Call of Duty 02 - Sworn to Protect

by DiAnn Mills

  * * *

  Shocked to see the truth glazing over Nadine’s eyes, Danika gave her niece a hug and left her alone with Jacob.

  The sound of ice chinking into glasses didn’t block the bellowing revelation slamming against Danika’s head. Where had Nadine gotten drugs? How did she pay for them? Was that the cause of the argument between father and daughter? Did the teen think she could hide drug abuse from her parents? The questions bombarded her senses, and Danika couldn’t pose a single one of them to Barbara and Jacob. Maybe Danika had misread the signs. . . .

  Barbara lined the ice-filled glasses on the kitchen counter. A frosty pitcher of iced tea sat nearby. “Thanks for going out there. I could see Jacob’s face soften, and Jake said he asked for Nadine.”

  “So they argued earlier?”

  Barbara hesitated before pressing the button on the refrigerator for more ice. “She wanted to go out with friends tonight, and Jacob wanted to know if any of them were boys. Nadine said it was none of his business, and it went from bad to shouting from there.”

  Danika watched Barbara fill three more glasses. She couldn’t allow the truth to go unchecked. After eight years as a Border Patrol agent, she knew what high looked like, but so did Jacob. Barbara couldn’t possibly be that naive either. Danika wanted to be wrong, so very wrong.

  “Has she been sick?” Danika reached into the fridge for a pitcher of lemonade.

  “A little. Allergies, I think.” Barbara stole a glance out the window to where Jacob and Nadine were talking. “She’s been a bit pale lately and not eating, but I think that’s from the constant quarreling with her father. Maybe I should take her to the doctor. She may have a summer cold with her runny nose and hacking cough.”

  The more Barbara talked, the more the evidence stacked up against Nadine. “A checkup is always a good idea,” Danika said. “She shouldn’t have to suffer through not feeling well on her summer vacation.”

  “I agree.” Barbara sounded better.

  What a dysfunctional mess. If this weren’t Danika’s family, she’d stay away. But this was her family. “Hard to believe she’s going to be a senior this year.”

  Barbara studied one of the many photos taped on her fridge. She touched Nadine’s second-grade picture. The cute little girl’s mouthful of missing teeth hadn’t stopped her from smiling at the camera. “Where have the years gone? Praise God Nadine and I get along fine. Jacob is the problem, and I’m afraid he’s going to destroy his relationship with all of his children.”

  Danika’s cell phone rang, and she excused herself to the corner of the kitchen while pulling the phone from her jeans pocket. The caller ID showed Felipe. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Wanted to let you know that Fire-Eater pulled through the surgery and recovery time. The vet says he’s stable—one lucky dog.”

  “Both he and Barnett are lucky,” Danika said. “Thanks for letting me know.” She slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Fire-Eater pulled through.”

  Barbara folded her arms over her chest, her face a mass of worry lines. “For a moment I forgot how terrible your day was, and then you walked into this mess. Jacob will want to know the dog’s okay.”

  The back door opened, and Jacob carried in a tray of hot dogs and hamburgers. Danika studied his face, waiting for the big thermostat to set the temp for dinner.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Nadine said.

  Danika seized the opportunity to study the girl’s eyes again. No mistake. Pupils were dilated. Nadine picked up a couple of miniature chocolate bars and smiled at her mom.

  “Make sure you get permission,” Jacob said. A heavy moment passed before he rested his dark eyes on Barbara. “I told her she could spend the night with Lucy, but to ask her first. In case she has plans.”

  The final word. Barbara couldn’t have objected if she’d wanted to. Danika didn’t approve of the way Jacob ruled his household, but thank goodness she wasn’t married to him.

  “Naddie, would you tell the others it’s time for dinner?” Barbara said.

  Before the night was over, Danika planned to confront the teen about drug abuse. What was this family thinking? Jacob, Barbara, and Lucy . . . and none of them mentioned the apparent drug abuse signs of one teenage girl. This was like tracking down a dozen illegals carrying stuffed backpacks, and a rookie agent asking them what they were carrying.

  After dinner, Lucy helped with cleanup while Nadine scurried away to pack for her overnight trip. Danika gave the teen a few moments before trailing after her. Nadine had a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt on the bed, along with a cosmetic bag. Could that be where she kept her drugs? This has to be a mistake.

  “Got a minute?” Danika plopped herself onto the other twin bed, where Kaitlyn slept. All the training in the world hadn’t prepared her for confronting her niece. She toyed with what to say while studying the colors of the bedroom. One side of the room was orange and yellow with huge butterflies on the walls; Nadine’s side was turquoise and brown.

  “I’m kinda in a hurry,” Nadine said, tossing a hairbrush onto the mix. Distant didn’t begin to label her attitude.

  “Are you okay?”

  Irritation cemented the teen’s gaze. “I’m fine. What are you talking about?”

  Danika hated what she was about to do. “You look tired. Your mom says you haven’t been feeling well.”

  She smirked. “Are you going to diagnose me?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I’m too old for games.”

  “I agree. So tell me why your pupils are dilated, you’re pale, and your mother says you haven’t been eating. She says your nose is running constantly, and she suspects a cold with your hoarse cough.”

  Defiance flowed from every pore of Nadine’s face. “She’s my mother. That’s what she does. So what’s your problem?”

  “I’m concerned you might be sick.”

  “Oh, please. I’m fine, just sick to death with all of the archaic rules around here. Daddy won’t let me breathe.”

  “Nadine, I care about you. If you need help, I—”

  “What I do is none of your business.” Nadine sealed her guilt.

  Danika wanted to shake her, but she wasn’t a child. “Is it worth what you’re doing to your own health and those who love you?”

  “You sound like a TV ad for vitamins. Leave me alone, Danika. You and your brat are here eating our food because your loser husband got himself killed doing something stupid.”

  Heat anchored the ire in Danika’s face. Insulting her was one thing, but referring to Tiana and Toby with contempt made her furious. When had Nadine changed from a considerate and lovable young woman to such a . . . She refused to let the descriptor roll around her head. “You and I have always been close. I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away. This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Makes as much sense as you sticking your nose in my life. If I need to talk to someone, it’ll be Lucy.”

  “What gives you the right to upset my daughter?” Jacob’s voice bounced off the walls of the bedroom, dumping a hollow emptiness into Danika’s resolve to support her family.

  With her ears ringing, Danika slowly crossed the room to face Jacob. “The right? Guess I don’t have one.”

  * * *

  Alex checked on Jon Barnett before leaving the hospital for the day, or rather the night. Jon slept comfortably while Livi rested in a vinyl chair beside him. She alternated her focus between her husband’s ashen face and the monitors hooked up to his wounded body. He drifted in and out of consciousness and was still in critical condition, but his vitals were good. Alex felt confident of the man’s recovery. Jon lived life hard—worked hard and played hard—and today he fought hard against the damage inflicted on his body.

  Border Patrol agents filtered in and out of the hospital offering support, not just with statements but by putting their words into action. Livi said an agent and his wife offered to stay with the children for the night. Another agent handed Livi
a list of families who would be bringing food for the next week. And another agent and his wife planned to spend the night at the hospital. Some volunteers attended the Barnetts’ church, but most of the support came from the Border Patrol family. BPs always rallied together when needed. Alex had learned that most agents stepped into their roles with a desire to serve their country and its citizens. Only after they’d been on active duty for a while did they realize the danger and understand the toll their careers could take on their families.

  “I’ll be calling in to check on Jon,” Alex said. “He’s a fighter.”

  Livi lifted her gaze from the monitors. “So many people have been praying for him and for you. Thanks, Alex.”

  He bent and squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll be here early in the morning.” The few hours’ rest on the cot in his office wasn’t the same as eight solid ones in his own bed. Exhaustion had attacked him in full force, and his body and brain needed downtime to function.

  He rode the elevator to the lobby and spotted Danika Morales entering through the hospital’s double doors. Catching her attention, he waved. “Good evening, Agent Morales.”

  She smiled, and in jeans and a T-shirt, she looked more like a soccer mom than a BP agent. Curly hair hung almost to her shoulders, loose and free. The color reminded him of dark honey.

  “Danika, please,” she said. “Hey, you’ve put in a long day.”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “I understand. I’m sure Livi is overwhelmed with all of this, and I wanted to check on her before I went home.”

  What a sweet gesture. “She’s a soldier, just like Jon.”

  “Well, I’m going to see about the Barnett boot camp. Have a good evening, Dr. Price.”

  “Alex.”

  “Okay, Alex.” Danika tossed another quick smile and strolled past him.

  I’m an idiot. He didn’t have a single intellectual, stimulating, witty, bachelor-like thing to say. He’d been married to the medical profession far too long. Next time he’d be prepared.

  Wait a minute! Hadn’t he decided that pursuing a BP agent invited a troubled relationship?

  I need sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Give justice to the poor and the orphan; uphold the rights of the oppressed and the destitute.

  Psalm 82:3

  On Thursday morning, Danika sped down Old Military Highway in the Tahoe assigned to her for the day. Felipe kicked up dirt in his jeep ahead of her, and Jacob followed behind her. Another truck with two more agents led the convoy. They’d gotten a call from an informer about a safe house filled with illegals and drugs. The caller, a man with a thick Hispanic accent, gave the location and hung up. Later the supes at the station would analyze the voice, but the agents’ job was to make arrests and confiscate the drugs.

  She thought about the illegal who had shot Barnett. She’d dug into the shooter’s records and questioned the other agents who had brought him in for medical treatment. One more time, she’d hit a dead end. Except his knowledge about Toby’s death was in his database. He refused to give his name, but she wouldn’t forget his face or his claim.

  Within seconds, all four vehicles swung in front of a dilapidated one-story house, penning in a ten-year-old van with a dented-in passenger side. Two large dogs, a shepherd and black Lab mix, snarled their reception at the agents. Both animals were lean enough to eat an agent for lunch.

  Danika lived for this excitement—the thrill of danger—in the landscape of her being. Five years ago, she would head into a field of sugar cane for one illegal, but after she got pregnant, she took a few more precautions. After Toby’s death, she curtailed the daredevil tricks.

  Danika opened the door of her Tahoe and gulped in stifling heat to mix with the adrenaline pumping through her body. She doubted if many of the American public understood the danger BP agents faced the moment they buttoned up their uniforms. Sometimes an illegal fought back, and a good agent had to be prepared. When she was fresh out of the academy, an illegal had swung his fist at her, nearly breaking her arm. Jacob had been with her that day and took action. The two became friends, and Jacob had introduced her to Toby, a high school math teacher and track coach. She often wondered if Jacob regretted his matchmaking.

  Most of the illegals were simply hardworking people who risked all for a better way of life. She knew many of them were driven by desperation, believing they had no other options to provide for their families’ basic needs. When apprehended, they wore the cloak of defeat and misery. Some cried. Some swore. Others were silent and fingered a cross or a rosary. The cost of entering the U.S. ranged from two thousand to four thousand dollars, life savings from family and friends. And for what purpose? To be returned with nothing to show for the financial sacrifices of others?

  Guides and drug smugglers were more dangerous. They carried weapons and had no intention of letting a future behind bars jeopardize their current lifestyle. Adrenaline surged through their veins too, but their motivation was pure and simple greed.

  She drew her weapon and approached the parked cargo van. It was locked but empty. Later the agents would check inside. Drugs could be concealed in the floorboard, doors, ceiling, tires, gas tank, or specially constructed compartments. She walked up the driveway with Felipe while other agents spread out to surround the house. All had their handguns drawn. Ready.

  A door thudded shut in the back, and she raced with several other agents toward the sound.

  “Patrulla Fronteriza,” an agent shouted. “Alto.”

  Nine men raced from the rear of the house toward the thick brush of spindly trees and tall grass. Odd, no women or children were with them. Three agents took off after the obvious illegals, while Danika and Felipe made their way to the back door, where the men had exited.

  “Patrulla Fronteriza. Salgan con las manos arriba,” Danika said.

  No response. The two dogs had tired of following the other agents and the illegals and growled at Danika and Felipe. Were they about to be attacked by those possibly still inside the house or by angry dogs?

  “Get out of here,” Felipe said to the mangy animals, but the dogs inched closer. He stepped inside the house, and Danika trailed him, shutting the door behind her.

  The house smelled of unwashed bodies, stale cigarettes, and rancid food. Quiet. Eerie. As though trouble was a wound jack-in-the-box ready to pop.

  All around the carpenter’s bench.

  Empty bags from Burger King sat on a kitchen table. Chairs were overturned. A beer can on its side dripped its amber contents from the table to the floor. Opened soda cans with frosty sides sat on the counter.

  Felipe’s voice filled the house. “There’s no place to hide. Come out peacefully.”

  The monkey chased the weasel.

  Felipe kicked in a closed door on the left. Danika entered a room on the right where a radio blared Hispanic music.

  That’s the way the money goes.

  Bundles of marijuana and cocaine were stacked tightly in a corner beside six cases of Pampers. The diapers were used to wrap the bundles and deter the checkpoint’s K-9s.

  Pop goes the weasel!

  “Felipe, I found a stash in here,” she called, keeping her eyes on one last room and its closed door. “Looks to be at least a million dollars—maybe more.”

  He appeared in an instant. “Plenty of sleeping bags in there. Two of them are still warm.”

  “I didn’t see any women with the group that raced out of here.”

  “Neither did I.”

  She nodded at another closed door and motioned a silent message for Felipe to cover her. She turned the knob and flung open the door into a shadowed room. Two women huddled together, one holding a toddler, and another woman lay unmoving on the floor. The stench of what had gone on in this room churned her stomach. One woman’s T-shirt had been ripped from her neck to her abdomen. These women had been abused and left behind. Sobs rose like a bubbling pot.

  Compassion surfaced Danika’s sympathies. “U.S
. Border Patrol. No need to be afraid.” Her gaze swept over each woman’s face. Bruises and hollow eyes met her. They were young, too young to be involved with this. A prostitution ring or an isolated incident? “Who did this to you?”

  Nothing.

  “Would you like some water?” Danika knelt at their side. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sí,” came the reply.

  “These women need medical help.” Felipe pointed to a young woman in the corner. “She’s not moving.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Danika asked the others. “Is she sick?”

  No one responded. The women trembled; one of them started to cry. No doubt they had heard the Border Patrol were monsters, instead of people who revered human dignity more than those who had taken their money and, in this case, ravished their bodies.

  Danika swallowed the acid inching up her throat. Whoever had done this deserved to rot in jail—or worse.

  Felipe walked across the small room and felt the pulse point of the still young woman. “She’s alive.” He yanked his radio from his belt. “Need an ambulance at our location on Old Military Road. Apprehended illegal women in bad shape.”

  * * *

  Jacob watched the ambulance speed away in a flurry of dust and dirt with its siren alerting all to clear the road. Three injured young women and Danika were inside the vehicle. The one in critical condition could not speak from the beating someone had given her. They looked to be about the same age as Nadine. He’d kill a man who ever attempted to hurt his daughter. And those girls’ fathers weren’t even around to protect them.

  Nadine . . . what had happened to his precious little girl? All he ever wanted was her happiness and to keep her safe from those who would break her heart. But in the last several months, she’d changed. His eldest daughter had become sullen, rude, and preferred being in her room to time with her family. Barbara had caused this, spoiled her by allowing her to spend nights with girlfriends and attend parties. He’d have to talk to his wife—set her straight on who ruled his house.