Read Online Rebel Island by Rick Riordan - Free Book Online Page A

at midnight. The work of a craftsman. Only this time, the craftsman had missed his mark.
    The agent in charge’s comments to the press were cryptic, but she couldn’t help revealing some of her rage. The explosion was needlessly elaborate. The assassin was an incompetent show-off. Now a mother and two children were dead.
    But Peter Brazos didn’t believe this assassin was incompetent. The explosion should’ve worked. The assassin had studied Brazos, knew exactly where he would be. The only thing Calavera hadn’t counted on was Rachel and the girls’ spur-of-the-moment visit, an act of love.
    The murder method had been superbly chosen. It had been meant to send a message to other prosecutors in a way that a simple bullet through the eyes wouldn’t do:
Try to touch us, and we will burn you to the ground.
    Brazos did not quit his drug cartel case. His grief enraged him. His rage made him determined. He prosecuted the South Texas Mafia leaders with redoubled vigor because he knew they would blame the assassin for not doing his job. They hadn’t gotten what they paid for.
    Calavera, who had acted with impunity for years and carried out dozens of hits, had finally screwed up.

    I passed the articles to Maia.
    While she read them, I looked again at the handwritten note:
             
    FIND HIM.
             
    I wanted to open our door and yell down the hallway,
Find him your own damn self!
    But I doubted that strategy would work.
    Maia looked up. “You’ve heard of this Calavera?”
    “Some. Just stories.”
    “Two little girls. Nine and seven.”
    “Yeah.” I suddenly wished I hadn’t shown Maia the articles. Her eyes had that steely glint they got whenever she wanted to beat up someone—like me, for instance.
    “Tres, if this is the guy Marshal Longoria was after, and if he’s in the hotel—”
    “What the hell would he be doing here? And who slipped me this note?”
    Maia was about to say something when there was a knock on our door.
    I picked up Maia’s .357 again and moved to the side of the door. “Yeah?”
    “Mr. Navarro?” One of the college kids. Chase, the leader.
    I opened the door. Chase didn’t look good. His skin was blanched and his eyes were so bloodshot they were the same color as his hair. He had that consternated expression that comes from trying to solve problems while drunk.
    “What’s up?” I asked him.
    “I just wanted…” He saw Maia. “Oh, hi.”
    “Hello,” Maia said.
    “Damn,” Chase said, “you
are
pregnant.”
    “Chase,” I said, “is there something we can do for you?”
    He scratched his ear. “Um, yeah. It’s my friend Ty.”
    “Latino kid?” I said. “Shaggy hair, looks like he’s going to throw up most of the time?”
    “That’s him. He’s not doing so well. With the killing and the blood and all…there’s something I thought you should—”
    The building groaned like a sailing vessel listing in a storm. There was a crashing sound. The floor shuddered.
    “What the hell was that?” Chase asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said, “but we’d better go see. This night just keeps getting better.”

    As it turned out, there was nothing to worry about. Part of the second story had caved in, collapsing onto a ground-floor bedroom on the west side of the house, but no one had been staying there. Maia, Chase and I found Alex Huff busily sealing the door to the destroyed room with extra lumber and plastic tarp.
    “Hated that room anyway,” Alex grumbled.
    “Damn,” Chase said. “A whole room collapsed? Damn!”
    “We’re gonna have dinner,” Alex said, wiping the grime off his forehead. “In the dining room. You know…everybody. A nice, late dinner. Jose figured out the food.”
    The wild look in his eyes bothered me.
    “Chase,” I said, “why don’t you go get your buddies and we’ll meet you in the dining room.”
    “But, um—”
    “It’s all right,” Maia assured him. She gave him her I’m-practicing-to-be-a-mother smile.