by DiAnn Mills
* * *
Danika had managed two-and-a-half hours’ sleep before heading back to the station for the night shift. Yawning, she took another gulp of hot coffee and sputtered it onto the steering wheel and her jeans. At least the newly formed blisters in her mouth would help keep her awake tonight.
She glanced into the rearview mirror. Truck headlights bored into her vision. She despised tailgaters. They were poster children for accidents and a nightmare for insurance adjusters. But apprehension slithered from her fingertips to her toes. Was she being followed?
She swerved into the left lane and turned at the next stop sign. The truck barely stopped at the intersection and followed close behind. If night had not settled around her, she’d have tapped her brakes.
A half mile down, she swung a left and sped onto the expressway. The truck trailed behind her.
Danika’s mind switched to control mode, and she pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Let the jerk behind her tail her right up to the security fence of McAllen’s station.
The truck inched closer, and she pushed aside the thought of a bullet shattering the rear window.
Seventy-five miles an hour. Eighty. Eighty-five.
The truck did not ease up.
Gunfire ripped into the mirror on the driver’s side, and she instinctively sped ahead. No time to call for help.
A tire popped with the distinct sound of a .45-caliber handgun. Another tire blew, swinging the car out of control. It leaned to the right, and the sound of it skidding down the road roared in her ears. The truck tipped, then flipped to the right. The air bag exploded into her chest just before the car rolled again, sending her into a world of darkness.
* * *
Alex was jarred from the depths of his dream world. The phone. With the next ring from his cell phone came the acknowledgment of a serious situation at the hospital. He snatched it up.
“Alex, this is Ed.”
Their last conversation had been like two enemies instead of two friends. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been an accident.”
“Who?”
“Danika. Someone blew out her tires while she was on her way to the station.”
His heart shifted into overdrive, and he threw back the sheet covering him, momentarily forgetting his wounded leg until his foot touched the floor. “How bad?”
“Not good. They’ve resuscitated her twice. She’s headed into surgery. Internal injuries. Regional Hospital.”
Alex reached for his jeans. “Do you know the doctor’s name?”
“No. I’m real sorry.”
Alex knew Ed’s apology was not all about Danika’s condition but included their previous argument. “I’m on my way.”
“I’m here for you, bud. If you have any problem getting to the surgery wing, have them call me. I have guards posted. No one is to find out about this.”
Alex rushed, grabbing the rest of his clothes and fumbling for his keys, dropping them and groping to find them. Help her. His leg throbbed, but he didn’t have time or the inclination to swallow a couple of Tylenol. Repeatedly he prayed for God to give Danika the breath of life.
Chapter 46
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
Alfred Noyes
Alex focused on the monitor above Danika’s head. Keep beating. Stay strong. As if by his staring at the numbers and EKG lines, they would continue to read normal. Her blood pressure was stable. But he knew how quickly that could plummet. Her body’s oxygen saturation was good. Yet the question that pounded against his brain was whether Danika could hold on to life once the automatic supports were gone. Prayer permeated every breath—even to the point of thinking he could bargain with God for her life.
The problem twisting his heart was his knowledge of what the sights and sounds of the monitors meant. For once he wished he weren’t a doctor. He didn’t want to know what the equipment meant or how closely she teetered toward death.
Danika lay on a precipice, and only the great Healer could pull her back from the edge.
“How does it all look to you?” Ed whispered, as though his voice would disturb her.
Alex hesitated. “I’ll feel better when she wakes up. However, she’s in a medically induced coma for the next forty-eight to sixty hours.”
“You hadn’t told me how much she meant to you. But I should have guessed.”
Alex brushed a curl from Danika’s forehead. Her left eye looked like a black hole. “I didn’t really understand until now. It hasn’t been long. The chemistry’s there for me anyway.” No, it’s more. So much more.
“That’s the way I felt about Susie. No logic as to why she was the one for me. Scared me to death. I’d been more in control as a sniper for the Marines. Truth was I’d have rather faced two dozen armed illegals hoisting cocaine. By the way, I called our pastor, and he’s got a whole team of prayer warriors doing their thing. All he knows is that someone I care about is critically ill.”
“Thanks. Any lead on who did this?”
Ed pointed to the hallway, where two policeman stood guard. “That should answer your question. All we know is a .45 was used to blow out the tires.”
Could be any number of handguns. The thought sickened Alex. How long before the experts could identify the weapon? “Who is this guy?”
“If we could figure out why someone wants her dead, then we could better nail him.” Ed walked to the window and stared out at the sunlit day, contrary to the turmoil in all of them. “The police are working on it, but who knows?”
“She and I have talked about the people she knows and a possible tie to Toby’s death. We’ve even debated whether or not the person is also after me. Did Sandra give you any information?”
Ed’s pinched face revealed his disgust. “She says she’ll talk to Danika but no one else. I think she has critical evidence, but I imagine she wants a plea bargain.”
Alex had mixed feelings about it, but it wasn’t up to him. “Can you oblige her?”
“Think about it. If she knows who murdered Toby and who is trying to kill Danika, do you want her living legally in the States? The best she can hope for is not to be charged as an accomplice.”
They both looked at Danika’s pale face. Alex hoped she recovered soon to talk to Sandra and end this nightmare. He needed to call his mother. Not that Tiana should be told about Danika’s accident. It was Alex’s prayer the child would not have to be told about any of the tragedy stalking her family. Mom had found someone through her church to sign for Tiana, and Mom was learning too. But who wanted the responsibility of telling a child she no longer had a mother?
It would be me.
He hated what had happened to Danika, and the thought of Sandra being a part of it made him furious.
* * *
Sandra’s body refused to respond to her brain’s commands. She’d heard lies. Nothing but lies to trick her. The words forming in her mind suspended like a church bell with no clapper. The hands and fingers that she’d exercised faithfully in communicating with Tiana lay in her lap like weights. Dr. Alex Price had sold her out.
She studied the face of the ICE officer. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Their Web site boasted of the over ten thousand gang members arrested throughout the country. One could click on the latest business shut down for employing undocumented immigrants or the number of illegals arrested in California or someone involved in child exploitation and human trafficking. Sandra had made it her business to educate herself about everything affecting her life. But what good did her accumulation of knowledge do her now? She’d lived with fear of so many things, and now life could not get worse.
She hadn’t uttered a word to the police, and she wouldn’t. Why did this grim-faced man with his impressive uniform and ICE insignia think he could accomplish any more?
“You stated to the police that you would only speak to Border Patrol Agent Danika Morales. But as I said previously, she’s been critically injured in a
tragic accident—an accident in which someone blew out the tires of her vehicle.” The ceiling light shining on his bald head cast a yellowish hue, as though he were the one under interrogation. Whether it was hysteria or panic, she nearly laughed. The only difference between him and a gang member was the colors.
What a clever ploy to draw out a confession. The official had lied to her about an accident. Danika knew how to take care of herself. The good doctor should be the one facing death. He’d told Danika about her illegal status and deserved the worst punishment. To think he called himself a friend—a healer—to those who were in need. He’d taken that information and thrown it in her face.
After several deep breaths, she willed the stone in her throat to be crushed into digestible pebbles so she could plan her way out of this mess. “I don’t believe you. My friend Danika is a trained Border Patrol agent.”
His folded hands didn’t budge. “Miss Rodriguez, I assure you, Agent Morales is in critical condition. The person who tried to kill her needs to be stopped before others are hurt or killed. We need your information.”
For a few seconds, he had nearly convinced her. “Bring me the newspaper report.”
Mr. ICE pressed his lips together. “The media has been denied access to the accident’s details. Our discussion has to remain private. Per the Border Patrol.”
“Then you won’t hear anything from me.” She rubbed the chill bumps on her arms. Lucy wouldn’t try to hurt Danika without the information she wanted. Would she?
* * *
Danika floated in a delicious sleep. High above the world in a weightless freedom, she willed the sensation to fill her and carry her on to a mass of light beckoning to her in the distance. In a sea of smiling faces and waving hands, she heard her name, a musical sound that soothed and lulled her simultaneously.
“Join us,” the voices harmonized.
She wanted so much to reach out and grasp the beauty, the warmth of love embodying the liberation of senses. “Yes,” she breathed, or was it merely a thought?
“Not yet,” came from all directions—not a sound as much as a feeling, an embrace. “I’m not finished with you.”
A loud whoosh sucked her into a vacuum that forfeited time and matter. Again she heard her name, but she recognized the voice. Oh, the pain. She moaned. What happened to the world she’d left behind?
“Danika, if you can hear me, lift your hand.” The voice calling to her was Alex’s.
She could do this; she concentrated on raising her hand, but all she managed was to wiggle her fingers.
“Good. Can you open your eyes?”
They were glued shut. She was certain.
“Keep trying.”
She forced her lids to flutter. At last, blurred images appeared; a mass of color and sound etched in her mind. It was getting easier. There, she could focus. Her breath came in a short gasp.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Alex said.
Despite the pain, she forced a smile. “I’ve felt better.”
“I imagine you have.”
“What day is this?”
“Wednesday.”
Her day off. How appropriate. Maybe Alex could hook up the video feed so she could talk to Tiana again. Then she remembered the accident.
Someone had tried to kill her.
Chapter 47
You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, “I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
“Do you have any idea who did this to you?” Chief Jimenez said.
Danika allowed the ice chip to dissolve on her tongue. In the last half hour, the chief had revealed a compassionate side that she’d rarely seen. Oh, he always seemed sweet to his wife and kids, but in his capacity of chief patrol agent, he was all business. Perhaps she’d be the same in his role.
“I never saw a face. It was a truck—a Ford. I could tell by the grille.” Speaking sapped her energy, and she paused to drink in precious oxygen.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I want this guy stopped.”
“I . . . I want to help.” She determined not to fade away into the sleep tugging at her eyelids. “Can’t remember anything but the bullets hitting the tires.”
“Well, you beat the odds last Sunday night.”
She lifted a brow.
“You flipped your car twice.”
She shook her head. “Call me a tiger cat.”
Alex chuckled. “Glad to hear you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” His voice soothed her. Later she’d thank him.
“Some . . . sometimes I think we’re no closer to ending this than the day Toby died.”
The chief cleared his throat. She smiled despite the pain in her abdomen. That was his “clearing the room for a speech” prep. “The police received a call from an unidentified teen from Nadine Morales’s school who believed he saw her in a Ford truck in the southeast part of town. The windows were tinted, so I’m not sure if he could have made a positive identification.”
That meant Nadine could be alive. Something despicable crept through Danika’s thoughts. “Are you thinking if she’s alive—”
“Save your strength,” Jimenez said. “My guess is you’re wondering if she’s playing a part in all this.”
She nodded. If true, the knowledge would kill Jacob and Barbara.
“Ed, is this enough for now?” Alex said. “Danika needs her rest.”
“Sure.” Jimenez leaned over the bed. “We’ll be in touch. Do what the doctor says. I need you on the line. No one knows about this, and we’ve got to keep it that way.” He picked up a copy of the McAllen Monitor.
“Leave it,” she said.
“Why do you want the paper? Get some rest like Alex suggested.”
“Wrong.” She closed her eyes. “I might be stitched up like a kid’s wounded teddy bear, but I’m smart enough to see you’re keeping the media from me.” Her last words stole her breath. She forced herself to raise an IV-loaded arm and open her eyes. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Jimenez exchanged a glance with Alex.
She understood the silent communication. “You don’t . . . need Alex’s permission. I’ll . . . see this to the end.”
He laid the paper at the foot of her bed and jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “The Border Patrol doesn’t hand out Purple Hearts.”
“Yeah, but . . . it doesn’t stop me from carrying the flag.”
Once Chief Jimenez left, Danika turned her attention to Alex. He should be tending to his own patients at the medical center, not babysitting her. Two guards stood outside her door. Obviously someone wanted her alive—and someone wanted her dead.
Alex lifted the cup of ice chips to her lips. The richest delicacy to the human palate. They melted and soothed her parched throat. Once she finished, he pulled a chair closer to her bed.
“Read it to me,” she whispered.
“Why?” He reached for her hand, and she did not resist.
“I can’t do anything here but think. If I know what’s happening—” An explosion of pain rippled from her head to her abdomen. “Do I have a head injury?”
“A concussion. As Ed said, you are extremely lucky. But you need to sleep and regain your strength. How can I hook up the video feed with you here?”
Poor Tiana. She blinked. Her precious baby didn’t have her mommy or Sandra. Danika had to get better soon. “Has Tiana been told anything?”
He kissed her hand, and she didn’t mind. “Mom has found a woman in her church to sign. Tiana believes you’re sick. She knows you have to rest and will talk to her as soon as you’re feeling better.”
Not too far from the truth. “Thank you.” She gave in to the sandlike sensation and closed her eyes. “I’ll rest after you read to me.”
His sigh seemed to come from his toes. The paper crinkled and snapped open. “Guess it won’t do m
e any good to read the Monitor’s world news. Or the funnies. At least the authorities were successful in keeping the accident from the media. Here goes. ‘Border Patrol Suspects Rogue Agent in McAllen. Border Patrol and Homeland Security are joining forces to find the agent who’s trading policies and procedures with those threatening U.S. borders. One agent has been dismissed, but no charges have been filed. . . .’”
Danika groaned, but not from pain. At least Jacob’s name had not been mentioned. But would evidence surface and he be charged? For the first time, she wondered if Nadine had the key to unlock it all.
Chapter 48
Only the brave know how to forgive.
Laurence Sterne
Jacob stood in the lobby of the four-story office building where Barbara worked. He stared out the glass wall to an impressive landscape of flowering bushes and trees. A long time ago, his lawn had looked manicured. But then, so did his life. With sawdust beneath his fingernails, caking his T-shirt, and splattering his jeans, he looked like a down-on-his-luck blue-collar worker. Most of that description fit.
A young man in dress slacks and a white shirt stared at him as he walked by. Illegal immigration had become such a problem that every Hispanic American was viewed with a generous share of doubt.
The BP had actually done him a favor. He’d grown cynical and bitter toward the illegals instead of respecting them as human beings. His attitude hadn’t improved, but at least he wasn’t actively abusing anyone. The other day, he waited in line at the grocery to pay for bread and lunch meat while an illegal in front of him unloaded two carts of groceries and paid for them with food stamps. He’d escorted the woman across the bridge a couple of years ago, and now she was eating his tax dollars.