Deliverer by Tamara Hart Heiner Read Free Book Online

Alejandro.”
    Truman dropped into a chair, breathing hard and trying not to choke on the musty basement air. “Why is he on your list?”
    “Possession of illegal firearms, murder. Resisting arrest, falsifying documents. The last photograph we got was at an airport three years ago. The passport he used at that time said he was Alejandro, from Mexico. Mexican authorities gave us the name Gregorio da Silva and said he is Brazilian. Brazilian authorities have never heard of him. Our trail ended there.”
    It was a very good lead. “Send me a copy of the photo. We’ll track him down.”
    “I am emailing it to you now.”
    Truman reloaded his email several times before the message appeared. It took over three minutes for the jpeg to open. He was ready to give the stupid machine to Barley as a chew toy when the image finally loaded. It was out of focus but clear enough. The man’s face was in profile as he crossed the street, jaw loose as if chewing gum. Tall, Latino, with a trim black beard framing his face. Late forties.
    Could this be him? Could this be the Carnicero ? Truman copied the email to Claber and gave him a call. “Take a look at this image I’m sending you. What do you remember about this one? He might be the man we’re looking for.”
    #
    Claber checked in with Truman an hour before the raid in Houston. He had orders to call again as soon as they completed the raid, and Truman knew he would. This time, instead of waiting in the game room, surrounded by emotionally distressed men, he stayed up in his bedroom. He kept a full liquor cabinet there anyway.
    At one in the morning, the eastern Canadian air felt crisp and humid, with a bite to the mild breeze. Truman stood on the small balcony and shivered. The chill kept his mind clear, despite the whiskey he'd been ingesting since Claber's call. He looked down over the dark pine trees swaying back and forth over the mountainside and swayed with them as he tipped the bottle back again. Even in the day time, Truman couldn't see the gravel road that led to the highway below. At night, not even his men liked to drive up the mountain. Certainly no one else came to visit.
    Privacy. He thrived on it. He appreciated the camaraderie he had with his men, and even felt familial ties with some of them. But when it came down to it, he preferred to be alone. That was when he did his best thinking. It was also when he could pretend he lived a normal life.
    He closed his eyes, remembering a time when he hadn't known the pressures his father would place on him. He had assumed, like everyone else, that he'd go to college, get a job, get married, and have a family.
    High school changed all that. His father began grooming him for his inheritance, and friends' houses became training grounds for thievery. Friendships didn't last long after that, and neither did school.
    Not that it mattered. His father had always known he'd uproot Truman from his civilian lifestyle and plunk him in the middle of the woods to take over his organization.
    Except... Truman hadn't done it right. He never wanted to be a criminal mastermind. And yet, he had never denounced it either. He admitted being unwilling to give up the luxurious lifestyle he had, the gluttonous amounts of food and riches and travels. He prided himself on his fine tastes, the collection of sculptures and busts that adorned his house, the hand-painted murals.
    If only the loneliness didn't feel so forced. It was one thing to choose to be isolated; it was another to have no one to pass the time with. His men did not fill the void in his life.
    The cell phone on the night stand rang, vibrating until it fell onto the floor. Truman turned, leaving the balcony and crossing the room in three giant steps. Claber. "Well?" He pressed the phone against his cheek and lowered his voice. "Did you get it?"
    "We did," Claber said. Triumph tinged both words, punctuating each with emphasis. "We have the necklace."
    Grey and Eli whooped loudly in the