Crossfire Christmas

by Julie Miller

  “He’s my brother.”

  He nodded as if the familial connection made her presence acceptable and finally shook her hand. “How’s he doin’? I don’t see him in here much now that he’s got those boys to raise.”

  “AJ’s fine. I just saw my nephews this morning. The whole family is well. I’m actually here to talk to you about another friend of yours.” She glanced at the lush sitting closest to her, his chin propped in his hand, his leering stare indicating he would have liked to make her acquaintance, too.

  But a sharp look from Jake, and the young man turned his curiosity up to the television hanging over the end of the bar.

  Jake pulled a towel from his apron and a glass from the top crate to dry it. “I don’t have that many friends.”

  “This one’s an old friend from Houston.” Jake set the glass on a shelf below the bar and reached for another one, his expression revealing nothing but polite patience. She hurried to recount the message Nash had given her. “He said to tell you that he’s the only man from your past who cares that you don’t remember him.”

  That earned her a chuckle. “Charlie Nash.”

  “You do know him.” She smiled with relief that he understood the coded message. “He said to tell you he knows you’re not in the business anymore, but he’s working something big and needs to call in a favor from you.”

  “Nash is here in K.C.?” She shushed him when the man watching television glanced their way again. Jake dropped his gruff voice to almost a whisper. “How’d you hook up with him?”

  “You want to hook up with me, sweetheart?” came a slurred offer from beside her. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Another silent warning from Jake and the dark-haired man pulled a ten-dollar bill from his shirt pocket and slapped it on the bar beside his empty glass. “I guess that’s a no. I’ll be leaving now, Miss Teresa Rodriguez. Merry Christmas.”

  The man trilled all the rs in Teresa’s name and the greeting as if the sound amused him before staggering to his feet. He made an effort to straighten his tie before picking up the long wool coat he’d draped over the stool beside him.

  “You need me to call you a cab, mister?” Jake offered.

  “I’m good.” The tipsy man shrugged into his coat and started slipping his buttons into the wrong holes. He pointed to Jake and winked at Teresa. “Not as good as you’re doing, pal. But I’m good.”

  Wondering if this unsettled feeling would plague her anytime a man with dark brown hair showed too much interest in her now, Teresa waited for the drunk to stumble out the door and turn his collar up against the Arctic blast. He was huddled against the front window, punching in a number on his cell phone, when she faced Jake again.

  “That was weird.” She tried to laugh off the awkward discomfort she felt. “Sober, that guy might be halfway attractive if you go for the preppy type. Drunk, he’s just creepy.”

  “I thought I knew everybody who came into this place,” Jake groused, indicating the nosy flirt was as much a stranger to him as he was to her. “I hope he’s calling for a ride out there.” He stowed the glass and dragged his attention back to Teresa. “Where is Nash?”

  “In my car. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s in Kansas City. Well, someone does know who shouldn’t, but...” She silenced her nervous rambling and matched Jake’s direct approach. “Will you come talk to him?”

  Jake nodded, understanding this was a serious, as well as secretive, request. “Let me get Robbie in here to cover for me. I’ll be right back.”

  Once Jake exited through the swinging door behind the bar, Teresa perched on a green vinyl stool and glanced furtively around her, wondering if any of the other patrons were paying as much attention to her as that man with the long coat had. The two women in the booth across the way didn’t seem to notice her. They were more interested in the two hotties shooting pool nearby. Once Teresa saw the badge hanging from a chain around one of their necks, she realized they were probably both cops.

  Oh, great. Even if they weren’t on duty, they might still have been given a description of Nash or even her and her car. Turning her attention back to the door where Jake had gone, she pulled the hood of her coat around her neck and tucked her chin to her chest, hoping none of them knew AJ well enough to recognize her. When the bell over the door rang behind her, indicating more customers, possibly more cops, she hunched down even farther, willing Jake to hurry back out and help her.

  She heard a low-pitched drawl behind her instead. “It’s me, Peewee. Don’t jump.”

  She startled anyway at the arm that slid behind her back. She spun on her seat to face Nash as he settled on the stool beside her. “What are you doing here?” she whispered in a mild panic. “I thought you were hiding in the car where no one could see you.” At least he’d had the sense to turn up the collar of his bulky coat. She reached up to pull the red-and-gold knit cap he wore farther down over his forehead. “You shouldn’t be here. Those men at the pool table are cops. What if there’s a description out and they recognize you?”

  He captured her hand against his warm cheek to mask his face. “You were taking too long. I got worried.”

  “That drunk was bothering me. But Jake sent him on his way.”

  “What drunk?” Nash raised his head, scanning the bar, his posture instantly on alert.

  But Teresa quickly framed his jaw with both hands and pulled his focus back to her before he drew anyone’s attention. “That man by the front window with the misbuttoned coat...” When she glanced over at the shamrock sign and Christmas decorations, she saw nothing through the glass except for a few cars driving past. “Where did he go?”

  “I didn’t see anyone out front.” Nash straightened, concern lining his features.

  “Just look at me, okay?” She pulled his chin back to her again. “I don’t want anyone to see you.”

  He leaned in and they touched foreheads, his golden eyes looking right down into hers. “Not a hardship for me, darlin’.”

  In fact, he spread his knees and moved closer, resting a foot on either side of her stool and sliding a possessive hand along her thigh, turning her efforts to hide him into what probably looked like a lovers’ embrace to any curious eyes that might be watching.

  It certainly felt like an embrace. She wasn’t sure if it was the compliment that warmed her, his protective posture or the levity he used to try to lessen her worry that made her actually feel like smiling. “Maybe the drunk who hit on me caught a cab. I guess he freaked me out a little bit because of those other two men shooting at us.”

  “Hit on you?” Nash’s eyes narrowed above hers. He pulled away a fraction of an inch. “Was something off about this guy? Did he scare you?”

  “All he did was offer to buy me a drink. Said my name in a funny way. Like I said, Jake got rid of him.” She pushed Nash’s stocking cap back from his temple to finger his short thick hair. “I guess I’m only going to be able to trust blonds and redheads now.”

  “Let’s make it just one blond in particular for the next day or so, okay?”

  Teresa heard the faintly possessive admonition but was frowning as she felt the dampness in his hair. There was more warmth to his skin than the pseudo embrace could account for, too. “Your fever’s getting worse. How are you feeling?”

  Before he could evade her question, the door behind the bar swung open. Jake Lonergan entered, followed by an older man with curly black hair and a bushy beard.

  “Charlie Nash.” Instead of putting on the coat he’d brought with him, Jake reached across the bar to her patient. “You look like hell.”

  “I’m still better lookin’ than you,” Nash teased, standing up to shake hands with Jake.

  Teresa rose, too, pressing the back of her knuckles against his ashy skin to gauge the warmth there. “He needs to go to the hospital, but he won’t liste
n to me.”

  Apparently, none of these men were going to. Jake introduced them both to the bar’s owner, Robbie Nichols, a robust man who spoke with a lilting Irish brogue. “You go with your friends, Jake. I’ll take care of things here.”

  Really? She wasn’t here just to look pretty and be taken care of. Hadn’t she put her life on the line, too? Hadn’t she lied to her family and taken a huge risk on a man she barely knew? These men might have a few survival skills she lacked, but she had knowledge and training neither one possessed. She tugged at the sleeve of Nash’s jacket and insisted he look at her. “You need to listen to me.”

  “Later. We need to get out of sight first.” Nash covered her hand with his and nodded, at least acknowledging her concern before turning his attention to Jake. “You got a place we can talk?”

  Robbie was the one who nodded and pointed to the door behind him. “Use my office. No one will bother you there.”

  “Thanks, Robbie. This way.” Jake went to the end of the bar and lifted the hinged gate for them to pass through as the owner picked up a towel to dry the glasses Jake had brought out earlier.

  Fine. There was more than one way to handle a recalcitrant patient. If Nash wouldn’t listen to reason, then she could do the bullying thing herself. Teresa asked the older man for a lemon-lime soda with lots of ice before Nash scooted her into the back hallway. Jake locked the office door behind them and offered them guest chairs. Nash sat in the closest one, his strength clearly flagging. While the two men talked about Agent Nash’s desperate situation, Teresa opened her backpack on the corner of the desk and dug out a bottle of aspirin.

  She recognized the small black notebook Nash pulled from inside his coat. She’d gotten herself into hot water that morning by reading through his secret names and cryptic notes and had possibly made it necessary for them to go on the run. Whatever the names and numbers in there meant, clearly it was of vital importance.

  “This is everything I’ve been able to put together on this case.” Nash held up the notebook. “Three days ago in Houston, I must have asked the wrong question of the wrong person. Next thing I know, my apartment’s been trashed, my confidential informant inside the Graciela cartel says their chief, Berto Graciela, knows I’m a cop and he’s put a hit out on me. I had two other agents, Axel Torres and Jim Richter—you don’t remember them, but we’ve all worked together in the past—inside different arms of the organization, as well. They were both exposed as undercover agents and murdered last week.”

  Teresa’s stomach twisted into a knot at the revelation of such tragic events. Nash had lost men he worked with—friends, most likely—to the senseless violence of the drug trade. He must have been aching with grief and guilt, and yet the two men talked as if conducting a business meeting.

  “How can I help?” Jake asked, thumbing through the notebook Nash handed him. “You know these names don’t mean anything to me anymore. My amnesia wiped the slate clean—until I dealt with that hit man the Gracielas sent after me.”

  “Yeah, you did a good job of disrupting business there for a while when you took out old Diego Graciela.” Nash grinned, although his humor never reached his eyes. “We were having pretty good luck working inside the organization and taking advantage of the power struggle between Berto and Diego’s lieutenant, Santiago Vargas. It’s easy to funnel intelligence in and out when one side doesn’t know or trust what the other’s doing. That all ended last week when my men started dying.”

  Jake tapped one of the pages in the notebook. “And these starred names are your suspects as to who leaked your identities to the cartel?”

  “Oh, my God.” Teresa felt the blood drain from her head to her toes. She sank onto the corner of the desk beside her bag. “I thought the stars meant those people were important to you. That they were the good guys. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He reached over to squeeze her hand. “You didn’t know. I’d have tried the same thing if I’d been in your shoes. Maybe if I’d told you the truth instead of tying you up, you wouldn’t have contacted Puente.”

  Jake arched a silvery eyebrow at that last exchange. “Umm...?”

  Nash released Teresa and waved aside any curious questions about the rocky start to his partnership with her. “Let’s just say we’ve had some trust issues.”

  “So what’s the deal with you two?” Jake asked, leaning his hip against a credenza in front of the frosted-glass window. “Teresa’s no agent. And it’s not like you to get someone involved who isn’t trained for the job.”

  “No, it’s not,” Nash agreed. “But I need her.” He unsnapped the top buttons of his shirt and pushed it back to reveal the bandage covering the wound on his shoulder. “I figure a hospital is the first place the DEA and the cartel will look for me.”

  Teresa saw a small dot of red seeping through the gauze. “I should change that dressing.”

  “Later.”

  “Later you’ll be dead if you don’t let me do my job.” She peeled back the tape to look at his injury.

  He smoothed the bandage back into place. “Peewee?”

  She propped her fists at her hips. “Nash?”

  Jake interrupted the dueling wills. “I heard about the shoot-out at the chop shop on the news. The reporter said it was gang related.”

  Nash snapped the front of his shirt, effectively brushing aside her usefulness. “Not any local gang. They were cartel men. And there are at least two more in town still after me.” He glanced up at Teresa. At least he had the good grace to stamp an apology on his chiseled features. “After both of us.” He returned to his conversation with Jake. “That reminds me. Can you get your hands on a local police report? See if there was a break-in reported at Teresa’s apartment? Find out if anything was damaged or taken.” His gaze ping-ponged back to her. “I want to buy you a new phone, get your car fixed for you and repay you for any damages to your home.”

  “You’re the only thing damaged in my life. Here. Take these and drink all this. Your body needs the electrolytes.” She held out two aspirin and the lemon-lime soda. When he shifted in his chair to continue his conversation with Jake, Teresa shifted, too. “Now, Nash. You asked me to take care of your injuries and keep you alive. I can’t do that if you won’t let me help.”

  Jake chuckled behind her. “Now I get it. She’s tough enough to go toe-to-toe with you. Sounds like a lady I’d listen to.” Teresa turned and nodded her appreciation for his support once Nash had swallowed the pills and taken a few sips of the drink. “So she keeps you alive. What do you need from me?”

  “Information. I don’t know who to trust back in Houston, so I can’t call for backup. I need you to run a couple of local license plate numbers—see if the rental agreement gives me a name I can run down.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ve got a connection I trust at KCPD. He knows how to be discreet. I’ll give him a call.”

  “I know I’m asking a lot. I’ve already lost three men on my team.”

  “I used to be on your team before this.” Jake pointed to the scar at his temple. “You were the only one who ever bothered to try and find me when everyone else gave me up for dead. You helped me fill in the blanks of my memory so I was free to marry Beth and make a life here in K.C. I owe you.”

  Brushing aside his friend’s avowal of loyalty and gratitude, Nash picked up a notepad off the desk and started copying down some names and numbers from his black book. “I know you don’t remember Captain Puente—the guy we reported to at the Houston office—”

  “I’ve heard you mention his name. He was our boss on undercover ops. You want me to try and reach him?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Teresa cautioned, regretting the mistake she’d made that morning.

  But Nash seemed to have it all figured out. He tore off the top sheet of paper and handed it to Jake. “I want you to call every name on that list,
not just the captain. Even though we’ll be alerting the mole, it should also alert anybody else who’s on our side. Maybe you’ll get a feel for whoever is hiding something.” He snatched the paper back and wrote another name. “I want you to ask about Tommy Delvecchio, too.”

  “The agent who got killed here in K.C.?”

  Nash nodded. “Let me know that his body got back to Houston okay. And any funeral arrangements if they got ’em. The number for my disposable cell is at the bottom. I don’t know if he was seeing anyone, but his parents are both alive. I want his family to know that he died doing his job.”

  Jake folded up the paper and pocketed it in his jeans. “It’ll take me some time to make the calls to get the information you need. You got a place to stay? My home is on an acreage. It’s pretty remote—”

  “No.” Using the armrest to brace himself, Nash stood. “I saw a nondescript place that won’t ask too many questions when we were picking up supplies. We can crash there for a few nights. We’ll be fine. You’ve got a little girl and a baby on the way. These guys have had pretty good luck tracking me. I’m not going to bring a gun battle to your home.”

  Was that twist on Jake’s mouth a smile? “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She’d probably just imagined his morbid idea of humor. The scars that both men bore indicated a sad familiarity with violence. Yet, like her brother, it hadn’t stopped them from standing up to the bad guys and protecting what they believed in—their city, their homes, the people they cared about.

  Teresa packed her bag and zipped her coat, feeling woefully inadequate to be a part of their quest for justice for their fallen friends. At the very least, she would not be a burden to their investigation. And she would not be the source of any more trouble. “I’m ready to go whenever you are, Nash.”

  His golden-brown gaze dropped down to hers. “I know you are.” He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together, pulling her to his side as he faced Jake. “This one’s ready for anything. I wouldn’t be here without her.”