Fatal Strike

by DiAnn Mills

  Leah trembled. But still she didn’t answer.

  Her phone rang again.

  She started the car engine.

  Three times.

  She missed Terri, a true sister-friend.

  Four times.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  A moment later, she heard the ding of a voice mail.

  She and Terri had met soon after she’d started at the Houston FBI office. Terri laughed easily, and other than putting cuffs on bad guys, she loved all things girlie from shoes to earrings. Leah learned more than she ever wanted to know about fashion and loved it. Yet, while Terri chatted on about her life, her goals, strengths, and challenges, Leah let little pass her lips about life in New York.

  Leah’s thoughts hammered against her brain. She could outshoot almost every man or woman in the state of Texas, but she couldn’t talk to her best friend.

  Before pulling out onto the street, she dialed Terri’s number, pressed Speaker, and laid the phone in her lap. “Hey, I missed you earlier.”

  “Are you up or did I wake you?” The sweet sound of a good friend.

  “Jon and I are heading to Galveston.” Leah let her mind dwell on Jon for a moment. She liked him, the way he talked and carried himself. He had this little mannerism of lifting his chin when he differed in opinion with someone. Her heart tripped at the realization she’d be seeing him again in a short while.

  Terri interrupted her musing. “. . . since the kids are still asleep. How’s the case going?”

  Her friend didn’t expect details. “Slow. How are you and your family?” Leah managed not to choke on that last word.

  “We’re doing much better than I ever imagined. The kids are calling me Mom.”

  A hint of longing settled in Leah’s heart, dousing the feelings of guilt and shame. “I’m happy for you.”

  “The last time we talked, you told me I was making a terrible mistake.” Terri’s tone held a note of wistfulness.

  “I’m sorry.” Leah hesitated. Could she unload her most contemptible secret? She’d wanted to talk to Terri since her best friend had gotten married. This would be easier in person, but . . . “Do you have a few minutes?”

  When Terri confirmed she did, Leah seized the invitation to share. “I was an only child until my parents adopted six children. My brothers and sisters have mental and physical challenges. The expectations for me to help care for my new siblings—and the fact that our parents’ time was now so divided—caused me to resent them all. I felt unloved, so when I graduated from high school, I left home and never returned. The moment you told me about adopting children from Ethiopia, all I could think was what a demanding role you were accepting and how it might lead to the eventual breakup of your marriage.” She managed to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth a long time ago.”

  “And I’m sorry for what you experienced.”

  “You’re happy, right?” Leah wanted the marriage and children to work. She wanted her friend to feel loved and fulfilled.

  “Extremely. We’re settling in to family life, attending church.”

  Church? First Jon and now Terri. “If I’m allowed to indulge in any more selfishness, I want our friendship restored.”

  “Of course. We’re good. Can we start fresh?”

  “I’d love to. I need to come clean with a lot of garbage.”

  “We’ll work through it together. What’s first?”

  “Can you send me pics of your children? I’d like to meet them and your husband.”

  “Perfect. How about Sunday for breakfast, about 9:00? We attend church on Saturday night.”

  “I’ll be there as long as the case doesn’t snatch my time.”

  “I understand,” Terri said. “Then we must plan a shopping trip. I discovered a new boutique on my side of town . . .”

  38

  WHEN LEAH OPENED THE TRUCK DOOR, Jon saw her red-rimmed eyes. She handed him a supersize coffee.

  “Need to talk?” he said.

  She averted her attention to the cup holder. “I’m good.”

  Must be a happy-tears thing. “I woke up with a feeling today will be huge.” He’d thought about the drug connection for a long time last night. “Landon Shaw got caught trying to sell stolen prescription drugs. Someone hacked into Molston Pharmaceuticals in Beyero and got away with drugs worth over sixty-five million dollars on the street.”

  “Open case?”

  He nodded. “The drugs are coded and can be traced. I requested intel on Landon Shaw and learned he and Dylan did time together.”

  “Imagine that. Plenty of hours to form a plan. Neither of them seem smart enough to pull this off, but Landon could have introduced Dylan to the boss.” She shrugged. “It’s a theory, but how do the rattlesnakes fit?”

  “A diversion while the gang slithers in and out of high-dollar ventures.”

  “We’ll find out.” She reached for her coffee. “For whatever it’s worth, I like working with you.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when we’re being shot at again. Do you have a list of what’s up for today and in what order?”

  “Sure.” She returned the coffee to the console and snatched her phone. “I know the prayer service is at 7 p.m. I think it’s short. A lot of hours before then. Hold on while I check for updates.”

  “We are dynamic early in the morning.”

  “Or crazy.” With her head bent over her phone, and her hair spilling over her face, she scrolled through her phone. “Landon Shaw had a partial pack of Marlboros on him. Silvia claimed the cigarettes at her house weren’t Dylan’s, but were they Landon’s?” She tilted her head.

  “Anything else?”

  “Silvia made a withdrawal from the bank yesterday. One of the men on the surveillance team followed her inside and noted the teller gave her several hundred dollars in small bills. He wasn’t able to count how much.”

  “Dylan needs money, and Mama’s supplying. If this is what’s going on, she has to get the money to him. Hard to avoid a surveillance team.”

  “He’d arrange a pickup. He’s smart enough to cover up who and how.” Leah gathered up her coffee. “But if he’s really knee-deep in this, money shouldn’t be an issue.” She tapped her finger on her phone.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We suspect the Venenos—or whoever this gang is—are dealing in prescription drugs. I want to find out if Silvia is taking any medications. The dental office is open. Let’s see if there’s a connection.”

  “Do you think she’d tell us the truth when she’s lied about other things?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “I’m sure you do.” The faint scent of citrus invaded his senses. His mind trekked into unknown territory. Stopping himself before he made a fool of himself seemed wise, but his mouth seemed to take on a mind of its own. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  She failed to look up from her phone. “With the hours I keep? What about you?”

  “No. Same reason.”

  “Why ask?”

  When he started this, he should have realized she’d toss it back at him like a fastball. “Just making conversation.”

  She glanced up. “Are you interested, Agent Colbert? You ventured toward this yesterday.”

  “If I am?”

  “I’m a private person, a loner, and most of the rumors you’ve heard about me are true.” She returned to her phone, her next words suggesting she was hiding a smile. “Maybe I’m a little interested too.”

  Maybe, as in she might go out with him? Or felt the same interest? Time to pull on the reins. For him to move forward in a relationship, he’d have to come clean.

  “I brought donuts for the road,” he said. “They’re behind your seat.”

  “I’ve been smelling them and didn’t know when to ask. Don’t suppose you have blueberry?”

  “Yep, they’re listed on your background.”

  Jon seemed to inhale the last of the six glazed donuts as
he and Leah entered a thriving professional community of upscale offices separated by walkways, courtyards, and parking on three sides. This held the dental practice of Dr. Pablo Rios, where Silvia had worked for the past twenty-four years. The receptionist informed them Silvia would be busy with a patient for the next fifteen minutes. They sat in matching chairs and chatted about baseball, one of Leah’s favorite topics—the Yankees. Jon was an Astros fan.

  When Silvia opened the door to the waiting room, her eyes widened at the sight of them. She positioned herself in a nearby chair and folded trembling hands in her lap.

  “Have you found Dylan or Elena?” she whispered with an unsteady voice.

  “No, ma’am,” Leah said. “Have either of them contacted you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I know this has caused sleepless nights for you, but we’re hoping to have the case resolved soon.”

  Silvia blinked back a tear. “I pray you discover my son’s innocence.” She sighed. “Sleep will come when he’s home and free.”

  “Have you tried taking anything?”

  Silvia shook her head. “I want to be alert in case he calls at night.”

  “Dylan is very fortunate to have a mother who cares so much.” Leah invited kindness into her words.

  “Someday you’ll understand a love that means more than life.”

  “Being on your feet all day must be difficult.”

  “It is. I have problems with my back . . . a degenerative spine.”

  Leah had noted at times Silvia appeared to be uncomfortable. “How painful.”

  “The doctor prescribed medication for me to take.” She stiffened, not as a sign of irritation, but more of discomfort.

  “My grandmother had the same condition. What do you take?”

  “OxyContin.”

  Strong stuff often sold on the streets. “Do you purchase it locally?” Leah said.

  “Dylan gets the prescription for me at a discount pharmacy in Houston.”

  Doubts surfaced in Leah’s mind. “Who’s your doctor?”

  “Why?”

  Leah formed her words as graciously as possible. “Ms. Ortega, I can find out or you can tell me. I loathe what you’re going through, but I’m not the enemy.”

  The receptionist stood from behind the counter. Gold jewelry hung in layers from her neck and wrist. “Silvia, you have a patient waiting.” The woman turned to Leah. “This is a workplace, not an FBI office. In the future, I suggest you conduct your business elsewhere.”

  “My apologies for the interruption,” Leah said. “Silvia, do you have the drugs with you?”

  “They’re at home.”

  “I’d like to stop by and pick up the prescription.”

  Silvia frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s important to our case.”

  She seemed to deliberate Leah’s response. “In Dylan’s defense?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Silvia,” the receptionist said, “you are putting us behind schedule.”

  Silvia opened the door to the patient area. “If you need anything else, you’ll be talking to me through a lawyer.”

  39

  OUTSIDE THE DENTIST OFFICE, Jon’s cell rang, and he saw Father Gabriel’s number. “Good morning, Father Gabriel.”

  “Agent Colbert, are you in Galveston?” The priest’s breathless words made it sound like he’d been running.

  “Yes. Are you in danger?”

  “I was outside pulling weeds around the church when a bullet flew past my head, and someone yelled, ‘You’re a dead man.’”

  Jon started hustling Leah toward his truck before Father Gabriel could say more.

  “Where are you now?”

  “In my office. I’d been warned enough. I ducked and rushed inside. From my window, I saw two men across the street with guns. That’s when I called you.”

  “We’re on our way. Lock the church doors. Call 911.”

  Jon veered the truck onto Thirty-Second Street and sped to St. Peter’s. The shriek of sirens indicated police were also approaching the church.

  “If they wanted Father Gabriel as their fourth victim, he’d be dead.” He swung into the church parking lot, braked, and exited the truck. Two patrol cars pulled in beside him. He and Leah drew their Glocks and raced up the church back steps. The door flung open and Father Gabriel stood on the other side—pale, shaking.

  “Thank you. If I hadn’t moved to avoid a wasp, I’d be dead.” He leaned against the side of the wooden door. “Two men ran toward the old Falstaff Brewery.” He pointed toward Thirty-Third.

  Jon raced toward the partially demolished building, Leah keeping pace. As Jon approached the massive, crumbling structure, it started to look more and more like something out of a horror movie, the perfect setting for drug deals, illegal parties, and the homeless. A figure was climbing up a pile of brick and debris, and Jon put on an extra burst of speed to leave Leah behind. His running days from high school to Quantico spun through his mind. The person disappeared inside a black window.

  Jon leaped onto a fifty-foot hill of brick and plaster. He shouted back at Leah. “Look for an entrance seaside.” He scrambled up, like he used to climb trees as a kid in Oklahoma, keeping his body close to the wall for cover.

  His attention zeroed in on the window where the man had disappeared. The short steel barrel of a handgun jutted out from the side. He counted to three and whirled around the windowsill to fire into the open space. A grunt rose, and running footsteps sounded, quickly growing faint.

  He fired again, then stepped inside the window and blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the shadows. Bending, he walked behind his Glock, moving toward a dim hallway. Footprints on the dusty concrete floor guided him farther into the structure.

  He stole along graffiti-covered walls, past corroded doorways and even the rusted frame of an old Toyota stripped of its dignity.

  A glimpse of light from the open roof picked up drops of blood on the floor. The groan heard earlier and now the blood indicated a wounded shooter.

  Jon picked up his speed, moving swiftly past partially covered insulated pipes and up rusty metal stairs leading to the next level. At the landing, he listened before taking off after faint footsteps.

  Darkness and trash made it difficult to trace the blood trail. Still he raced through a doorway and across a catwalk lined on one side with a metal railing. The other side would send him plunging to his death.

  The corridor ended in a Y that led into darkness with no clear path. He bolted right. Tripped on something and fell face-first. So much for being sure-footed.

  He shook off the stun and continued until the patchy roof splashed light onto a brick wall showing obscenities in red and blue spray paint. No blood drops.

  He rushed back the way he’d come, being careful to avoid whatever he’d tripped over the first time, and followed the other path to a window leading out onto a metal bridge, missing a few rungs and weaving in the faint breeze.

  Leah . . . No shots had been fired. She must be okay. Father Gabriel claimed there were two men who’d headed toward the building. What happened to the second man?

  No time to text or risk a ring signaling her location. He’d been guilty of sending partners to their death before. Never again.

  He sprinted across the metal bridge and into a roofless, light-filled area. Signs that a segment of the homeless population in Galveston lived here—worn Army blankets hung for privacy, slashed mattresses, used syringes, and cigarette butts littered the space. He stepped down metal stairs to fallen pipes. These would stop a wounded man.

  Then Jon saw a man dragging his leg, one hand on his thigh and the other wrapped around his gun. “Stop. FBI.” His words echoed around him.

  The man moved faster and disappeared around a corner with Jon closing the distance between them. An opening with a narrow beam for a bridge separated one part of the floor from the other. The man started across. He wobbled.

  Could the metal beam hold both th
eir weights?

  If Jon chose to fire, he’d send the man to his death. The FBI never threatened. Besides, being able to question the shooter meant more. “Surrender now or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

  The man stood midway on the rusty support. He straightened and stared at Jon.

  “You don’t have to jump.” Jon stepped onto the beam. “Let’s talk. Make it easy on yourself.”

  The man shook his head and glanced down. “I’ll be a dead man.”

  “We can protect you. Someone has to end what’s going on.”

  A shot fired from below knocked the man off the beam.

  40

  LEAH SEARCHED THROUGH one dirt-infested hole after another. Once she saw a man scrambling up a flight of rickety metal stairs. Perspiration dripped salty into her eyes, and she swiped with her hand while hurrying up the stairs into an open area of birds and humans inhabiting the same filth of rust and mold.

  Gunfire echoed through the massive building. She stopped to listen. The sound originated behind and to the right. Dare she text Jon? Risk putting him in danger? She hid in the shadows beneath metal steps and typed—OK?

  Yes. U?

  K. Call me.

  Minutes later, her phone vibrated and she leaned against foul-worded graffiti and a gang tag. “I heard gunfire.”

  “A shooter killed my man before he turned himself in.”

  “Did he offer any info?”

  “No. Hoping his identity will give us a lead.”

  “I haven’t found any signs of the second man,” she whispered.

  “Where are you?”

  “East.”

  “Officers are inside and moving toward my location. Once I talk to them, they’ll search the rest of the building.”

  “That will take hours.”

  “Head toward the seaside entrance.”

  “When I finish this area.” She slipped the phone back into her pocket. She despised the apparent lack of value for human life. Had the man she’d been chasing killed his partner?