Licensed to Kill

Chapter 16

Walls of various sized post office boxes lined the halls, the sun shining through the windows and gleaming off of the boxes in a blinding glare. I followed Dallas down one of the three hallways in search of P.O. box 6319. We finally spotted it at the end of the corridor.

"What are we going to do if there's nothing inside it?" I cocked a brow to Dallas as he slipped the key in the hole.

"Let's find out first."

He turned the key and pulled the tiny locker-style door open to reveal only a small notecard.

"What does it say?" Dallas asked when I retrieved it from the back of the box.

Úselos para ingresar a la prisión.

-M.S.

"It's in Spanish." I squinted at the scribbled handwriting. "It says 'use these to enter the prison.'"

Dallas looked back inside the box to make sure we weren't missing anything, but there was nothing else to discover.

"What do you think it was?" he asked.

I tapped my fingers against the notecard, but it didn't take me long to draw up a conclusion.

"Her fake federal I.D.'s."

Dallas took the note from my hand and studied it, flipping it over a couple times, frowning at the hard-to-read handwriting. He lifted the piece of paper to his face and smelled it, his brows drawing further inward.

"There's a hint of cigarette smoke on this," he noted. "It's very faint with the card having been in here for months, but it's noticeable. Do you know if Lindsey's a smoker?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so, but I've got a pretty good idea of who is."

I pulled out my phone and found the notes I'd been making to myself since beginning my investigation. I scrolled to the bullet points I'd typed up about my night at the London Marriott and the threatening call I'd received in the hotel room.

His voice sounded very rough. He had likely been smoking for many years. He had a thick Spanish accent. He was probably in his forties or fifties.

I held out my phone where Dallas could see my notes and pointed to the part about the man calling me.

"I think this son of a bitch who called me in London is Miguel Santiago."

He looked at me with a hint of concern brimming in his eyes, glancing back and forth between my phone screen and my face. It took a lot to worry Dallas. I knew that hadn't changed in four years. But what was so concerning to him about Santiago harassing me? I'd received plenty of threatening calls like that in the past. It was just another pain in the ass side effect of the career I'd chosen. I didn't fret over shit like that.

"What are you thinking?" I studied his expression, trying to read his mind.

Dallas pulled his lower lip into his mouth and chewed at it for a few seconds – another one of his pondering quirks.

"Tali, how did Miguel Santiago know when you'd arrived in London?" He gestured to the notes on my phone. "Obviously, he's working with Lindsey, but you'd barely begun your investigation. It was still day one. How could he have known that fast about your investigation?"

I shrugged. "I suppose it's possible that he found out when I called around to various intelligence entities, hospitals, jails, etcetera, to see if they'd seen Lindsey or knew where she might be. It was after I'd done that that he called me. Or maybe he has somebody keeping an eye on A.R.T.'s office who got wind of me coming in."