She pushed past him to yell fresh insults at the man who’d slapped the girl. Jack turned a panicked glance Cal’s way and saw him speaking into his radio while trying to hold the husband at bay. Thank God. They desperately needed backup. He spotted three young Latinos with cunning expressions inching closer to Cal and Javier.

Before Jack could warn Cal, two graying abuelas stepped in front of the three men and chewed them up one side and down the other in rapid Spanish. Guilt and embarrassment filled the young men’s faces as they backed off and blended into the crowd. The groups of women cheered for the old women and the men ominously muttered some more.

Cal steered Javier in the direction of the squad car to get the man away from the crowds. Beside Jack, Rosalinda gasped as she saw her husband and Cal move toward the car. She gave Jack a shove. The heavily pregnant woman darted down the concrete steps with amazing agility and fought her way through the crowds. Jack dashed after her.

Jack had thought she was screaming for Cal to let Javier go. From Jack’s position directly behind her, all he could hear was Rosalinda’s shrill voice in a blur of Spanish. Then he saw the anger on her husband’s face and Jack caught enough words to understand Rosalinda hoped Javier got screwed in prison. Jack hadn’t believed the man’s face could get any redder until Rosalinda shouted that she could now be with her baby’s father.

Silence fell. Shock struck the crowd silent. The only sounds were whimpers from Rosalinda’s two-year-old.

Those two seconds of silence were as loud to Jack as the roar of the gunshot a second later. Javier pulled a pistol from the back of his jeans under his shirt, aimed at his wife’s belly, and smiled.

The crowd roared as the shot knocked Rosalinda to the ground. People rushed at Rosalinda to help and another group rushed at Javier to take him down. Before he was tackled, Javier let his gun arm fall limply to his side. He raised his head to meet Jack’s eyes over the crowd. No regret showed in the cocky brown eyes.

The bullet passed through Rosalinda and buried itself in Jack’s thigh. He’d already kneeled to help the bleeding woman when he noticed blinding pain in his leg. Sitting back hard, he stared at the blood on his pants, confused that Rosalinda’s blood was causing pain in his leg.

At Alex’s table, Jack wrapped both hands around his stiff drink, and blocked the facial expression of the dying woman from his mind. He’d blown it that day and Rosalinda had died.

He and Cal had been cleared after an investigation. The situation had simply gotten out of hand too rapidly. Javier now sat in prison and his daughter lived with her grandmother. Her unborn sister hadn’t made it.

If only Jack had moved faster.

Alex filled his glass again and clanked it against Jack’s in a cheerless toast.

“I’ve got something.”

Mason glanced up from a series of photos of the Richard Buck murder. Ray looked like he’d hit the Powerball jackpot. Twice. Mason had been trying to get a lead on where the fishing lures could’ve come from, but every phone call was turning cold. It looked like Buck had made the lures.

“What?” Mason was tired, annoyed, and a headache pounded above his eyes.

Ray’s eyes glowed. “A religious commune. Well, it sounds more like a cult. Linda DeCosta currently lives on the commune way out in the boonies in Southeast Oregon. Some sort of fanatic place where each man has five wives and twenty kids.”

“Yes!” Mason punched a fist in the air and half of his headache dissolved.

“What about her son?”

Ray shook his head. “Nothing on the brother. I only managed to find her through a disgruntled ex-wife of the man Linda’s living with now. The pissed-off ex-wife is working with the police down there, trying to put together a case against the leader of the commune. He arranges marriages. I guess some of the brides are as young as fourteen.” Ray’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“That’s fucking sick.” Every step in this case was getting creepier. “Who the hell would marry a fourteen-year-old and fifty-something Linda DeCosta?”

“She’s not married. She’s a housekeeper or nanny or something. Guess even whacked out polygamists have standards.”

“We’ve gotta get down there.” Mason felt energized. Finally a solid lead that could get them somewhere. He stood, stacking his photos and slamming files.

“I dropped a hint to Brody.”

Mason froze midshuffle. “What the fuck’d you say?” What was Lusco thinking? “Didn’t your mother breastfeed you long enough, Ray? What’s wrong with your brain?”

“Brody’s in Mount Junction. The commune’s pretty close to that town. That reporter is sharp and has more contacts than J. Edgar Hoover. I thought he could check things out in case we’re wasting our time.” Ray forced his eyes to meet Mason’s angry ones, daring him to argue. “Our killer’s in Portland, not Southeast Oregon.”

Silently Mason ran through Ray’s logic. He was right, but his methods weren’t right. He was going to get both of them fired. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Find someone local to officially check her out.”

“Already done. Closest state patrol office is a hundred miles away, and they’re tied up with a couple of missing hunters in Burns. Takes precedent over questioning a witness. Malheur County sheriff’s department said they’d try to get to it in a day or two, but this commune is too far out and they’re understaffed.” Ray gave an understanding grimace. “That’s when I called Brody.”