by H. L. Wegley
“Yeah.” Coy blew out a breath. “The center of this activity will be US District Court in Pecos.”
“Seriously? Pecos?” Drew said. “Isn’t that in the middle of nowhere?”
“Want my advice? Don’t say that to the judge.”
Drew nodded. “Point taken.”
Coy continued. “The first item of business in Pecos will be a grand jury then, most likely, the trial. And I know for a fact that the prosecutors in Pecos will go hard after the Del Rio Cartel, trying to damage it as much as possible.”
“But will they prevent Suarez from damaging Beth and me?”
“We'll have to talk to the prosecutor about that. And, these days, you never know what the DOJ has up its sleeve. Come on, you two. Get your things … well, whatever we haven't confiscated as evidence. We're taking you to Pecos.”
Beth’s gaze dropped to the ground. She stared at the sandy soil with a blank expression that didn’t belong on such a perfectly sculpted face. “So, it begins.” She looked up at Drew, with those searching eyes. “I may never make it out of this alive.”
“Yes, you will, Beth. I'll see to that, no matter what it takes.”
Her eyes widened. “No matter what? That covers a lot of possibilities from dangerous to deadly.”
“I realize that you hardly know me. But I promise you this … before Suarez can get close enough to hurt you, I'll kill him, Beth. No matter what.”
Chapter 4
Beth did not trust the federal prosecutor.
Dana Whittaker, the man who would oversee Ricardo's prosecution, leaned back in his office chair, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his suit pants. “So, that's the plan. Any questions?”
She had seen men like him, anxious to move up the ladder in their organization. Putting away members of the cartel was a feather Mr. Whittaker wanted in his cap more than any concern he had for Drew and her.
Beth tried to stare the man down, but the intensity of his eyes matched hers, and he refused to blink.
She broke eye contact with him. “The DOJ is going to force us into some old ranch house around here and use it as a safe house until you get an indictment on Ricardo, aren’t they?”
“Ms. Sanchez, do I detect a lack of appreciation for what we're doing for you? And we’re not forcing you to do anything except comply with a subpoena to testify after we convene the grand jury.”
Drew plopped his hand on the prosecutor’s desk. “A subpoena to testify. That means we’re free to go, right?”
“Yes. You have that right. But if you leave without our protection, you won't live to testify against the little brother of Hector Suarez.”
“Beth,” Drew cupped her chin and lifted her head until she looked up into his steel blue eyes. “Do you trust me?”
The look in his eyes was wild and fierce, but also exhilarating.
No. Those eyes are downright scary.
Regardless of what the little voice inside Beth said, those eyes attracted her like no other eyes ever had. “You saved my life, Drew. Two or three times. Yes, I trust you.”
“Hold it, Mr. West. You have no ability—”
Drew shoved a Palm at Whittaker. “I can keep you safe, Beth. I know how to do that. Come with me to a place this guy doesn't need to know about, and Suarez won't be able to find.”
“Ms. Sanchez, you need my—our protection. Don't listen to this—this—”
“This what?” Drew whirled and grabbed a fistful of Whittaker’s dress shirt. “You don't know me from Adam, Mr. Prosecutor. And you have no idea what I'm capable of.”
“If you don't take your hands off me, you'll see what I—what the law is capable of.”
Drew released the wad of wrinkled white shirt he'd used to pull the man out of his chair and onto his feet.
Whittaker looked down and tried to rub the wrinkles from his shirt. He didn't reply.
Beth looked up at Drew. He was powerful. She had felt those arms of steel. Drew was a skilled fighter, as Beth had seen. But could he stop a professional killer like Hector Suarez?
His eyes said he could. Said he wanted to.
Beth looked at Whittaker, then back at Drew.
No comparison.
“I'll go with you, Drew. Let's get out of here.”
Drew waved at Whittaker. “See you when the grand jury convenes. A day or two before if you need to go over things with us.”
“But—but how do I contact you? How can—”
“Call Hunter Jones, Big Bend Excursions. He'll know how to reach me.”
Beth pulled Drew out the door of the prosecutor’s office. “You take too many chances. He could have you arrested for assault, you know.”
“Nah. To satisfy him, I’d just promise to send his shirt to the cleaners. You never have to take men like Whittaker to the cleaners, physically, because the only place they’ll fight you is in a courtroom.”
In the hallway, a man approaching called out to them. “Mr. West, Ms. Sanchez, may I have a word with you?”
Beth recognized him. The tall, mysterious man who wasn’t with the DEA, Border Patrol, or the Brewster County Sheriff’s Department. “Drew, maybe we should hear what he has to say.”
“Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s got to be better than Whittaker’s suggestion.”
The tall man stopped in front of them. “I’m Special Agent Tom Preston, FBI. I happened to be in this area and heard about the call for help and then heard Suarez’s name. You turned down Whittaker’s offer for protection, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Drew said. “We didn’t want to be cooped up in some house in this area with Suarez and his army trying to get us.”
“I’ve seen what he can do, Agent Preston,” Beth took Drew’s hand.
“Yes. You have.” Preston said. “More than any of us here in Pecos.”
“And Drew has already saved my life several times.”
Preston nodded. “What I came to tell you is that I’ll keep a close watch on info coming from our Intelligence Branch. They’re pretty good at tracking cartel movements across our borders. If I see anything you should know, how can I contact you?”
“I’ll tell Hunter Jones, the tour guide, you might be calling him.” Drew pulled out his wallet and fished out a business card. “Here’s Hunter’s number. You can reach him twenty-four-seven and he’ll always be able to reach me.”
“Cautious. That’s good.” Preston turned to Beth. “You’ve hooked up with a good man, Ms. Sanchez. You two take care.” Preston shook their hands and walked away down the hall.
“Hooked up? Drew, what did he mean by—”
“It’s just an expression. He didn’t mean what you’re thinking.”
“Then I hope he did mean what you’re thinking.”
“Beth, regardless of what I’m thinking or not thinking, you’re safe with me.”
“Here’s something for you to think about. I’m going to hold you to that, Drew.”
There was a lot to this hooking-up-with-Drew arrangement that, due to the threats and danger from Suarez, Beth hadn’t carefully thought through. The best she could do, for now, was to address each issue as it arose and pray that she could handle each one.
But one concern that she hadn’t been able to handle was the sway that Drew West had over her thoughts and decisions. Beth had that research scientist personality type, the type that used evidence and rationality to make sense of things and then, and only then, would she make decisions.
How in heaven’s name had she been so easily persuaded to place her life in the hands of a near stranger? It seemed that Drew had short-circuited her decision-making process. So did that make him a danger to Beth Sanchez?
I don’t want to think about that right now.
Beth led Drew out of the federal building and into the scorching afternoon sun. She looked at the cars along the wide street, then she drew a sharp breath. “We don’t have a car. How are we getting—-”
“There he is.” Drew pointed across the street to the large van in fr
ont of the Brewster County Courthouse, directly across from the federal courthouse. “Hunter almost flunked civics in high school. Keeps confusing country with county. Maybe spelling was his real problem.”
“Mr. West, I'm beginning to think you are full of you know what.”
“I see I'm coming up in the world—well, in your estimation. The first time I mentioned having a plan for us, you acted like you knew I was full of it.”
Hunter slid out of the van and waved at them.
The engine was running. That meant the van would be cool, a good place to relax and think through what was coming. How far had Drew thought his plan through? Was he the spontaneous type who never bothered to—
Beth realized her hand was in Drew’s and he had just squeezed it. “
“Bet you're wondering how we’re going to get your things and slip out of Texas unnoticed. Right?”
She squeezed back. “So what are you really, Drew West? A musclebound psychic?”
“This is going to be fun. Not a dull moment with you around. So what are you really, Beth Sanchez? One of those mysterious, play-hard-to-get women? INTJ or is it K? Never did understand that Meyers-Briggs stuff when I took psychology.”
Drew knew her personality type. This was uncanny, weird. Like a dozen other things about Drew West. But, despite their precarious situation, it was weird in a nice sort of way.
As they climbed into Hunter’s van, a song played in Beth's mind. It was on repeat. That Wizard of Oz song about being off to see the wizard. But she didn’t need to travel to see him. The wizard had just sat down beside her in the van.
And Beth Sanchez was not clicking red heels, because she wasn’t going home. She was going somewhere that Mr. Whittaker didn’t need to know about—wherever that was.
Chapter 5
Hector Suarez sat on the examining table and grimaced as the sixty-something man in a white coat flexed Hector's throbbing knee.
“Fix it, doctor.”
“I can do that, Mr. Suarez, if you've got the patience. But I do not think—”
“Define patience, Señor.”
“We can do the surgery later this week. After four months of rehab, you'll be walking fine on it. But, at your age, it will take about eight or nine months to get your knee back to full strength.”
“For the surgery, I will be unconscious, no?”
“Nearly so. Heavily sedated.”
“Then there will be no surgery. I must never be unconscious or defenseless. And I do not have four months to wait before I am ‘walking fine’.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “When do you need to walk on it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“But, Mr. Suarez—”
“It's El Capitan to you.”
“Yes, uh, El Capitan. But tomorrow is impossible.”
“Then you must find a way to make it possible, or I will find a way to end your medical practice, permanently.” Suarez pulled his Glock from behind his back and studied the doctor’s eyes. Persuasion came in all sizes, but nine millimeters seemed to be the most effective.
The man's eyes widened, and one hand went to his throat.
“You look like you have found a way for me to walk on this knee tomorrow.”
The doctor nodded.
“So, tell me about my medical miracle that will have me walking on this knee by tomorrow.”
“I do not recommend this, because you might damage the knee further by—”
“No, Señor. I want a medical miracle that will not cause further damage to my knee but allows me to walk on it tomorrow.”
“Si, El Capitan. I will fit you with a knee brace, so you can walk without hurting it. Then I will give you a shot, a strong steroid, and some pain medication. But in two or three days, your knee—”
“What if I need to walk on it for two or three days due to unexpected circumstances?”
“I can give you more steroids, oral steroids. They will likely give you indigestion and interfere with your sleep.”
“That is not a concern. It will be my medical miracle. How long do I have to wait for this miraculous event?”
“I'll need fifteen minutes to find the right brace and adjust it. A few more minutes to shoot up your knee, and then you can pick up the prescriptions on your way out, El Capitan. About thirty minutes total.”
Suarez nodded. “Shooting up my knee … it is much better than shooting up you, si?”
The doctor wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as he left the room to get the brace and prepare the injection.
Suarez had handled the doctor well and got what he needed. Now for his other needs.
He pulled out his secure cell and hit Ramon’s entry on his contact list. His most trusted detective answered on the second ring.
“Ramon, what did you find out in Pecos?”
“My sources say calls and e-mails went out to a large pool for a grand jury. They expect it to convene in a few weeks.”
“They are trying to push Ricardo's conviction through quickly. I anticipated them taking several months.”
“It seems this prosecutor is trying to make a name for himself.”
“What's his name?”
“Whittaker. Rumor has it that he doesn't like you, Hector.”
“Then I will give him more reasons not to like me. Perhaps his witnesses will all disappear. Did you find out where this Drew West lives?”
“It appears that he rented a room at a Holiday Inn and Suites here in Texas, but he's from Oregon.”
“Oregon? How do you know that, Ramon?”
“It appears that he rented the room under his business name. I looked it up in an online business name database. The name is registered in Oregon with Señor West as the owner. But the physical address was not in the database.”
“Keep looking. And Señorita Sanchez?”
“According to the university, she was living in Bryan, Texas with a relative. But she left Pecos with Señor West. We'll have to see where she turns up.”
“I cannot believe that they did not accept witness protection.” Either they were fools or much smarter than Suarez anticipated. “So we will not be breaching a safe house tomorrow?”
“You mean breach, as in blow up?”
Suarez didn't reply.
“I think they are trying to hide and protect themselves. We can always get them when they come to Pecos to testify.”
“No, Ramon. Those two will stay together somewhere. I know this because I saw them.” He’d seen the look of gratefulness and trust in Señorita Sanchez’s eyes when she looked at Mr. West. “You will find them. And I will kill them before the grand jury can indict Ricardo. I gave my word to my little brother, so I suggest you start your search now. I will remove all restrictions on your credit card and on the methods you may use. Find them, Ramon!”
As long as she remained alive, Elizabeth Sanchez would remain the single blight on his reputation—a living testimony that his power was not as great as Suarez claimed.
Some foolish farmer would raise Elizabeth Sanchez’s banner high and start another militia that would cost Hector hundreds of hours of his time, millions of dollars in revenue, many gray hairs, too much blood and sweat, but never any tears.
Hector’s weeping had turned to wrath many years ago. He would kill the militia and their families, as he had before. But that could all be circumvented if he made Señorita Sanchez a supreme example of what happens to people who oppose Hector Suarez—an example by the way he made her die, or the way he forced her to live. He was not sure which it would be, except it would be the one she feared most.
Chapter 6
“Does Suarez know where you live, Beth?”
“I think a more important question, for now, is does he know where you live?” She scanned the living room of his suite at the Holiday Inn as if something dreadful lived in some corner of the room or behind a piece of furniture.
Hopefully, it wasn’t him that Beth feared.
Drew tried to put himself in
her place—agreeing to go with someone she hardly knew and spending the night in Fort Stockton with him. Not many young women of character would do that. But not many such young women had been targeted by the leader of a drug cartel.
He needed to set Beth’s mind at ease.
“You can have the bedroom. The couch makes a bed in the living room. I’ll take it. We'll be safe for tonight. I rented this room a couple of days ago. When I did, I used my business charge card so, even if Suarez has friends who can access charge card information, he won't find this room unless he knows the name of my writing business. That’s not likely.”
Beth peered into his eyes with a look of concern in hers. “I've never done anything like this—I mean, spend the night with a guy, unchaperoned.”
He grinned. “I have. Hunter and I used to do this all the time.”
Beth grabbed a couch pillow and swung it down on his head.
Good thing it was soft. Beth was strong, and she had held nothing back.
When he looked up, she had an enigmatic smile on her full lips. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Evade the real question?”
“Whenever I can. Especially when it aggravates a pretty girl.”
“Drew, I don't think this is—”
“No, Beth. It is a good idea. And no, I've never done this before either, with or without a chaperone. But it was already nine o'clock when Hunter dropped us off. Now, I've answered your questions. You need to answer mine. Does Suarez know where you live, wherever that is?”
“One more question first.”
“Beth?”
“Please.” Her expression softened, especially the look in her eyes, an obviously feigned look of vulnerability. Then she laid her hand on his arm. “For my peace of mind.”
Evidently, she wasn't above a little manipulation. But, even knowing that, how could he refuse those eyes. “Okay, one more question.”
Like with the flip of a switch, the look on Beth’s face morphed back to one of concern. “You're in your late twenties. Why haven't you ever been in a situation like this with a member of the opposite sex?”
“Because it's wrong.”