a two-storied home built at the turn of the previous century.
As he searched for a parking spot, Montoya’s cell phone rang from its spot in the empty cup holder. He picked it up, saw the caller ID, and clicked the cell off. “Speaking of my family. Second call I got today. They’re all thinking I should be hunting for Cruz,” Montoya said as he slowed for a red light, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. Cruz was Montoya’s brother, a bad ass who had recently lost his Harley to a fleeing nun. The desperate woman had stolen it, and Cruz had taken off after her. “No one’s heard from him, can’t reach him, so they all have decided that I, as the one cop in the family, should drop everything and chase him down.”
Bentz smothered a smile. Montoya’s tight-knit family was always bothering him in one way or another. “Did you tell them you’ve got other things to occupy your time?”
“Like a full-time job nailing bad guys, as well as dealing with a wife and kid? Even though Abby’s on hiatus from her photography for a while, she still expects me to be home and spell her with Ben and, you know, she needs a break. Geez, he’s only three months and hasn’t figured out sleeping through the night yet. We’re all sleep deprived.” He snorted and frowned, brackets lining his mouth. “So someone else in the family can go looking for Cruz. He’s a big boy anyway, a grown man.” Frowning at the traffic on the street, he finally found a parking spot close to a fire hydrant. “It’s okay, right?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “We’re cops. The good guys.”
“If you’re willing to risk a ticket.”
“From someone on the force? Bah. Look, if I get one from some meter maid who doesn’t know the drill, I’ll fight it. Like I said, ‘We’re the good guys.’” He was already out of the car and locking up. They made their way under an arbor and through a garden of exotic tropical plants to a two-storied front porch that ran the width of the building and was decorated in finely detailed wrought iron.