Over the Line

by Kelly Irvin

The young woman didn’t answer for a few seconds. She glanced at Gabriella, back at Eli, her dainty lips pursed in a frown. “I’ve seen you both in photos. Jake has a picture of you cutting a ribbon at your restaurant in the living room.” She paused, nibbling at her upper lip with tiny blindingly white teeth. “I told him.”

  “Told him what?”

  “I know you.”

  Eli’s bushy eyebrows quirked up. “Me? You know me?”

  “Sure. Your dad’s a pastor. Some friends of mine, Chuy and Rudy Figueroa—their families go to your church—”

  “My father’s church.”

  “Yeah, your father’s church. I’ve been there for weddings and baptisms.”

  The discomfort on Eli’s face would have been amusing if Gabriella wasn’t feeling some of her own. She loved that church. She loved Eli’s parents. The emotion on Eli’s face gave way to something else. Distaste. “So you know the Figueroas. I’ve heard talk that they might be involved in some extracurricular activity, such as gun smuggling.”

  “People like to gossip. They’re businessmen. They’ve got several businesses—a body repair shop, a sporting goods store, a bunch of pawn shops. I’ve been friends with Chuy and his brothers since I was little.”

  “I imagine they were excited when you started dating an ATF agent.” Gabriella jumped in. Cross-examining witnesses was her forte. “So, that takes us back to the detective’s question: When did you last see Jake Benoit?”

  Sunny’s face crumpled. “Thursday morning. I came into town. We had breakfast together. We haven’t been apart more than twenty-four hours since we met in April.”

  “What did he say the last time you spoke? Did he tell you where he was going or when you should expect to see him again?”

  Sunny sniffed and swiped a paper napkin from a stack on the table. No niceties like a napkin holder for this bachelor. She took her time drying her face. “He said he was going to be really busy at work that day, but he would call me when he got home. I told him he’d better do more than that. I wanted to see him. He laughed.” She wadded up the napkin and tossed it on the table. “He said he wanted to see me too . . . He said he was addicted to me, and he would have to have a fix or he’d go crazy.”

  A strange analogy for a law-and-order Christian like Jake. Gabriella gripped the back of a chair. A feeling of dread wrapped itself around her throat and squeezed. “Did he talk to you about his work? Did he say where he was going?”

  “We didn’t talk about work. We talked about . . . We talked about a lot of things.”

  “Like what?” How could Jake have a girlfriend—a serious girlfriend—Gabriella knew nothing about? “Give me an example.”

  “My father likes Jake, but he says he’s a little old for me. He says . . .” Her gaze dropped to the table. “Daddy is a retired sheriff, so he knows about law enforcement. He says Jake could get himself killed and where would I be? Jake says no one has any guarantees that they’ll be around tomorrow. A person could get hit by a bus or fall off a ladder or get swooped up by a tornado.”

  Hoping to inhale a scent that would remind her of her brother, Gabriella breathed. Dish soap, dust, coffee grounds, and the musky smell of a damp towel couldn’t conjure him up. Had he forecast his own death?

  “This is interesting. Not one of you is the man who lives here.”

  The cool words came from beyond the kitchen door.

  Gabriella whirled. Eli put one hand on his holster and grabbed her arm with the other. He slid in front of her.

  A guy who looked like he should be selling insurance or real estate sauntered into the kitchen in a five-hundred-dollar suit and shiny leather loafers. He flipped out a badge. “Carlos Rincon, Laredo PD, Homicide. Either the three of you are breaking and entering, or you’re harboring a fugitive. I can’t wait to see which it is.”

  Chapter 11

  Blank stares at twenty paces. A detective standoff. Gabriella eased back and let Eli do his thing. He would win at that game. The silence lasted three beats before Sunny sashayed across the kitchen and shook her delicate manicured finger at the man. “Are you following me, Detective Rincon? If you are, Daddy isn’t going to be very happy. No more hunting trips. No more packages of venison—”

  “Nobody’s following you.” Rincon broke in, a patch of red creeping up his neck to his smooth-shaven cheeks. “Not LPD, at any rate. Who are your friends?”

  “They’re not my friends. We’re just getting to know each other.” She made it sound as if they were at a sorority spring social. “This is Jake’s sister and her boyfriend. He’s a cop from San Antonio.”

  Now wasn’t the time to correct her. “I’m Gabriella Benoit. Do you always waltz into people’s houses without knocking, Detective?”

  “The door was open. Your brother is a person of interest in a homicide.”

  “And you were surveilling the town house. Waiting to see if Jake returned here.” Eli’s tone was sardonic. “To pick up clean underwear, maybe?”

  Rincon smiled, showing teeth that had probably made several payments on a Mercedes for some orthodontist. “Stranger things have happened. The powers that be told me you would be in our jurisdiction, Detective Cavazos. They’re under the impression you planned to check in with us and cooperate on our investigation. You’re out of your jurisdiction.”

  “I don’t need your permission to check on a good friend.” Eli’s words dripped ice water. “I planned to stop by later today to ask you to extend professional courtesy to a fellow detective.”

  “Professional courtesy doesn’t extend to allowing you to mess with our murder investigation.”

  “Jake Benoit is a certified peace officer.” Gabriella summoned her attorney persona again. Years of making closing arguments to juries came rushing back. “He has a spotless record. He’s also a veteran who did two tours in Afghanistan. It’s preposterous to suggest he has done anything lawless.”

  “Save me the speech, please. I’ve already heard it from his ATF buddies.” Rincon held up a well-manicured hand. He glanced at Sunny, his aquiline features hard. “And from the girlfriend. Even her father swears by him.”

  “Sounds like a smart man.” Gabriella started to move away from Eli, but his hand grasped hers and squeezed, hard. She tugged back and made her escape. “Jake has dedicated his life to service. He’s never even had a speeding ticket.”

  “You haven’t heard from Mr. Benoit—either of you?” Rincon’s gaze swung back and forth between Sunny and Gabriella. “He hasn’t paid you a visit in San Antonio, Miss Benoit? Or dropped in at the ranch, Miss Mendez?”

  “No!” They responded simultaneously and with equal heat.

  “The evidence you have against my brother is circumstantial, at best. His gun was used in a homicide. That doesn’t mean he was even present when the crime occurred.” Gabriella crossed her arms. “If he killed the victim, why did he leave his gun at the scene? He wouldn’t. He’s a smart man, very smart. Something has happened to him. He’s in trouble, and you should be trying to find him to help him, not arrest him.”

  “Our investigation is far from over. And let me make something perfectly clear.” Rincon removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with a monogrammed white handkerchief. “The Laredo police department is heading up a murder investigation. So I expect you to stay out of the way.”

  “We’re here to talk to Jake.” Eli’s tone was mild, but his eyes were hard. “It’s not our intent to get in the way. Jake Benoit’s disappearance may be related to a homicide that occurred this morning in San Antonio. Finding him is part of my investigation.”

  “Right. The bottom line is this: Either of you interfere in this investigation and I’ll have your rear ends thrown in jail faster than you can say Miranda rights.”

  “Understood.” Gabriella spoke quickly to ward off the furious words about to spill from Eli’s lips. “At least tell me this, what puts my brother at the scene other than the gun?”

  “Since you asked so nicely.” Rincon gave Eli a pointed
look. “The dead man was an ATF informant used by your brother to gather information on gun smuggling. Your brother told his colleagues he would be meeting with the victim to gather some intel on a cache of weapons slated to go over the day he disappeared. I have a witness who saw a vehicle fitting the description of your brother’s SUV leaving the scene.”

  “Who’s this witness?”

  “I’d prefer not to say. In the interest of the witness’s safety. The life span of folks touched by this ATF operation keeps getting shorter and shorter.”

  Nobody seemed to feel the need to finish the rest of that sentence, so Gabriella did it for them. “And what about the life span of ATF agents? Is it getting shorter?”

  Chapter 12

  All in a day’s work. Deacon slapped his laptop shut and leaned back on the Adirondack chair situated behind the porch arches of the Benoit residence. A firsthand account of a home invasion related to a murder in downtown San Antonio and—somehow—related to an ATF international gun-smuggling investigation. He’d whipped out a Crime Beat blog, uploaded a few photos he’d snapped of the aftermath to his Facebook page. The managing editor loved it. It would make page 1 of tomorrow’s hard copy newspaper. Above the fold. Too bad he hadn’t been able to snap a few photos with his phone. That would’ve been icing on the cake and put a lock on his position when the layoffs came. Which stank because it meant one of his friends would get the ax instead. It really stank.

  The sweet scent of the honeysuckle curled around trellises to his right mingled with the roses’ fragrance, calming him. You gotta do what you gotta do, bro. The police had documented the scene, taken statements, and left with promises that the information would go directly to Eli’s sergeant. They understood the break-in was related to the murder of Alberto Garza and the disappearance of Jake Benoit.

  Natalie had taken the children in the kitchen to feed them their favorite supper of chicken tenders, mac and cheese, and canned mandarin orange slices. Those choices surely would make Chef Gabriella shudder. Marty, who came running at the sound of sirens on his street, was with them. The smell of food made Deacon’s stomach turn, so he retreated to the porch.

  His insides wouldn’t stop shaking. These thugs were after Gabriella. They wouldn’t stop until they found her. He pulled his phone from his pocket and called her again. Again, no answer. Please God, let her be okay. And Eli, too, I suppose.

  Reporters reported the news. They didn’t live it. Unless they were combat reporters.

  Feeling this angry and this scared rattled him.

  Time for the next story. That was his life. Moving from one story to the next.

  Only he didn’t see how he could move on from this one. Especially if something happened to Gabriella and her brother.

  If only he could figure out how the invasion related to gun smuggling. What was on the cell phone these men were so anxious to find? What had Jake Benoit or his CI documented that was so important to those thugs? It could be texts or video or recorded conversations. The possibilities were tantalizing. Evidence someone didn’t want to fall into the hands of the police. That was the real story. The next story. His editor was already salivating over the possibilities.

  “How are you?”

  He glanced up. Natalie pushed through the screen door and rolled her chair out onto the porch. He managed a smile. “Breathing again. You?”

  “Worried about Gabriella. Thankful to be alive.” She slipped off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Without them, she appeared even younger. “Thankful no one was hurt. Saying my prayers.”

  Even after everything she’d been through, she still looked like a movie star. She didn’t seem happy to have him on her front porch. What had he done? Besides try to ward off her attackers? His grip tightened on the laptop. “The kids?”

  “Anxious to tell Aunt Gabby all about it. It won’t hit them until they try to sleep tonight. We’ll have some sleepless nights in our future.” Her effort to be matter-of-fact failed miserably. “Did it seem strange to you that the leader was so polite?”

  “Yeah. He was polite.” Never had civility been so brutal and threatening. Deacon took a breath and worked to keep his face neutral. “He certainly knew how to instill fear with very little effort.”

  “Even when they searched the house, they were careful not to make a mess.”

  “He was almost grandfatherly.” Deacon warded off the image of Camouflage Man with his arms around Ava. “Until he sprayed the bookshelves with a semiautomatic.”

  “Yes, until then.” Her chuckle held bitterness. “I lied to him. When he realizes that, he’ll be back.”

  “He put you in an untenable position. Your kids or your sister.”

  “I have no qualms about lying. I needed to misdirect them from Gabriella and keep the kids safe. Now I have to figure out what to do next. My children have been through so much. I won’t let them be hurt.”

  “Kids are resilient.” At least that’s what he’d been told. He had no experience with children. He’d grown up in a household with older cousins. “And you’re an expert in dealing with trauma and children. They’re in good hands.”

  “You were writing a story for the paper?” She pointed to his laptop. Her tone became more clinical. “About what happened?”

  A story for the paper, and the blog, and Facebook, and whatever other social media his editor deemed appropriate. Times had changed. “Yes.”

  “About these children and everything they went through? You’re putting it in the paper for one hundred thousand people to read?”

  Tiny tendrils of regret grew and tightened around his throat. Usually, he didn’t mind people’s distaste for his job. Reporting the news was important. But just now, making that look in her gray eyes go away seemed just as important. “Give or take, our readership is down . . . Internet news, twenty-four-hour cable, blogs. But yeah, that’s what I do.”

  “How do you look at yourself in the mirror when you’re reaping benefits from other people’s tragedies?”

  “I don’t reap benefits. I barely make enough to pay my bills. I tell stories, stories that need to be told. People need to know what’s going on in the world. How else will they make informed decisions?” He stopped. Why did he feel the need to make this woman understand what he did for a living? “Did you reach Gabriella? I tried and still no answer.”

  “She’s not picking up. Neither is Eli.” She shivered. Her gaze wandered to the yellow bells and Pride of Barbados blooming in the front yard, bright yellows and oranges amid grass already starting to go brown from the summer heat. “I hope they’re . . . I hope everything is . . . okay.”

  “Detective Cavazos knows the ropes. As much as I dislike the guy, I figure Gabriella is pretty safe with him.”

  “Are you in love with my sister?”

  The question hung in the thick, humid air. Deacon smoothed his hands over the laptop. At one time he’d considered it. More than once, if he was truthful. “What makes you ask that?”

  “It’s the way you say her name.”

  “We’re friends, but our views on life are very different. She may be a chef now, but she has a lawyer’s mind. A law-and-order view of the world.” He let his gaze fall to the flowers in the yard. “Besides, I could never love a woman who doesn’t like jazz.”

  Please God, tell me this woman likes jazz.

  “She deserves a man who appreciates her.”

  “Yes, she does, but she’s an adult, and she’s made her choice—no matter what she may say.” Which wasn’t much, not to him anyway. She was too classy to complain about her love life to another man. “You don’t like Eli either?”

  “I don’t dislike him. He’s a flawed man fighting demons just like the rest of us. I don’t like what loving him has done to my sister.” She slipped on her glasses with long, thin fingers. She had beautiful hands. “Anyway, she’s in danger. She needs to know that. We should be searching for that phone.”

  “Don’t look for anything. That’s what the cops are for. You d
on’t want to put those kids . . .” Deacon stared at her lifted hand. “We told the cops everything we know. Detective Dunbar will get in touch with Eli. You keep trying to call Gabriella.”

  He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and held it out. “Call me after you talk to her.”

  “Why, so you can grill me for more information?”

  Her tone stung. “So I know she’s all right. And what the plan is to keep you and the kids safe.”

  “You’re not staying?” Suddenly she sounded concerned. A spurt of relief flooded him. She didn’t think he was so bad after all. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to follow up on some things. But I’m only a phone call away. I promise.” Amazing how ten minutes of shared, unmitigated terror could forge a bond between two people. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”

  Natalie’s face smoothed. “We’ll stay here, of course.”

  “No, you won’t.” He halted. A woman in a wheelchair, little kids. These guys were cowardly, gutless monsters who hid their faces while they did their dirty work. Nothing—not even the cops—could keep them from coming back and finishing the job. “You can’t stay here. You heard what they said. Don’t you have family you can stay with?”

  “My dad is in New Orleans. Mom is in England.” Emotion seeped into her voice, but her expression didn’t change. “We’ll be fine. Marty is next door. Or we could always move to a hotel. One that will take a dog and a cat.”

  Deacon blew out air in a gusty sigh. This was crazy. They were part of his story. Story and private life stayed separate. Cardinal rule. But he’d never been shot at with the subject of his story before. Never drowned in his story’s gray eyes. “Look, my editor wants me in Laredo. I know you don’t understand what I do or why I do it, but I have to do it. Maybe it can help both of us. You can get away from here. You can be close to Gabriella. You can help figure out where to search for this phone. You can be there when they find Jake.”

  She frowned. “What are you saying?”