That earned her a snort. "If it's so damned gorgeous, how come you're giving it a pass?" But then he smiled. "All right, Angel. At least I tried." Sam released her hand with a sigh as he closed his eyes again. This time the weariness in his voice was real as he drifted off. "Guess I'll have to settle for friends..."
Tess stanched the sudden ache in her chest as she retrieved the tote she'd left on the tray table.
Friends.
Lately, she could use all she could get. If things got any worse in her sham of a marriage, she was going to be out her best friend. Joe hadn't said a word to her when she'd finally come out of the bedroom this afternoon—because he'd been gone. She couldn't believe he'd just left. Sure, he'd left a note tacked to the inside of the front door. But it hadn't explained where he was going, much less what was so important that he couldn't stick around long enough to say goodbye first. It was almost as if—
No.
Impossible.
Tess tore open the packet of the alcohol swipe, trying to staunch the suspicion as she used the pad to sanitize the rubber stopper branching off Sam's intravenous heplock. Suspicion refused to budge. What if it wasn't impossible? The man had cut his hair, for crying out loud. That was a pretty drastic change. The type of change men tended to make for one reason, and one reason alone.
A woman.
Had Joe finally fallen for someone?
It was more than possible, and she knew it. Why else had he stopped calling her at the end of the day, more often than not just to talk? And just where was he spending his weekends—and with whom? Because Joe wasn't spending them with her anymore.
And there were the calls he'd received of late.
There'd been at least half a dozen of them over the past few weeks. Joe's phone would ring, and he'd swiftly check the number, only to hit ignore. And each time he'd done it, he'd gotten that odd, evasive look in his eyes…just before he'd politely excused himself and escaped her presence to phone his mystery caller back—in private.
Finally, there were the guys.
Tess winced as that particular humiliation came flooding back.
Jack, Dave and Marty. All three agents had cornered her last week. According to each, Joe hadn't been out with them in months—nor had he been seen with a woman. While Dave and Jack's prodding had been discreet enough, Marty had come right out and asked. Had she finally let Joe past the bedroom door?
Needless to say, she'd been floored. Joe barely noticed she was a woman. Even if he had noticed, she knew enough about the man's sex life to know for certain that she was absolutely not his type, since every single woman she'd spotted him with over the years had been tall, blond and damned near rail thin.
None of which she was.
But that wasn't the point, was it?
Nor was the question that had been burning through her of late until it damned near consumed her. If Joe had finally found someone he was serious about, where did that leave the two of them? The day she and Joe had graduated from the DEA academy they'd made a pact—no, a vow. They'd toasted her ex-fiancé and Joe's latest ex-girlfriend over a round of tequila and sworn that no matter what life had in store for them, they'd always be there for one another. Because they were friends. The best.
Was that all about to change?
Who was she kidding? It was already changing.
Frankly, she hadn't believed their friendship would last as long as it had. Fact was, the women in her family had never been able to hold on to a man, friend or otherwise. It was genetic. The disease even had a name—serial marriage syndrome—and they all possessed the marker. Look at her sister. Twenty-seven years old, and Kelli had already displayed the symptoms, three times over.
And their mother?
Currently between marriages seven and eight, her mother was the Typhoid Mary of the family. Tess had tried reasoning with her, but the woman had just laughed. Her mother simply refused to accept her illness, let alone acknowledge the source of transmission. Men. Specifically, husbands.
When it came right down to it, and the priest asked "Do you?", neither her mother nor her sister could say no. Five minutes later, they were married. For another five minutes, anyway.
Tess stiffened as she pitched the expended alcohol swipe into the tote. Was that it then? Was it that simple? Had Joe changed his mind and decided to settle down? And in doing so, had he changed his mind about their friendship?
Pain deeper than she'd ever known flooded in as she pulled the cap from the syringe and pierced Sam's IV stopper with the needle. Memories followed as she eased the saline through the connection to flush the temporary clog—and damn it, they were good memories. Her, Joe. The day they'd met. The obstacle course.
That damned inclined wall.
If Joe hadn't taken pity on her during her hundredth attempt, she'd still be clinging to those slippery, inverted planks, clawing halfway up the wall only to slide back off. At least, it had felt like her hundredth. All she knew for certain was that two seconds after Joe had planted his hand smack in the middle of her ass, she'd sailed over the towering slab—face first into the pile of wet sawdust on the other side.
She'd come up covered in it, loaded for bear. Joe had just flashed that cocky grin of his and jogged off.
He'd actually had the nerve to show up at her room that evening. Only this time, when his hand came out, it came with an invitation. If she would kindly get back into her sweats, they'd return to that wall and, this time, he'd teach her how to get over it by herself. Despite her then-impending marriage and his endless string of girlfriends, she and Joe had been inseparable ever since.
Until now.
"He's a lucky man."
Tess started.
She tore her gaze from the saline flush only to discover that Sam Hastings had roused himself from his nap during her daydream.
"Sorry."
He smiled. "That's okay. But you were thinking of your husband, weren't you?"
Not exactly. She nodded anyway—warily. "How could you tell?"
Though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Sam nodded. "My wife used to smile like that—and when I'd ask her what she was thinking about, her smile would just grow wider and she'd say, 'you'." The man's own endearing curve slipped away as his faded brown gaze misted over.
Ah, damn.
Tess bit down on her bottom lip as she slid the needle out of the IV stopper, taking her place among the lowest of the low as Sam blinked back his tears. She forced herself to remain beside his bed as she dumped the empty syringe into the tote. Lying to Eddie Hernández and his ilk, she could handle. She could even handle lying to the various nurses she'd worked alongside these past few years while she'd been undercover.
But lying to patients? Especially a seventy-two-year-old man who missed his late wife of twenty years?
And now that lie had unwittingly brought another pain to the man's heart. The type of pain his morphine couldn't ease.
By the time his gaze sought hers out again, it was swollen and red. "Forget my offer, Angel. You hang onto that husband of yours."
Tess matched his weak smile with one of her own as she leaned down to press her lips to his brow. "I will, Sam. I will."
"Good."
She swallowed her latest whopper along with the lump in her throat as his eyes drifted shut once again, then checked the drainage tube from his heart bypass. It looked good, so she snagged the tote and escaped her patient as quickly and smoothly as she dared—only to become trapped at the door.
This time by one of her fellow nurses.
Nicole. The nurse who'd filled their previous shift with smiles and laughter the night before. Unfortunately, the woman wasn't smiling now. Nicole was frowning—as if concerned. Something was definitely wrong.
Tess waited until they'd cleared Sam's room. "What is it?"
"You have a phone call."
No way. No one should be calling her here.
Unless—
She glanced at her watch. 2300. Joe. He
should be meeting Eddie's phony relatives any minute. Oh God, what if—
"Is it my husband?"
If anything, Nicole's frown deepened. "No, it's Eddie Hernández. From the pharmacy."
Eddie?
Evidently, she hadn't masked her surprise soon enough, because Nicole nodded, albeit warily. "You can take it at the desk."
Damn it, her gut was right. Something was wrong.
Calm down. Joe was fine. She'd checked her phone two minutes before heading in to clear Sam's IV. There were no new texts from Joe.
Somehow, Tess managed to nod and calmly cross the gleaming tiles until she reached the nursing station at the center of the ward. She even managed to set the supply tote casually onto the counter beside the phone—without grabbing the receiver and punching the last light in the row of buttons. The one blinking furiously.
Her fingers itched to pick it up.
But she couldn't. Nicole had followed her.
"I'm sorry. Did you need something?"
Sharp hazel eyes captured her for several moments. When she didn't budge, Nicole finally sighed. "Look, I know we haven't known each other long, but I like you. So I'm going to stick my foot out here. I wasn't kidding with that warning I offered about Eddie during our last shift. You're making a mistake."
Wrong. She was making her case.
Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to burn this bridge. At least not yet. Not until she'd finished constructing the one to Eddie. Despite the message light bleating furiously within her peripheral view, she smiled gently. "It's just a phone call, Nicole."
"No, it's not. I heard what you promised Sam Hastings. Just as I overheard what you said to Maggie during last night's shift. Look, I'm sorry you and your husband are having problems. But, honey, Eddie Hernández is not the answer."
The hell with that blinking light. She could phone Eddie back. Tess zeroed her complete attention on Nicole—carefully. "What makes you say that?"
The woman sighed. "Just take my word for it, okay?"
"The man seemed nice enough to me."
"Of course he did." Nicole grabbed her arm and clamped down. "Don't you see? That's the creep's pattern."
"Pattern?"
"For coming on to women. Granted, it usually takes the jerk a few weeks to home in on the new nurses, but you being as pretty as you are, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you've already caught his attention. Married and unhappy, so much the better. And once he's got you in his sights, he lays it on thick for another few weeks, even makes you the guest of honor at one or more of his beach parties—and then he pounces. Whether the woman has come to her senses, or not."
Crap. So much for the syringes and the drugs.
If she'd known about either, Nicole would've said something by now. At the very least, the woman would have intimated it. The fingers digging into Tess' arm proved it. Nicole was desperate to save others from what Tess now suspected had been Nicole's fate with Eddie when she herself had arrived at Lorring Memorial the year before.
If Nicole even suspected that that man was skimming meds, the woman would've used the knowledge to press her point.
No nurse who needed her job dated a pharmacy tech with sticky fingers. And Nicole knew Tess needed this job, because she'd made sure of it last night.
Even as Tess made her decision, she regretted it. Just once it would have been nice to meet another woman on the job and take the friendship being offered for what it was. Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards.
She nodded firmly. "I appreciate the warning, but I'm good."
As expected, Tess watched her tenuous woman-to-woman bridge collapse as Nicole snatched her hand from her arm and backed away from the counter. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when you get hurt."
"I won't."
"I mean it, Tess. You'd better wise up now—before you pick up that phone. Because if you don't, and you change your mind about Eddie later? I wasn't kidding; it'll be too late. That man is not going to care. Eddie Hernández will ruin your marriage, and then he'll ruin you."
That was definitely the voice of experience.
Unfortunately, it didn't matter.
It couldn't.
Before Tess could question the woman, Nicole had spun around and stalked off.
Tess sighed as she turned back to the phone, back to that damned flagging light.
Eddie.
Nicole might be right about the man being a homewrecker, but he couldn't wreck hers—because she didn't have a home for Eddie to wreck. What's more, after the way Joe had walked out on her this afternoon, the two of them might not have much of a friendship left for the tech to wreck, either. But she did have a case.
And it was time she solved it.
He should not have run.
Joe anchored his fingers about the steering wheel as he studied the crack running down the length of the dusty windshield. Unfortunately, it did not help. Neither had counting the myriad of cars and trucks suspended within this endless artificially lit sea of painted metal these forty minutes past, for the truth still burned steadily within his heart. He had run from Teresa today.
It seemed as though that was all he had been doing of late.
It was ironic that he was doing it even now, as he sat here in this decrepit van, beneath these silvery floodlights, waiting the eternal wait with these strangers.
These six illegal strangers.
Sí, this family was running.
He did not need to review the manila folder of immigration papers clenched within the bruised right fist of the man in the passenger seat beside him to know that Alberto Mendoza, his wife and their four children were all running tonight as well.
He could see it in Alberto's eyes.
As well as those of his family.
Indeed, he had tested the theory almost thirty minutes earlier, deliberately changing lanes. From the moment he had maneuvered the van to the right, he had had his proof. It had been in the terror streaking through the dark eyes of the man sitting silently, though tensely, beside him. Having no wish to torture the man so, he had returned the van to the proper lane. The lane Eduardo Hernández had assured him would provide the smoothest—and preferred—portal to the north.
The why of it was obvious.
A Customs and Border Protection officer had been paid off.
Indeed, once he and his passengers reached the inspection booth and were redirected by the officer within to the main CBP office, he would have two names to add to Teresa's growing list of suspects: the name of the agent within the booth, as well as the agent inside the office who would no doubt approve the forged immigration paperwork in that file.
But as for the man sitting beside him?
Joe wrapped his hands tighter about the steering wheel as he eased his right boot into the gas pedal. The van inched forward, before he brought it back to yet another idling stop. No, he was not yet certain what he would do about Alberto Mendoza and his family. All he knew was he would not be returning them to Tijuana when this night was done. To do so would compromise Teresa's cover, as well as his own.
But he would have to do something about this conduit into the States, and soon. For this run was about more than a mere six additional, illegal pollos slipping through the manned gates of the busiest border crossing, not only in the country, but the western hemisphere. Especially since the Tijuana-San Ysidro Port of Entry accepted roughly thirty-five million people each year. Of those, only Santo Toribio Romo, the patron saint of border crossers, knew how many were legal.
So what was an additional six?
Unfortunately, this was not about a handful of pollos. Nor was it was about what this handful carried within their painfully meager possessions.
For while it was as clear as the gleaming brake lights of the truck in front of them that his passengers intended to become illegal aliens, it was also clear they were involved in more than green card fraud. Several facts pointed to this.
The first was this van.
It was devoid of narcotics—prescription and otherwise.
He knew this because he had searched the vehicle upon arriving, as Hernández had to have known he would. The van's seats, doors, floorboards, overhead, undercarriage, tire wells, gas tank and wiper fluid compartment were all devoid of narcotics—as was every other hiding place known to criminal mind and lawman alike. Indeed, this pile of dented metal and cracked, faded vinyl contained not so much as a single aspirin, much less methamphetamines, cocaine or heroin.
This meant only one thing. His passengers were mules.
The longer he waited idling amid these stifling carbon monoxide fumes, the more certain he became. This family of six was carrying narcotics inside their bodies. They had swallowed them. It was the only thing that made sense.
Especially given the amount of money Hernández was paying him.
A space opened up and he nudged the van forward, glancing into the rearview mirror as he brought it to a halt. A mistake. He caught his reflection, for a moment startled by his own hair.
Teresa had asked why he cut it.
Unfortunately, he had not been able to offer an answer. How could he when he had yet to admit the truth to himself?
Yet, he would have to tell her something. Give her some explanation. And not simply her. There was also Tomás Vásquez. He and his fellow agent and friend looked alike enough to double for one another when the need presented it.
Sí, his actions would no doubt affect Tomás as well, as would the inevitable fallout.
A cough, soft and from the rear of the van, returned his attention to the task at hand. He followed the sound, pushing his gaze across the mirror until it met the reflection of Lucia Mendoza. She quickly bowed her head. He studied the woman as she pulled the girl of eleven in closer, but not the girl of seven seated on her right.
Most curious.
As had been the almost undue care with which Lucia and her husband had buckled in each of the children—the twelve and thirteen-year-old boys included—into their seats. Their behavior was odd. Until he considered the cause. There was also the fact that they were dressed in rags. Clean rags, but worn and exceedingly threadbare nonetheless. No, this family could not afford to pay a pollero—not even if that guide charged as little as a hundred dollars per body to guarantee passage across the border.
Just Beyond Reach Page 5