Maddie scowled. “Let’s get out of here while the getting is good.”
She began to swivel out of her chair, but a shadow loomed over them and froze her in her seat. One of the officers. Her throat closed against an involuntary squeak.
The stocky man gazed down at them—well, at Chris anyway—thick brows drawn together. “Excuse me, but would you be Christopher Mason from World News?”
Chris leaned back in his chair and answered the man’s stare with a steady, cool expression. “That would be me. What can I do for you, officer?”
Maddie’s teeth ground together. If Chris possessed this level of acting ability, she was right to suspect he could be hiding his complicity in the Rio Grande Massacre and playing her for a story at the same time. Then why did that conclusion feel so wrong in her gut? She shook herself inwardly. Better to keep listening to her head—safer for everyone if she trusted no one.
The policeman scratched under his ear and offered a small grimace. “Are you aware that the vehicle you rented at the airport blew up yesterday?”
Chris nodded. “Fortunately, I wasn’t in it at the time.”
“Yes, but sir, you’re now listed as a missing person. I advise you to contact police headquarters in San Antonio as soon as possible. They will want a statement from you.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be sensible of me. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”
A smile flickered on the officer’s face. “No problem.” The man turned toward his table then quickly swung back toward Chris. “My wife would be thrilled if I’d bring your autograph home.” Color traced the edges of prominent ears poking out from his buzz-cut hairline.
“I’d be honored.” Chris grinned wide. “Do you have anything for me to write on?”
“Sure.” He pulled the ticket pad from his belt and ripped off a sheet.
Chris took the paper and raised an eyebrow. “Signing this isn’t going to get me into any trouble, is it?”
“Naw. Write your name on the back. Best use of one of these things I’ve seen in a long while.”
Seconds later, the officer strolled away, smiling and tucking the autographed page into the breast pocket of his shirt.
Chris stuck more than enough cash to cover the bill into the discreet black folder the waitress had supplied, and then he stood up. “Shall we?”
Nursing reluctant admiration, Maddie followed him toward the exit. Chris Mason possessed a brand of courage she could only dream about. His occupation kept him in the public eye 24/7 and thrust him in front of a camera, speaking to millions of people at a time. She’d rather engage a squadron of enemy forces single-handed than give a speech.
They climbed into Ginger, and Maddie directed the car out of the parking lot with extra caution not to exhibit the fire under the old gal’s hood. Next to her, Chris pecked and swiped at his smart phone.
“Evidently, we’re not wanted for anything at the moment,” she said, “or that encounter would have ended with us in handcuffs, not a publicity op. But news of your presence in Laredo will now spread to San Antonio as soon as that officer reports in.”
“At least he didn’t ask me to introduce you, or it would go viral that we’re hanging out together.”
Maddie chuckled. “Suits me fine that my chair might as well have been an empty seat for all the attention he paid me. Where to now?”
“Here’s the location of the nearest library.” He read off the directions.
Ten minutes later they had cruised a few miles up I-35 and were entering the main library on Carlton Road. Maddie inhaled the warm, woody, slightly sweet smell of books and bookshelves overlaid by air freshener. Chris proceeded at a brisk pace to the main counter, and Maddie trailed him, casing the area for potential threats and escape routes.
“Excuse me,” Chris said to the man behind the counter. “I’m looking for a book entitled A Grunt’s War in Vietnam. Do you have a copy?”
“Let me see.” The librarian, whose name tag identified him as Phil, tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard, hummed, and then turned toward them. “Yes, we have a copy, but I’m sorry, it’s checked out.”
Maddie’s gut tensed. At least Chris had the presence of mind not to show the librarian the half bookmark taken from the crime scene.
“Too bad.” Chris leaned a forearm on the counter. “Can you tell me anything about the author?”
Phil poked a little more at his keyboard then his face lit up. “Well, what do you know...”
What? Maddie bit her lip against barking the question aloud.
“The author bio in our system says Hector Herrera was a native of Laredo. One of our hometown boys.”
“Was?” Chris canted his head.
The smile died on Phil’s face. “Says here his sister Bonita Herrera issued his memoir posthumously. I recognize the publisher. It’s one of those self-publishing outfits, but reputable. Copyright date is just last year.”
“Is the sister still a resident of Laredo?”
Phil showed empty hands. “No clue. Doesn’t say. You doing research or something?”
“Research, definitely.”
The librarian’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“I have one of those faces people seem to recognize.”
Phil pursed his lips and looked unconvinced, but he turned back toward his computer monitor. “Let me check our event archives for you. Since the author was a local, we may have hosted a book-launch party. In which case, the sister would most likely have been the presenter, and we would have contact information. I couldn’t give out an address or phone number, but I could take yours and let her know a researcher is interested in talking to her.”
“That would be great.”
The clicking and scanning went on for some time. Maddie eased from one foot to the other. Were they on the verge of a breakthrough or a dead end? This research business was every bit that combination of tedium and tension that marked the countdown before an assault.
Phil let out a huff. “Sorry, we have no record of an event hosted by our library for that book release.”
“Thanks for trying.” Chris backed away from the desk.
“Welcome.” The librarian’s gaze drifted toward his computer monitor.
Maddie’s stomach knotted as Chris took her elbow and led her into a maze of bookshelves. “What now?” Her words came out in a breathy whisper.
“We attack the problem from a different angle. Have a seat.” He motioned toward a wingback chair in a reading alcove.
Maddie eased into it while Chris sat across from her and tapped and swiped on his cell phone, making little clicking noises with his tongue against his teeth that got on her last nerve. She twiddled her fingers against the faux-leather arm of the chair and then rose and paced. Shadows moved and air currents shifted faintly as patrons soft-footed through the area. She didn’t like being trapped in a corner like this. They needed to move soon.
“Houston, we have liftoff.” Chris chuckled.
“You found something?” Her tone was sharper than intended.
Chris’s eyebrows arched as he rose. “Ms. Herrera has a website for the book, but the contact form goes to a blind mailbox. Not much help there. Plugging Bonita Herrera into a White Pages search for Laredo, Texas, offered similar bupkes.