While Ty was in a chemically induced dreamless sleep, his cousin, the super model Felina, was being gently awakened in her luxurious apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
"Felina, wake up, you need to see this news item," her personal assistant softly said.
Felina opened her eyes, blinked the sleep out of them and looked at the glowing digital numbers on her bedside clock. It was after ten in the morning, and ten was the absolute earliest her staff was allowed to wake her. She stretched her long lithe body and pushed her thick coal black hair out of her face.
"What news is that, Louisa?" she asked, it being too early for her to be more than mildly curious.
Louisa flicked the power button on a remote control sitting on the night stand. When the picture appeared on the fifty-two inch flat screen, she tuned the set to CNN Headline news.
"Something awful has happened to your gran tia," Louisa said breathlessly.
Felina sat up in bed, unmindful of her nudity. She grabbed the remote out of Louisa's hand and punched the volume control. The sound came up just as the scene switched from the morning anchor to a reporter standing in front of the wrought-iron gates of the Rancho de Los Angeles. The attractive young reporter was speaking into her microphone.
"Good morning, this is Liza Ortiz reporting breaking news from El Paso, Texas. Behind me are the closed gates of the famous Rancho de Los Angeles, the ranch of the angels. The ranch is owned by the super wealthy McGuinn family. The gates are closed now, because in the early hours of this morning, a group of men broke into the McGuinn family home and brutally murdered the family matriarch, eighty-nine-year-old Isabel Lopez McGuinn. Also killed in the violent crime was Missus McGuinn's long time assistant, Lupe Martinez..."
There was more about the crime and community reaction to it, but Felina tuned them out as she sat there in shocked silence.
She was shocked that her great aunt was dead, but even more nonplussed that if the crime had happened two days later, she might have been one of the victims. Felina was wide awake now and her brain was finally fully engaged.
"Louisa, cancel my reservations to El Paso, then find out who is handling the arrangement and send something nice with my condolences. Given what has happened, I don't think my visiting there would be a good idea right now."
Louisa was nodding and busily typing on her Blackberry, her thumbs flying across the tiny letter keys with practiced ease.
"Okay, got it. Do you want breakfast in here, or out on the balcony?"
Felina glanced out the window and noted the late-spring morning sun shining down brightly on her lovely view of Central Park.
"The balcony, I think, I need to make a few phone calls, and the sun looks inviting. I feel like Eggs Benedict this morning and a gallon of coffee."
Louisa scurried away to make breakfast happen. When Louisa was gone, Felina arose and donned her thick Turkish cotton robe. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she opened the double insulated French door and stepped out onto her balcony. She had barely taken her seat at the ornate wrought iron bistro table, before Maria, her housekeeper, placed the silver coffee service on the table and poured her a cup of rich Colombia coffee. Felina absent-mindedly waved Maria away and flipped open her cell phone.
When the call connected, Felina turned on the seductive tone of voice that made men weak.
"Hello Raul, it appears that I will be able to join you in Puerto Vallarta after all," she purred, all thoughts of her great aunt pushed from her mind.
Ty McGuinn woke up from his chemical induced slumber at ten in the morning. The four hours of sleep had done him some good, but he was still bone-tired. Ty rolled his feet off the bed then sat up with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
There, in the privacy of his bedroom suite, he mourned for his beloved Abuela. For the second time in three years, the person he loved the most had been snatched away from him. Only in the case of his grandmother, there was someone upon whom he could turn the anger raging inside him. Someone he could reach out and make pay for their heinous crime.
Ty sat unmoving for a few minutes, then stood up and headed towards the shower. He would have his revenge, he vowed, but first, he would honor his grandmother's life by making sure her funeral reflected the love everyone had for her.
Raymond (RJ) McGuinn and his wife Tiffany arrived at his brother's ranch late in the afternoon on the day after their grandmother was murdered. RJ's sadness about his grandmother was overwhelmed by the concern he had for his brother. RJ knew Ty was physically as tough as nails, but emotionally he was still fragile from Cora Leigh's death. He was afraid Abuela's death would push Ty over the edge. RJ was determined not to let that happen.
RJ nodded in approval at the cowboys manning the front gates, and drove up into the big circular driveway in front of the hacienda. The old house was dated for his and Tiffany's tastes, but he admired the place anyway. The discordant note to the front of the hacienda was the furniture spread around the lawn, and the cleaning team busily going in and out the door.
Amanda Martin met RJ and Tiffany at the door, and explained about the furniture and cleaning team.
"Hello you two, Tyler will sure be glad to see you. Excuse the mess, the sprinkler system soaked everything when the intruders tried to set the place on fire last night. We had to hurry the cleanup before mildew set in."
Amanda walked them through the damaged living room and into the big eat-in kitchen. Tyler hopped off his bar stool and hugged first Tiffany then his brother. RJ was surprised at how composed his brother appeared, as they sat at the breakfast bar and talked. Amanda filled RJ in on what had been accomplished.
"Isabel and Lupe are at the Maldonado Brothers' Funeral Home now. The coroner released them at eleven this morning after their autopsies. The funeral director said he would have everything ready with extended viewing hours starting at noon tomorrow. He knows to expect a large crowd. Like I told Ty, Isabel and Lupe both left clear instructions about their interment. Isabel will be buried next to her husband, and Lupe will be interred in the Lopez section of the El Paso Memorial Gardens."
RJ nodded and changed the subject.
"What about the police, they have any leads on the bastards that did this?"
Amanda shook her head and frowned.
"The DPS (Department of Public Service) forensics folks from the El Paso crime lab have already been here and gone. But my dad had to call the DA to make that happen, because Sheriff Porlock didn't request them for some reason. Porlock is treating this as a robbery gone badly, contrary to the detective who answered the call last night, thinking it might be gang related. Porlock is in a tight reelection fight, and more bad news about gang violence is the last thing he wants."
RJ grimaced and set his lips in a thin line.
"Porlock is an incompetent ass. I'll call Lyle Gross over at the Rangers' headquarters, and see if they can claim jurisdiction."
Major Lyle Gross, commander of the West Texas Battalion of the Texas Rangers, hung up the phone after talking with his old school friend, RJ McGuinn. He frowned at the instrument for a few seconds, then picked it up and buzzed his admin assistant.
"Lulu, get Sheriff Porlock on the phone for me, will you please?"
Lyle sighed and leaned back in his chair as he idly wondered what happened to the days of just picking up the phone and calling someone directly, instead of going through a maze of intermediaries. Nevertheless, he was surprised that Porlock hadn't called him for assistance first thing that morning. After all, the Rangers had the resources of the state to draw from, and the manpower to push the investigation forward. As he was thinking about that, his intercom buzzed.
"Major Gross, Sheriff Porlock on line one," Lulu chirped.
Lyle thanked her and stabbed the appropriate button on his phone.
"Esteban, it's Lyle Gross, how's it hanging Hoss?"
Esteban Porlock was a career bureaucrat instead of a lawman. He'd come up through the ranks of the sheriff's department on the administrative side. He was the chief bailiff for the county court when he ran for sheriff. He was elected mainly because the former sheriff was caught in a compromising position with the wife of a young deputy. Porlock was a politician from the word go, and was as surprised as anyone when he won that first election. He was now three-quarters of the way through his second four-year term.
"I am well, Major, and your self?" Porlock answered almost prissily.
Esteban Porlock detested the cowboy bonhomie Gross used so casually. After all, as the sheriff of a county of nearly a million residents, he deserved more respect than that.
Gross allowed that he was fine and immediately got to the point of the call.
"Sheriff, I just wanted to touch base with you on the killings out at the McGuinn place. You know you can count on me for all the help you need. The McGuinns will want quick action on this, and they have the clout to get it."
The last thing in the world Esteban Porlock wanted was to have the Rangers poking around in his business. The sheriff had reasons beyond the usual interdepartmental distrust in this particular case, so he spun some damage control.
"I appreciate the offer Lyle, but I think we have a handle on this one and will solve it quickly. As a matter of fact, I just sent an investigator to meet with the McGuinns' insurance agent at the ranch. He is going to provide us insurance photos of the contents of a jewelry box the maid found missing..."
Hector Sanchez, the McGuinn's insurance agent, was another of the legion of people who were successful in their chosen field because of Isabel McGuinn. The McGuinns had been his biggest clients for the last thirty years, and he still handled their account himself. So Hector personally brought the claims adjuster to the house that afternoon, along with a memory stick with the photographic inventory of the hacienda's contents.
Detective Sergeant Ernest Steadman was the investigator that Sheriff Porlock sent to the hacienda. Steadman copied the digital images of the missing jewelry box and its contents onto his laptop and took another look around the room. As he stood there trying to visualize how the murder went down, Stella Woodson walked into the room and casually leaned against the door frame.
"I figure two shooters standing about here with full auto MAC-10s," she said.
Steadman had been concentrating and didn't hear her come in, so her voice startled him. He jumped and whirled around.
"Damn it woman, you scared me to death!" he grumbled.
He remembered her vaguely from last night's ordeal, and fixed her with a hard look.
"And just how would you know that, anyway?" he asked crossly.
Stella held up her hands and shrugged.
"I didn't mean to sound like a smart ass, but I was a cop up in Santa Fe, and spent a six month desk suspension with the crime scene techs. Let me show you why I think that," she answered as she reached over and flipped off the bedroom lights.
She walked across the room, explaining as she went.
"After we put Mister McGuinn to bed last night, I walked in here to look around. This is a fairly unique room, in that there is a large walk-in closet off this hallway that leads to the master bath."
She reached around the corner and flipped another switch, and light poured through about six dozen bullet holes in the fresco of the ranch that adorned the wall behind the bed. The painting was in vivid colors mixed into the plaster of the wall. Stella walked back and stood beside him; she made a sweeping motion with her right hand and told him her theory.
"I showed this to the physical evidence people this morning, so you'll probably have their opinion in a day or so, but to me, it is pretty cut and dried; two full automatics spraying in the direction of the bed. See how the weapons climbed as they fired? That's why I think it was some sort of machine pistol, and MAC-10s are popular and common."
Steadman looked at the wall and nodded his understanding. He backed up into the left side of the doorway and swept his arm to match the trail of bullets. Then he did the same thing on the right side.
"Yeah, I can see it. They stood on either side of the doorway and sprayed poor Missus McGuinn with five or six bursts each."
Stella nodded.
"Yep, then they grabbed the big ornate jewelry box off the dresser there and left. They only came into the room a few feet to take it. They sure brought a lot of fire power for a simple burglary. They didn't spend even a minute looking for anything else of value. I found a cloth bag full of twenty dollar gold pieces in the first drawer I opened," she said sarcastically.
Steadman shrugged noncommittally, knowing that his captain and the sheriff had already decided it was a robbery gone bad. When he spoke next, it was to change the subject.
"You're pretty sharp; how come you aren't still a cop?"
She gave him a hard look.
"Because my sergeant thought I'd make him a fine plaything. It took me breaking his jaw to convince him otherwise. Internal Affairs cleared me, but the Sarge had some juice and was able to make my life hell. I fought it for a year then resigned and took a job here as a drover. Since this happened, Pete, our foreman, has me keeping an eye on the boss."
Steadman nodded sympathetically. He knew the subtle ways a close-knit department could put it to someone for whom they had heartburn. It made him feel better, though, that the big no-nonsense woman was looking after Ty. Steadman gave her one more speculative look then headed out the door.
"Regardless of how this looks, I see it going on the books as a botched robbery. Politics being what they are, the sheriff won't let it become more than that. If you think differently, you might want to keep two eyes on your boss," he said cryptically over his shoulder.
Stella threw him one of her mock salutes. She knew he was giving her as big a hint as he could that Ty might still be in some danger.
Isabel McGuinn had never been infatuated with jewelry. However, you didn't live ninety years and be adored by so many men, without collecting a few baubles along the way. Since those baubles had sentimental value to her, Isabel kept them in a Purple Heart wood jewelry box with mother of pearl inlays. The appraised value of the jewelry was about fifty thousand dollars, but their fenced value was a tenth of that, a small take for such a violent crime.
Ty had a much clearer picture of the crime after Steadman left and Stella explained things. Since Amanda was off with RJ making arrangements for Abuela's funeral, he and Stella were alone. Ty felt very comfortable with Stella, she was coolly competent and he instinctively trusted her. He also had to admit to himself that she was a very attractive woman in her black Levis and untucked black satin shirt.
"So Stella, I don't see the big cannon you usually carry. Does that mean you are off baby-sitting duty?" he asked.
Stella shook her head and pulled up the tail of her shirt to show him the .357 Magnum Glock 33 tucked into a holster at the small of her back.
"I figured it would scare your guests less if I was more discreet," she replied.
Ty's eyebrows twitched at the sight of the small flat-black pistol, and he made a quick decision.
"Listen, Stella, I like you and I trust you, but I am personally going after the bastards that killed my grandmother, and I don't want to expose you to anything like that."
Stella regarded him for a second and made her own snap decision.
"You need someone to watch your back, no matter what you do, and I know sometimes the law and what's right are on different sides of the street. If you are going after bad guys, I'm in ... as long as you have a plan and don't go off half cocked, that is."
Ty nodded, he needed to talk to Pete Colon first, but he already had the start of a plan in his head.
Pete Colon was the first person Ty thought of when he started forming his plan. He thought of Pete, because his foreman was still well connected and respected in the barrios of El Paso and down south in Juarez. Even among the youth gangs, a man who pulled himself out of the violence and drugs of the barrio was a hero of sorts.
Ty figured the monsters who killed Isabel and Lupe were gang members in the barrio, and Pete was a fount of knowledge about the place. So he met with Pete later that evening and quizzed him about the gangs.
"Barrio Azteca, a gang started in a Texas prison in 1986, controls the local El Paso street gangs," Pete said. "The street gangs pay a ten percent tribute to the Barrio Azteca for acting as the go between to the Mexican Mafia. Barrio Azteca is a close-knit vicious bunch, reportedly responsible for five murders in the last three months alone. I wouldn't put what happened to Miss Isabel past those bastards."
Ty listened intently as Pete outlined the street gang situation.
"There are three primary street gangs that operate in the barrio: the Nasty Boyz, Los Fatherless and the Hermanos Pistoleros Latinos. The gangs are in direct competition with each other, except where drugs are concerned. The Barrio Azteca has them loosely coordinated there, because they control the supply that the street gangs distribute."
Ty nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin.
"So where would I need to go if I wanted to run into some of these gang-bangers?"
Pete looked at Ty, but didn't raise an eyebrow at what he asked. After all, Ty was at heart a Tejano, a Texan of Mexican descent, and Tejanos took revenge personally.
"I reckoned if it was me, I'd start in the El Segundo or the Northeast Barrio. The trouble is you'd stick out like a sore thumb."
Ty ran his fingertips through his short medium brown hair and bobbed his head in agreement. It wasn't that Ty looked so different from the average El Paso Chicano; it was the general way that he carried and groomed himself. His skin color was dark enough to mark him as Mediterranean though, especially with his cowboy tan, and his lanky six-two, two hundred pound frame was not as far out of the Mexican norm as it had been a generation ago.
"Yeah," he agreed, "I'll have to do something about that."
"So you are going after them," Pete stated, unable to hide his approval. "What can I do to help?"
Ty smiled at his old friend's easy acceptance of his determination to avenge Abuela.
"I don't want you to get in trouble, and what I need isn't exactly legal, so if it disagrees with you, I don't expect you to do it just because you work for me. Your job will never be in jeopardy, no matter what you decide. Got it?"
When Pete waved his hand dismissively, Ty continued.
"I need you to find me a clean semi-auto pistol with a high capacity magazine. Oh, and get me a silencer for it, if you can."
Pete grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Thanks to his barrio connections, the pistol was no problem. In addition, because of the excellent machinist training he'd received courtesy of the Texas Department of Corrections, Ty's second request was right up his alley. Hell, he even had the material and equipment he needed at the rancho's well-equipped maintenance barn. Pete was proud of his skills as a gunsmith, and proud that Miss Isabel had gone to bat for him to get back his second amendment rights a few years after he was off parole, so he could pursue his hobby legally.
"No sweat boss. It might take me a few days to find the right weapon, but the suppressor won't take more than a few hours."
The next week was a sad one for the McGuinn family as they laid their matriarch to rest. Relatives and friends poured in from all over the country and Mexico. The service was huge, and in keeping with Isabel's wishes, surprisingly upbeat. Abuela wanted her wonderful life celebrated, instead of her death mourned. Ty was thankful for the help and support of Amanda Martin for all she'd done, and he was pleasantly amazed at RJ's wife Tiffany for the yeoman-like job she did riding herd on three or four hundred relatives.
When it was all over and hundreds of people had returned to the ranch for a huge barbeque, Ty stood beside Isabel's headstone and bid her a last goodbye. Isabel had chosen to be buried next to her beloved husband David, in the family's section of the old mission's cemetery. Her grave was fewer than twenty feet from the grave of Tyler Ringo McGuinn, Ty's great-great grandfather. Tyler stayed at the cemetery for a half-hour, then returned home.
Ty mingled with his extended family as they shared stories of Isabel's incredible generosity and her indomitable spirit. He thought his cousin Roger McGuinn, the family's unofficial historian, summed it up best.
"Isabel McGuinn died a brave pioneer woman, defending her rancho to her last breath. You just know she died without regret, satisfied she was doing what was right."
Roger was absolutely correct in his assessment of Abuela and now it was up to Ty to do his part and avenge her murder.
The day after the funeral, Ty, Amanda and Stella were busy seeing off his relatives as they scattered to the four winds. His brother and sister-in-law were the last to leave, RJ apologetic for having to return to Zurich so soon.
"I'm heading out of here soon myself, big bro. I need some time alone to think about things," Ty said.
Before RJ could reply, Ty turned to Tiffany and gave her a big hug.
"You've been an incredible help to me these last few days Tiff. You are much too good for my brother."
Tiffany smiled sweetly and kissed him on the cheek.
"Yes, I am," she replied, "but sadly, I was already in love with RJ when I figured that out."
When Ty walked back in the house from seeing off Raymond and Tiffany, Stella was waiting at the door with two frosty long necks in their hands. Stella smiled and passed him one. Ty returned her smile and snagged the offered bottle. He thought more of Stella with each passing day. She was smart, competent, and although quiet, she had a devastatingly dry sense of humor. It also didn't hurt that she looked better in a pair of Levis than anyone he'd ever met.
"Mandy said to bring you back to your study when everyone was gone, but I figured you'd be ready for this first," Stella said."
Ty took a long, grateful pull off the Lone Star and saluted Stella with the bottle. She took a healthy pull on her bottle and clinked it against his.
"So what now Boss?" She asked.
Ty arched his eyebrows and grinned.
"Now you become my mistress," he said.
Ty counted to three as she scowled and balled up her fist, then he laughed and held up his hand.
"I mean I want you to pretend you are my mistress," he hurriedly amended.
Her expression turned from a scowl to curiosity, but before she could say anything, Ty took her arm and tugged her towards his study.
"I'll explain later; right now, let's see why Mandy needs me."
Mandy wanted to see him, because she had a couple of items to present him before she departed to file Isobel McGuinn's will for probate.
"Ty, as the executor of your grandmother's will, I have certain specific duties her will and its codicils require me to perform. The first was her funeral arrangements; the second is to present you with this package. Her will spells out that the contents are really yours, they just couldn't be presented to you until after her death."
Ty took the box with some curiosity, but didn't open it then. Instead, he thanked Amanda for all she'd done for him, and walked her out to her car.
The package also had to wait as he sat down with Stella and clarified his earlier comment.
"Having a very attractive female along with me when I travel, especially if I visit a foreign country, will make it easier for me to move around without drawing suspicion," he explained. "And playing at being my girlfriend provides you cover for being with me as my bodyguard. If you accept the offer, I'll buy you the appropriate wardrobe so we can act as if we are another Raymond and Tiffany, rich yuppies out blowing our money."
Stella agreed immediately. The idea did offer her a nice cover for sticking close to him without raising suspicion, and having Ty doting on her, even if it was an act, made her heart go pitter-pat.
Tyler did not have a chance to open the package from Abuela until later that night. He sat at his desk and carefully slit open the packing tape sealing the rectangular cardboard box, then removed the contents. The package contained two well-worn dog eared journals, and a note from his grandmother.