Reluctant Smuggler

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “The bureau is on the hunt at this end,” Tony said.

  “And we will watch return routes on our end.”

  Desi rested her forehead in the palm of her hand. A headache nagged. Better not tell Tony. He fussed about residual effects from her concussion. “Mr. President, you might want to question Ramon’s wife, Pilar. She was acquainted with the Greybecks, perhaps well acquainted, and the missing youngest Greybeck was last seen in Mexico.”

  The president let out a sour exclamation. “The involvement of Pilar is unwelcome information, but it suggests a personal motive for Ramon to leave the country. We will speak to her and begin a search for Clayton Greybeck.”

  “Mr. President,” Tony said, “in my opinion, we can best solve these related crimes by keeping each other informed.”

  “I disagree.”

  Desi’s head throbbed. Here came problems.

  “We can best catch these criminals by active cooperation,” Montoya said. “We have two federales in Boston participating in the interrogation of the Fraternidad de la Garra members you captured in your harbor. I place them at the disposal of your bureau in this wider investigation. Please send us two of yours to be included in our efforts in Mexico.”

  “I’ll submit the request.” The pleasure in Tony’s voice was as palpable as the pulse in Desi’s brain. “I only wish one of them could be me, but I don’t have medical clearance yet.”

  “Ah, yes. Congratulations on your recovery, Señor Lucano.”

  “I’m one thankful man.”

  “As you should be, especially when you are engaged to be married.”

  Desi’s headache receded a bit. “I’m counting the days.”

  “Days, is it?” Montoya laughed.

  “Well, March twenty-third. That’s around eight weeks, actually.”

  “Congratulations again to you both. We’ll be in touch.”

  They ended the call, and Desi laid her aching head against the cool counter. Her burns itched. They’d put together major puzzle pieces, so why did she feel let down?

  Because when the subject of the wedding came up, Tony said nothing. He’d been closemouthed about their nuptials since she left the hospital. What was going on in his head? Something big, something bad, and she couldn’t pry it out of him with a crowbar.

  Seventeen eternal days later, Tony sat down at his kitchen table while his mom fussed over something she was cooking. In a few minutes, she plunked a plate in front of him.

  “Are you going to marry that girl?” She planted her fists on her hips.

  “I’m going to marry her.” He picked up the sandwich. Toasted bread crunched between his teeth as warm cheese and ham flooded his taste buds. Not long ago he would have taken enjoyment of a meal for granted. No more.

  His mother leaned toward him. “Every time we talk about the ceremony you make yourself scarce. Desi is worried.”

  “There’s a madman on the loose who nearly killed us all. We’ve had agents on the hunt in Mexico for weeks. I need to hear they’ve nabbed El Jaguar.”

  “Aha! You are your father’s son, but that does not mean you must repeat his mistakes.”

  Tony paced to the refrigerator with his half-empty milk glass. “A mistake. Is that what you really thought about Dad’s decision to protect us by leaving? You always defended him when I bad-mouthed him.” He filled his glass and went back to the table.

  “Because a son should respect his father. But a husband should include the wife in such a decision. He did not. He announced one day that he feared a gangster would hurt us in order to get to him. Then he was gone, and the child support he sent could not replace him. You were a handful to raise alone, but a good boy, basically.” She patted his cheek.

  “Mom, I know you want Desi and me to be married and get going on a family, but—”

  “Tell me, caro, what are you going to do next time a criminal makes a threat? Or when someone you put in prison is released? Turn your back on life, love, and family?”

  His mom sure knew how to prod a guy where it hurt. Tve wrestled with those questions since that bomb nearly took Desi from me.”

  “Have you asked her what she thinks about the risks?”

  “I know what she’d say. She’d want us to be together for as much time as we have.”

  “Then why don’t you respect her choice?”

  “Because I can’t live in a world without her in it!” Had he just shouted at his mother? Her stricken face said he had. “Whether I’m with her or not,” he continued softly, “I have to know she’s somewhere, breathing the same air. That must have been the way Dad felt about you.”

  Mom’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Ah, mio figlio, it comes down to this then. Are you the sort of man who thinks he will keep his loved ones safe by his own efforts, or can you walk forward with Desi, knowing that the only certainty is the safe harbor of heaven at the end?”

  “I’m the sort of man who needs to weigh the options and choose based on—”

  “Logic? Ha! For this sort of thing, the intellect works only if you are omniscient.”

  “No, not logic.” He looked up at her. “God’s voice of wisdom in my heart.”

  “Then you will come to the right decision.” Mom kissed his forehead. “Now eat your sandwich so we can leave for the clinic, and you can pass your stress test. After we hear the wonderful results, I will take my busybody self home and give you space to hear from God.”

  Stress test completed and passed, Tony walked into his town house alone, the first time he’d been without a chaperon since his accident. He’d even driven himself home. Another first in a long time.

  He tossed his keys on the counter, tired from the stress test, yet wired from the results that showed a healthy heart and gave him the green light to start limited fitness training. The bureau had allotted him three months to return to partial duty and five to get up to full speed. A future was possible.

  Maybe. He had no guarantee that his accident hadn’t impaired his abilities in ways that would only be noticed when he exerted himself toward the physical fitness levels of a special agent. And he sure had no guarantee that a gang leader wouldn’t blow him up or shoot him at any given moment, as well as anyone else he was with. Stevo was still pushing to become a temporary roommate slash bodyguard, not just a physical trainer. Nothing doing.

  Tony grabbed a protein shake from the refrigerator and settled into his recliner. This one fitted his body better than Hiram’s, but he missed the other one because of what the loss meant to Desi. A failed attempt on his life had cost Desi her childhood home, something he could never replace. What kind of selfish jerk would he be to expect her to take the ultimate risk as his wife? How could he not? Was it better to protect her physical life and rip her heart out…and his own?

  He crushed his empty can in his fist, then stared at what he’d done. His strength was returning all right. But it said a bunch that he considered such an ordinary act a milestone.

  His phone rang, and he jerked. Too deep in thought. He grabbed the cordless in the kitchen. Caller ID was all zeros, which meant the office was on the line. His heart slammed his ribs. Had they caught the slime balls with the funny fingers?

  “Lucano here.”

  “Congratulations, boss-man.” Polanski laughed. “The ASAC came by to crow that you passed your stress test.”

  Tony headed back to his chair with the handset. So the clinic had already informed Bernard Cooke of the results. The office was keeping close tabs on him, and that could work for or against his chances of returning to the active roster. “News travels fast around that place, except when you’re trying to get an urgent memo through.”

  She snickered. “Well, I’ve got a few reports for you. Which do you want first, the—”

  “Good stuff or the bad stuff?”

  “No, the ambivalent or the more ambivalent.”

  Tony groaned. Too often that was the best it got. “Throw me whatever’s available.”

  “Still no sign of Albo
n Guerrera or his counterpart, but word from snitches both stateside and south of the border say El Jaguar has packed up and fled to Brazil. Haj and Berg are returning from Mexico City, and the Mexican federales are leaving Boston to go home.”

  “So the hunts called off?”

  “No, just cooling down to the methodical work that drives us all loopy.”

  “I hear you.”

  “This guy’ll slip up one day, and we’ll be ready. The investigations netted good results in other areas. The crackdown on the Fraternidad de la Garra has put a lot of hard cases behind bars on both sides of the border. New York has three of the five gunmen in custody, but the shooters don’t know why they made Swiss cheese of that vehicle, only that they were following orders. On the Yucatán Peninsula, a sweep by federales and judiciales has disrupted Fraternidad activity, and they figure it’s only a matter of time until they find their jungle headquarters.”

  Tony drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Yeah, you’d think somebody they netted in the roundup would know where it is. Any word on what Pilar Sanchez said about her husband’s motive for running off to the States?”

  “Nope. President Montoya has classified that information. Insists it has nothing to do with our investigation.”

  Tony snorted. “Now, that’s a stretch, when so many of the same people are involved. Sounds like El Presidente thinks the truth may be an embarrassment.”

  “No doubt in my mind.” Papers rustled. “Oh, there is a bit of non-ambivalent information on the Greybecks. Dell says their balance sheet shows Greybeck and Sons leveraged almost to the point of bankruptcy, yet all three stinkers have offshore accounts worth millions. With Randolph and Wilson dead, Clayton could claim it all, but he has yet to surface.”

  “Let’s hope he met a horrible end in Mexico.”

  “Bloodthirsty, are we? But justified, I’d say. Your hunch panned out. Our search of the Greybecks’ private property uncovered records that link them to Jagre Shipping. And Berg was right about the name. Think about it—the first letters of jaguar and Greybeck joined together.”

  “Very clever.” Tony let out a humorless laugh.

  “Right. The Greybecks acted as the corporate organizers for a lawless gang. These were very bad people.”

  “They gave Desi and her business fits. She’s still working to counteract the damage they did, but with them out of the picture, she’ll recover nicely.”

  “That’s a load off her mind before the wedding, eh? We’re holding our breaths for those invitations. And you’d better send one to Cooke, or you may end up stationed in Timbuktu.”

  Tony chuckled. “I’ll put in a good word for him with Desi.”

  They ended the call, and Tony stared out his bay window into the deepening dusk.

  Was the Jaguar really gone, or was he crouching around the next bend in the road? Any gangster determined enough to hire a mercenary bomber wouldn’t give up easily.

  And what about the pesky invitations? He’d never asked Desi when those needed to be sent. Probably soon, with the big event a scant five weeks away. Which meant he had less than no time to decide if there was going to be a wedding. And whatever he decided, he needed to know beyond a doubt that he’d heard from God, because only the Almighty could give them any hope of surviving either choice.

  Tony put his head in his hands and prayed like his soul depended on it. Midnight loomed before he knew what he had to do. Tomorrow he would talk to Desi. No more putting off the moment of truth.

  Twenty

  Desi addressed an envelope, stuffed an invitation inside, and sealed it. Where was the joy she should feel with this activity? She pushed her chair away from Mama Gina’s kitchen table and went to the sink with her empty coffee cup.

  Mama Gina had spent a lot of time in her bedroom since they had returned yesterday from Tony’s clinic appointment. She could be praying or taking an afternoon nap, but Desi doubted she was snoozing. Tony was home alone. His phone call this morning said he had business to handle today, but was he all right by himself?

  Cut it out! Why wouldn’t he be?

  The destruction of her home had turned her paranoid. Like at the clinic. A man in the waiting room smiled at her, and she gripped the chair arms to keep from rushing out of the room. Strangers were suddenly the enemy.

  A vision of the frozen, blackened shell of her home rose in her minds eye. She’d only gone once to see the damage after her release from the hospital, and the image haunted her. Tony had made a phone call and arranged for the hazardous scar on the neighborhood to be covered and fenced in until spring when a crew could carry the devastation away. She probably wouldn’t go near the place until then…and maybe not even then. A shiver wracked her.

  Maybe she should make an appointment with the reputable counselor who attended her church. Yeah, right! When would she get around to that? Besides, the source of her raw emotions was no secret from herself. She grieved not only her father’s absence from her life, but the loss of the tangible bits of himself heel left behind in the home they’d shared.

  Desi shook herself, rinsed her cup, and deposited it in the dishwasher. Mama Gina’s little brick house was too quiet. The tick of a clock sent mouse feet scurrying across her skin. Stop giving yourself the willies, woman!

  She returned to the table and picked up the small stack of simple embossed invitation cards they’d chosen—she and Mama Gina, not Tony. The man acted like marriage no longer interested him. Her bare ring finger mocked her.

  The doorbell rang, and Desi jerked, marring the envelope she’d just started to address. Was it her place to answer the door in Mama Gina’s home? The doorbell rang again, but no sound came from the direction of the master bedroom. Couldn’t hurt to see who was there. She strode through the living room, but stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

  Why was she sweating? She was just answering a bell. She could do this. Desi twisted the lock and flung open the door. It banged the inner wall.

  Tony blinked. “Whoa!”

  Desi released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Sorry about that. I’m stronger than I thought.” Her giggle rated about ten and a half on the goof-o-meter. “You must feel pretty chipper to brave the tundra.”

  Unsmiling, Tony shed his winter things. Underneath he wore a suit and tie and looked good enough to model for GQ.

  “Sit down, sweetheart.” He motioned toward the big easy chair. “Things have gotten complicated, and we have to figure out where we’re going from here.”

  “Sounds scary. Should I fasten a seat belt?”

  “We’re both adults, so I hope we can make this a smooth ride.”

  Desi plopped onto the cushion and pressed her hands together in her lap. Tony loomed over her. She stared into his chiseled face. How often she’d seen that unreadable granite expression in the days before the two of them had moved from loathing to love.

  He knelt in front of her, and her heart flipped. Then he cleared his throat and glanced down. Desi’s gaze followed. A scream welled in her throat, but only a squeak escaped. The ring he offered eclipsed the first one like the Hope diamond outshone a common rock.

  “Was that a ‘yes,’ darlin’? Will you still say ‘I do’ with this blockhead?”

  She held out her hand and didn’t care that it shook. Tony slid on the ring, and the platinum band fit. Not like the first one in gold that they’d had to resize. A marquis-cut diamond, at least a full carat, sparkled up at her, set off by smaller diamonds embedded in the band.

  She studied Tony through tear-glazed eyes. “What did you do? Sell your car?”

  “My town house too.” He laughed. “Just kidding. The insurance check came in the mail today, and I cashed in a small CD to go with it. I wanted to show you how much you’re worth to me, and this—” he touched her ring—”doesn’t even begin to tell the tale.”

  “If you don’t kiss me, I am going to call you a blockhead.”

  “Never let it be said this man needs that invitation t
wice.”

  And that was the end of conversation for a good long while.

  A clatter from the kitchen drew them apart, flushed and breathing raggedly. Then Mama Gina’s voice burst out singing something robust in Italian.

  Tony gave a husky chuckle. “Our chaperon is happy but determined to let us know this isn’t our wedding night yet.”

  Desi rested her forehead against his. “I’m grateful for her.”

  “Me too. I think we’re going to need her services a lot these next few weeks.” He stood and smiled. “But this evening I want to take you out to eat. We haven’t done that since before you left for your international assignments.”

  Desi rose and looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “I don’t know, Mr. Lucano, do you think were safe out on the town by ourselves?”

  Tony pressed his lips together and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing. I get what you mean.”

  Desi blew out through her nose. “Were not reaffirming our engagement on the right foot if there are secrets.”

  “I don’t want to throw a damper on our evening.”

  “By mentioning that we could still be the target of some crazy gangster? And I do mean ‘we’ Whatever we’re into, we’re in it together, and if Albon Guerrera is the Jaguar, he’s gpt no love for me either.”

  Tension faded from Tony’s face. “I am a blockhead for not knowing you’d have this figured out already.”

  “Is that the shoe that’s been pinching your toes? Why didn’t you say so? We could have had this conversation already and put it behind us.”

  “I think this was something the Lord and I had to work out between us before I was ready to take it up with you.”

  Desi tugged on his tie. “Well, you just settle it, buster. We know what each other does for a living, and we’re not safe people, but we sure are surrounded by the favor of the Lord.” She laughed. “Hey, I needed that pep talk for myself. I feel about a bazillion pounds lighter.” She waggled her ring finger. “Except for right here.”