Page 5 of Gage

I tossed the tracker in the air once and caught it. “Changes things a little.”

“How?”

“Means Tomas expected you to run.” I opened the casing with the tip of my knife and disconnected the battery.

The men I used to collect for liked trackers because a blinking dot saved them the trouble of trusting anyone. Put one on a debtor's truck and sooner or later it led to the house, the girlfriend or the relative stupid enough to offer a bed. Tomas had used the same logic on his daughter. He’d let her drive because he never believed the direction she chose would matter. He knew the tracker would always lead him to her.

I called Preacher. “Tracker on her car. It was live.”

“So Rivas will know she’s at the compound?”

“Long enough to see it stop here, I’m sure. He’s not stupid.”

“I'll put Havoc east and we’ll put a couple of guys on the gate round the clock. Bring her in when you're done.”

I put the dead tracker in my pocket. “Get your bag.”

Elena reached for it. I started toward the clubhouse without waiting, partly to see whether she followed and partly because another few minutes bent beside her car with her watching me would give my head worse places to go.

“Wait!” I heard her call as she scrambled to get her stuff together. Her footsteps eventually caught up with me before I reached the door.

The spare room had once held club records and later become a place for broken furniture nobody wanted to deal with. We’d cleared most of it months ago, leaving a narrow bed, a metal cabinet and a lamp on a side table that had seen better days. A high window faced the inner yard, and the bathroom was two doors down.

Elena put her bag on the bed without commenting on the room.

“Lock works from the inside. Bathroom’s down the hall. Bar and front room are fine. You see a closed door, leave it closed.”

“What about outside?”

“Tell me first. Tomas will know where you are by now.”

Her gaze moved to the high window and back to me. “And if I want to leave?”

“I open the gate. I’ll also tell you it’s a bad fucking idea until we know what he’s going to do.”

That seemed to answer whatever she’d been measuring. She nodded once and set her charger beside the lamp. “Fair enough.”

Nothing about the room was comfortable, but she didn’t complain. She only asked where she could fill a glass.

“When did you last eat?” I asked.

“Breakfast.”

It was nearly six. I stepped into the hall and caught a prospect carrying a crate toward the bar. “Bring a sandwich and water back here.”

Elena appeared in the doorway. “You don't have to feed me.”

“And how else are you going to eat? Besides, didn’t say I was cooking.”

Her mouth twitched before she smothered it, and I took that with me when Preacher called me into church.

Smoke and Deacon were already at the table. Preacher waited until I closed the door.

“How did she react when you found it?” Smoke asked.

“She swore she didn’t know it was there. I think she underestimates her father.”

Deacon turned his laptop so we could see the screen. “Javier Mora exists. Forty-one, nephew to the man running a family cargo-theft crew out of Deming. Their trucks have been tied to smuggling, but nobody's made enough stick to slow them down. I’ve asked around and there’s been some chatter about Mora’s men doing work for people attached to Rivas.”