Betrayal on the Border

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Bonita’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she clamped her jaw shut and color drained from her face. Had his honest answer cost them a chance to lay hands on the book and any clues it might hold? He exchanged troubled glances with Maddie.

  “I suppose I could spare a copy for publicity purposes.” Bonita’s words emerged between pursed lips.

  “My network wouldn’t dream of accepting a copy for a penny less than fair market value. In fact, we’ll take a case.”

  “Really?” The woman blinked, and a flush worked its way up her neck. “That would be so nice. You could pass them around the newsroom or give them out to viewers to build interest. You could—” The babble of words stopped, and tears suddenly glistened on the older woman’s eyelashes. “Oh, bother! It’s no good pretending.” Her gaze dropped toward the floor. “I haven’t sold more than a handful of copies. The one in the library I donated. I’m surprised it was checked out. I spent the life insurance proceeds Hector left me on getting this book out through one of those vanity presses, thinking sales would provide me with steady income. I even ordered a bunch of copies for myself to direct sell. Now I’m stuck with cases of books, and not enough pension income to make ends meet each month.” She sniffed. “Not that you needed to know my troubles.”

  Chris leaned back in his chair. That explained the boxes taking up every available inch of space. Not so much a hoarder then, but a victim of high hopes and poor judgment fueled by love. Another similarity Bonita shared with his Serena.

  A movement drew his attention, and Maddie crossed his line of sight, then knelt beside the older woman and offered her a tissue. Chris’s heart warmed. Sure, the ex-ranger was tough when she had to be, and prickly as a saguaro toward him, but a toasted marshmallow didn’t ooze as much tenderness as she did right now.

  “You did a good thing, honoring your brother,” Maddie said.

  “I did?” Bonita lifted her head.

  “Of course. And I’m quite certain Chris will do whatever he can to get the word out about the book.”

  The older woman beamed, and they both lasered him with expectant gazes.

  What could he say? “Yes, absolutely.”

  Bonita spurted a laugh and smacked the arm of her chair. “Then help yourself to one of these boxes lying around. You can make the check out to me.” She named a price that ruffled the hair on the nape of his neck. “I’m giving you a break. That’s my production cost per case, but it’ll keep me in groceries this week.”

  “Will cash do?” Chris pulled out the money and slipped a couple of extra twenties among the bills.

  Wearing a tiny smile, Maddie nodded toward him. She approved. Heat warmed Chris’s cheeks. The woman noticed everything. A great characteristic in a bodyguard, but a little embarrassing if a guy wanted to indulge a little private kindness. How he could promote this overpriced, self-published memoir of suspect quality, he had no idea, but he’d figure something out. If he and Maddie lived long enough to return to normal lives.

  “Here.” Bonita held out a short stack of colorful lengths of cardstock. “You need bookmarks to go with your purchase. I give these out free. I designed them myself and had them printed locally.” The statement emerged with a note of pride.

  Printed locally?

  Chris’s pulse jumped as he accepted the bookmarks and noted the name of the print shop on the bottom of one. This information would have been on the half of the bookmark he had not taken from the crime scene—the half clutched in the dead man’s fist. His gaze collided with Maddie’s, and understanding arced between them.

  On the way out to the car, lugging a case of books, he glanced at her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  She flashed a muted grin. “The clue isn’t the book—it’s the bookmark.”

  “You’re not a bad Sherlock yourself.”

  She chuckled. “Next stop, a printing business in the heart of Laredo. Wonder if it will turn out to be a front for a nest of drug runners.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m starting to have hope for this line of investigation.”

  Chris’s jaw tightened. Similar hope warred with dread that the lead could as easily peter out into nothing. He’d been in the investigative reporting business long enough to realize its frustrations. If the print shop proved to be a dead end, where did that leave them? Still hanging in the wind, targets for the next hired assassin who ran them down.

  FIVE

  The slightly dingy clapboard facade of the mom-and-pop printing store screamed innocence—maybe too loudly. Beneath an old-fashioned striped awning, a narrow white-washed door was bracketed between a pair of display windows where small stacks of brightly colored card stock and samples of stationery invited potential customers to step inside.

  Maddie grabbed Chris’s arm as he attempted to do just that. “Let me take point position. I’ll feel more comfortable if I have a clear view of the perimeter without your back blocking my view.”

  Chris made a small exasperated noise. Maddie ignored his ill humor and moved ahead of him through the door. A bell over the lintel sounded, and the scent of ink greeted her, but no one occupied the front section of the shop. A scuffed wooden customer counter dominated the small space, front and center, while a ceiling-tall shelf loomed to the left, offering more stationery and cardstock. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk sounds carried to them through an open doorway behind the customer counter.

  Chris came up beside Maddie, hands stuffed in his pants pockets. “Maybe the owner is out to lunch.”

  Maddie checked her watch. It was pushing noon. “With the machinery running? I don’t think so.” She took a step toward the counter.

  “Hold your horses. I’ll be right out,” a scratchy voice called from the interior of the building.

  The rhythm of the machine slowed and then abruptly ceased. A thin, older man with a slight stoop in his walk emerged from the workroom, wiping his hands on a rag. His bibbed apron over denim pants and a button-down shirt reminded Maddie of a newspaperman’s get-up from the old West. The scowl that deepened the wrinkles on his narrow face smoothed away at the sight of them.

  He let out a small grunt. “Thought you were the paper-product sales guy. Usually shows up about this time.”

  “Not a welcome event, I take it?” Chris chuckled.

  The printer lifted one side of his mouth in a half grimace, half smile. “I’m a dinosaur, and a lot of these products for newfangled contraptions confuse me. I should probably retire and sell the place, but I seem to have ink in my blood.” He laid his rag on the countertop. “What can I do for you folks today?”

  Chris held out one of the bookmarks. “I think you printed these.”

  “Let me see.” The man plucked a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and perched them on his sharp nose. He peered at the printed strip of cardstock. “Yep. ’Bout a year ago. Nice lady in a wheelchair. Do you like it? Are you interested in a similar job? I could set you up with—”

  The jangle of the entry bell cut the man’s words short. Maddie whirled and instinctively placed herself between the newcomer and Chris. Tension ebbed from her muscles. If the print-shop owner resembled a newspaperman from a B Western, the young man slouching through the door was nearly a dead ringer for a scruffy Marty McFly Jr. from Back to the Future II—minus the high-tech jacket. This late teen/early twentysomething wore a T-shirt that said, Do Not Disturb. I’m Disturbed Enough Already. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to relax.

  The scowl reappeared on the shop man’s face. “Figured you’d be by today.”

  “Like clockwork, y’know. Ready to serve your stationery needs.” He smirked and waggled a thin catalog in his hand that featured a variety of paper and ink supplies on the cover.

  The paper salesman’s grin sent a shock wave down Maddie’s spine. She’d seen warmer smiles on a bleached s
kull. Actually, the young man’s face resembled a skull—sallow skin stretched tight across prominent bones. A fevered brightness glinted from his pale blue eyes. Not a healthy specimen. She exchanged glances with Chris, whose lips had thinned to a flat line.

  “You want the usual order?” Ignoring Maddie and Chris, the salesman barged between them and slapped the catalog onto the counter.

  The shop owner jerked at the whiplike sound, but he lifted his chin. “Business has been a little slow lately. I made out a list.” He reached into a drawer beneath the counter and handed a slip of lined paper to the young man.

  The salesman scanned the list and clicked his tongue. “People gotta pay their bills, y’know. Including me. I work on commission. What would happen if everybody cut their orders in half? I couldn’t pay my rent, and I’d get evicted. You don’t want that to happen, do ya?” He finished his little speech with a laugh. Not a nice one.

  Maddie’s teeth gritted together. This kid might look a little like a sickly Marty McFly, but he was the half-wit bully Biff in an undersize body. Chris cleared his throat, and the young salesman shot him a glance then transferred his attention to Maddie.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” he said. “Don’t you have some shopping to do so this hardworking printer can stay busy?”

  The guy was nuts. Certifiable. And on something that made him potentially dangerous.

  Maddie scooped up the sales catalog and rolled it into a tight baton. “Don’t you have an order to fill?”

  The salesman jutted his jaw and met Maddie’s glare. She tapped the catalog baton in the palm of her other hand. Her peripheral vision noted Chris move in closer. If this kid didn’t back down, he was going to get clobbered from two sides.

  “On second thought,” the shop owner burst out, “I’ll take the usual order.”

  “Buy more supplies than you can use?” Chris said. “I don’t think so. No salesman in his right mind wants his customers overstocked. That would cut into future orders and impact the profitability of his employer and the businesses he services.”

  A tremor shivered the salesman’s too-lean body, and he blinked those reptilian eyes at Maddie, then turned toward Chris. A full head taller, shoulders squared, Chris smiled down at the younger man and settled a fist on the countertop. Maddie allowed herself in inner smirk. The TV newsman might not be a soldier, but he had savvy and spine to go along with his smarts.

  The belligerence faded from the salesman’s stance. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll go get the stuff out of the truck. Leave it on the pallet out back like usual?” He jerked his chin toward the shop owner.

  The businessman offered a trembly smile. “That would be fine. The door is already open because I knew you’d be by any minute.”

  The young man slouched outside, three pairs of eyes following him.

  Chris turned toward the printer. “I assume you purchased the card stock for the bookmark from the company represented by our departed salesman.”

  “Indeed, I did. They pretty much have a corner on the paper business in our area. Their prices are decent, but the turnover rate in sales reps is ridiculous. I never know who is going to show up, and I usually don’t like them. Maybe they don’t pay well enough to attract a better quality of employee, and that’s why their prices stay reasonable.”

  Chris let out a soft hum. “You could be right about that.”

  Small sounds drifted from the back of the shop. Maddie met Chris’s gaze, and he tilted his head the slightest degree in that direction. She swallowed a smile. Time to supervise a delivery.

  Chris motioned toward the businessman. “Why don’t you show me some more of your stationery options? I see some I like.”

  The printer grinned as he came around the counter and joined Chris in front of the display shelf. Maddie glided into the back room and passed between several pieces of equipment. Most of the machines looked as if they came from a bygone era, though traces of fresh ink and partially finished projects attested that they were still in use. A few of the more compact machines were from the current digital age. Despite his comment about being a “dinosaur,” the shop owner must be trying to educate himself on new technology.

  At the rear of the workroom, the Biff-McFly salesman had propped the back door open and was carrying cases of products from a van into the shop. Head down, he was muttering to himself and gave no sign that he noticed Maddie as she took up an observation post in a shadow near a sorting counter. Crackhead if she’d ever seen one.

  What kind of business hired dopers on a regular basis? One linked with the drug trade? Her gaze found the name on the outside of a box. Rio Grande Paper Supply. Chris ought to be able to get an address and directions to the place from his smart phone.

  The salesman set a small stack of boxes labeled Toner on top of a larger stack of paper cases, then dusted his hands together. His gaze zeroed in on one of the newer pieces of equipment and a smirk formed on his face. Darting a glance toward the front of the store, where Chris’s voice alternated with the printer’s, he scooted to the machine and reached toward it. Maddie cleared her throat. The young man jerked and stared around, gaze finally alighting on her. His mouth fell open.

  “Nice day, isn’t it?” she said. Unless she missed her guess, the shop owner would have found that piece of equipment sabotaged when he returned to work back here.

  “Um, yeah.” The would-be vandal’s head went down, and he hustled out the door. His vehicle departed with a screech of tires.

  Shaking her head, Maddie kicked the doorstop away from the rear exit and closed and locked the door, then returned to the front of the building. The printer shot her a startled glance as she joined him and Chris, but didn’t pause in ringing up the total for a box of stationery lying on the counter.

  Moments later, she and Chris exited the store and climbed into Ginger.

  “Rio Grande Paper Supply,” she said.

  “Roger that,” he responded and pulled out his phone.

  Maddie chuckled. “There’s hope yet that you’ll get army-trained.”

  Chris grinned. “And you are about to take a major new step in your investigative training.”

  She awarded him a questioning look.

  “Stakeout, here we come.”

  “I thought only cops did that stuff.”

  “You have much to learn, Grasshopper. Much to learn. First stop, a grocery store to stock up on food and beverages. Surveillance can be hungry, thirsty work.”

  “And boring.”

  “That, too.”

  “But not too boring, I hope. This needs to be a breakthrough.”

  “I concur.”

  Maddie pulled the Oldsmobile into traffic, gnawing gently on one edge of her lower lip. It was amazing—and a little weird and scary—how the two of them worked together like they’d known each other for life. A look...a nod...and they each seemed to know what the other was thinking. A friend of hers once told her such intuitive communication happened between old married couples or budding soul mates. Whoa! Did this mean her heart was in danger of being captured by a traitor to his country?

  She couldn’t allow that. Whatever it took, she’d keep a close guard on her feelings.

  * * *

  Now what was bugging this prickly woman? Chris had thought they were starting to forge a bond, maybe get past some of the suspicion, but she’d gone stiff and silent while they shopped for supplies. Then they’d scouted out the location of the paper-manufacturing plant on the outskirts of the city and found a promising perch in the shade of some bushes on a boulder-strewn ridge above the sprawling factory. All the while, she’d shared scarcely a word with him. Now she sat cross-legged beside him on the ground, crunching an apple, gaze fixed on the activity—or lack thereof—below, as if he didn’t exist.

  Maybe it was time to clear the air and ta
lk about some things that stomped around both their psyches like the elephant that refused to be ignored one second longer. Would she answer a few questions if he prodded a bit? One way to find out. He opened his mouth.

  “Location, location, location.” The statement popped from her lips and bridled Chris’s tongue. “Look at the setup down there.” She gestured with the core of her apple. “Main plant half the size of a football field. Warehouse half again that size and a fleet of semis backed up to assorted bays. Not to mention the vans handling local business. All located less than a mile from the Rio Grande and surrounded by gullies and washes offering perfect cover for the importation of drugs by mule-back. I think we’ve struck gold here. Now we just need something concrete to verify our suspicions.”

  Chris lifted their newly purchased binoculars to his eyes. The sprawling parking lot and front entrance of the factory snapped into close view. “Pretty quiet down there. Minor comings and goings, but normal for a business this size. I suppose we’ll see mass exodus at quitting time. If anything hinky is going to take place, it will likely happen after dark.”

  “Roger that. I’m going to take a siesta.” Maddie settled back against a rock and closed her eyes.

  “So what do you remember?”

  Her eyes popped open. “About what?”

  “You know. The night of the attack.”

  A long sigh hissed between her lips, and her back straightened. “Do we need to talk about this now?”

  “If not now, then when?”

  “I don’t know.” Maddie drew her legs up to her chest.

  Silence fell, but she didn’t lapse into her napping pose. Chris waited for her decision to talk...or not.

  “I was standing at the river’s edge, watching moonlight play spooky games on the water,” she said at last. “And thinking about...things.”

  Her gaze pierced him as if he should know what things she meant. Something that involved him?