Criminal puzzles In Texas

Chapter Twenty-One

The bullpen buzzed faintly under dim lights. It was the penultimate night of Victoria’s current rotation, and fatigue crept in at the edges. But the case had begun to shift, and neither she nor Alan could afford to slow down.
“Check this out,” Alan said, motioning her over to his screen. “Surveillance footage from the gas station near the motel. Caught someone meeting Marco. Hoodie, tall, never shows their face. But the time matches the gas receipt we found.”
Victoria leaned in. “Can we get a plate from the car?”
“Already working on it,” he said. “Traffic cam two blocks down caught the same car pulling a U-turn.”
They worked until almost sunrise, piecing together fragments. A partial license plate. The hint of a tattoo on the unknown figure’s wrist. Everything pointed to something more organized — calculated. Like Marco wasn’t just hiding. He was running from something.

The following night, their final shift before the rotation ended, things escalated. A tip came in just after 2 a.m.
“911 got a call,” Alan said, hanging up. “A woman claimed someone tried to force their way into her room at the Hillside Apartments. Said the man was asking for Marco by name.”
Victoria grabbed her coat. “Then Marco’s still alive.”

Next day, the morning sun broke gently through Victoria’s windows. She stirred awake for once without an alarm. Samantha was already dressed, swimsuit under a hoodie, cereal bowl in hand.
“Morning,” Samantha said, flipping through her phone. “You’re actually awake during daylight?”
Victoria chuckled. “Don’t get used to it.”
They spent the day together — groceries, bookstore, and a quiet lunch at a cafe. Later that afternoon, Samantha swam laps while Victoria watched from the bleachers, phone silent for once. She didn’t miss the way Dylan smiled when Samantha surfaced from the water, or how she smiled back.
Back home, they ended the night with popcorn and a rewatch of "Ocean’s Eleven". Samantha fell asleep on the couch halfway through.
Victoria tucked a blanket around her and whispered, “You’re my peace.”

On her second day off, Victoria tied her hair back and glanced around the living room. Half-painted walls, unopened boxes in the hallway, and a squeaky cabinet door all reminded her she hadn’t finished settling into this house.
She threw on old jeans, pulled out a toolkit, and started making progress. Music played low from her speaker as she patched walls and rearranged shelves.
By early evening, she stood with a brush in one hand, specks of paint on her cheek, and a sense of accomplishment blooming in her chest. She tugged the last shelf into place and stood back, hands on her hips. The room finally looked like hers — like home. She took a photo and sent it to Samantha with the message: “Progress. No more boxes in the hallway.”
A minute later, Samantha replied with a laughing emoji and: “Can I move the ugly lamp again?”
Victoria smirked. “Only if you survive it.”
Later, she moved outside to tend the overgrown garden she had barely touched since moving in. The air was crisp, the late afternoon sun golden on her skin as she pulled weeds, cut back the wild hedge along the fence, and repotted a stubborn fern. It felt good to sweat over something other than crime scene reports. As dusk settled in, she lit a candle on the porch table, sat with a cup of tea, and watched the neighborhood quiet. A couple walked their dog. A kid zoomed past on a skateboard. Somewhere, faint music drifted from an open window. For once, her world felt still.
Samantha returned home after sunset, her cheeks pink from the evening swim session. She stepped onto the porch and plopped down next to Victoria with a satisfied sigh.
“I like the new shelf. It’s very... not crooked,” she teased.
“I have levels, thank you,” Victoria replied dryly.
They stayed outside longer than planned, talking about nothing and everything — old movies, school gossip, how weird it was to sleep in silence again.
Victoria eventually nudged her daughter inside. “We both need some rest.”
“Big plans tomorrow?” Samantha asked.
“Just one more lazy day before I’m back on the clock.”
“Then I’m sleeping in,” Samantha declared and shuffled off to bed.
Victoria stayed behind for a moment longer, looking up at the stars. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed this reset.

The light crept in slowly through half-drawn curtains. Victoria woke without an alarm again — a rare luxury. She brewed a second cup of coffee just because she could, and flipped through an old paperback novel she hadn't touched in months.
By midmorning, she was stretched out on the couch, hair damp from a shower, a throw blanket across her legs, and the novel resting on her chest. The peace lasted exactly seven pages. Her phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Alan.
She exhaled once, then answered. “I still have one day off.”
“I wouldn’t call unless it mattered,” Alan said, voice clipped. “We ID’d the guy in the hoodie. He’s been off the grid for years — part of a small-time enforcer crew for a smuggling outfit. And he’s tied to three other disappearances in the last decade.”
Victoria sat up straight. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. And get this — Marco booked a bus ticket. Leaves tonight. He’s trying to run again.”
Victoria’s jaw tightened. “We can’t let him vanish.”
“Then get in here. I’ve already cleared the boardroom.”
“I’m on my way.” She grabbed her badge, keys, and the same worn jacket she always reached for when something serious was coming. As she headed for the door, she called out to Samantha’s room.
“Sam, I’m heading to the station.”
Samantha peeked out, still in pajamas. “Need me to do anything?”
Victoria paused. “Just... save me some leftover pasta.”
“Got it,” Samantha said.
Victoria gave a small smile and slipped out the door, her mind sharpening — the clock was ticking again.