She blushed. Clearing her throat, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A glance that could be interpreted as flirtatious, but he didn’t think she meant it that way.
Did she?
He opened his mouth to continue, but before he could finish his spiel and reciprocate with questions, he noticed Krista on her way back from the kitchen, an overflowing plate in each hand.
The other waitress, a plain-looking girl in her mid-twenties, stopped Krista and said something. A frown crossed Krista’s face but she nodded. Krista’s coworker cast them another glance then ducked her head as she made her way to the next table.
Krista set their plates in front of them. “Enjoy.” She spun on her heel and took off back toward the kitchen. Brock inhaled a lungful of the delicious aromas, picked up his fork and dug in. Spearing the fluffy scrambled eggs with his fork, he dipped it in the butter-laden grits. “I’ll say this for small towns, they sure know good food….” He broke off when he saw Gisella had her eyes closed.
A few seconds later, she opened them. He flushed and said, “Sorry.”
“No problem. Just saying a short grace. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Before he could respond that he wasn’t embarrassed by the prayer, but his own thoughtlessness, Krista returned to refill their water and coffee cups.
Glancing behind her, she leaned closer and almost whispered. “Ina, the other waitress, wants to know if you’re here investigating the drug smuggling that goes on around here.”
Brock straightened, eyes locked on the young girl. “Yes, we are. What do you know about that?”
She shrugged, reached out and knocked a glass off the table. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
Kneeling, the girl cast a worried glance in the direction of the men in the corner then whispered, “Nothing, except I overheard some people talking about you. And I may be young, but even I know the smuggling is going on all the time.” She focused on wiping up the rest of the water. In a normal tone of voice, she said, “I’ll be right back with another glass for you.”
Krista carried the empty glass and wet towel back toward the kitchen.
“She meant to knock that glass off,” Brock said.
“That’s what I thought, too. She was covering up the fact that she wanted to talk to us.”
“She also already had that large towel in preparation to clean up the spill.”
Gisella looked at him, impressed. “Yes, she did.”
Krista returned with a fresh glass and placed it on the table in front of Gisella. “I have a friend who wants to talk to you, but she can’t be seen with you. She said to wait for her to contact you but needs your number.”
Without another word, she grabbed a couple of their empty plates and sauntered off toward the kitchen. Brock watched Gisella discreetly scan the area behind them. Lifting her coffee cup to her lips, she murmured, “The other waitress is being watched by the three men in the corner booth. And so are we.”
“You think they might be a good place to start the questioning?”
“Definitely.”
Brock pulled out his wallet and placed a few bills on the table along with his card that had his cell phone number on it. “Hopefully, Krista will pass that on to her friend.” He finished off his coffee. “So, how are you at ambushing unsuspecting old men?”
Gisella grinned, took another sip of her water and stood. “I’m ready to find out.”
She slipped from the booth and headed to the three men who seemed to take such an interest in her and Brock’s presence.
As she approached, they fell quiet and watched her. One raised a bushy gray brow and another gulped a swallow of soda. The third one simply narrowed his eyes.
Gisella slipped an easy smile on her lips and said, “Good morning. I’m Ranger Gisella Hernandez and this is my partner, Brock Martin, with the DEA. How are y’all doing?”
She got two nods and one howdy from the eldest of the trio. He looked to be at least ninety years old with only four or five teeth left in his mouth. In a voice long abused probably by cigarettes if the unlit one he let dangle from his lips was any indication, he rasped, “Guess you noticed us watching ya, huh?”
“I did. Which led me to believe you might be open to answering a few questions.”
“We were watching you, but it wasn’t because we wanted to answer any questions,” snarled the youngest of the trio, a man in his early thirties. His lip curled and he crossed his arms across his chest as he looked Gisella up and down in a way that sent ripples of disgust through her. “We got law enforcement in this town. Don’t need no uppity Ranger and her sidekick coming along stirring things up.”
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Brock’s hand curling into a fist. Gisella squinted and kept her voice pleasant. “I’ve met your sheriff and one of his deputies. They seem quite competent. And I promise I’m not trying to ‘stir’ anything up. Drugs are coming in across the border at a rapid rate. We’re just trying to do our best to help keep your town safe.”
The man’s lip didn’t uncurl.
His buddy next to him, one who looked to be in his early forties, had on a plaid shirt and a cowboy hat that had seen better days. She could smell it from where she stood.
However, he looked like he might be less hostile toward her. She addressed her question to him. “I need to know if you know of anyone with the initials JZ.”
The oldest man lifted a hand to rub his stubbled chin. “JZ. Can’t think of anyone right off with those initials. Sorry.”
The other two shook their heads in unison.
“What about RP and QV?” Brock asked.
“Well, there’s Ruben Perez,” the youngest one offered. “He’s the pastor out at the little church along Triple Spur Road.” He gave a snicker. “Can’t see him having nothing to do with anything that might require a hotshot like you to come after him.”
Gisella nodded and noted the name then offered a friendly smile. “Glad to hear it. Thanks for the name. If you think of anyone else, would you give me a call?” She pulled a card from her pocket and handed one to each man. The eldest of the trio looked to be the most open, eyeing her and Brock with curiosity, an amused glint in his gaze.
Interesting. Not one of them had bothered with an introduction. “Could we get your names in case we have any more questions?”
The surly young one stood. “You’re the Ranger, you figure it out.” He stomped from the restaurant.
The old geezer chuckled. “Aw, don’t mind him. Jasper’s a might testy lately. Been trying to keep the coyotes off his land. They’re getting braver every year.”
Coyotes, she wondered. Or was he involved in something else that gave him a nasty attitude toward law enforcement?
She registered the name. “Does Jasper have a last name?”
A flush darkened his face as he gave a tug on the smelly cowboy hat. “Jasper West. I’m Clarence Ponder.”
“And I’m Carlos Ortez.”
Gisella gave a nod. “Well, gentlemen, thank you very much for talking to us. I’m sure we’ll be in touch should we need anything.”
Clarence winked at her and gave her a close-to-toothless grin. “I might be able to think of something if it means getting to talk to you again, pretty lady.”
Gisella felt the flush rise into her neck and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Ponder.”
Five minutes later, they had directions to the little church where Ruben Perez was the pastor.
Stepping outside the restaurant, Gisella paused and looked at the small town’s main street. “You know, if not for the cars, this place could pass for an old Western town from back in the day.”
“Definitely,” he murmured.
He was listening, but not to her. Gisella’s senses immediately sharpened and the hair on the back of her neck snapped to attention. “What is it?”
“I feel like someone’s watching us.”
She gave a light snort. “I’ve felt that way since we got here.”
“Yeah, me, too. But this is more. It’s like the calm before the storm. Eerie and silent, and then bam, it hits.”
She shivered. “Okay, now you’re starting to spook me.”
He didn’t smile. “Call it instinct after years of being a cop and now DEA. It’s the same feeling I had when Lenny pulled that gun on me. Only I didn’t listen to it then. I’m listening now.”
“Then we need to be extra careful,” she muttered.
“Why don’t we head over to the church and see if the pastor is there? What he has to say will determine our next steps.”
“And let’s watch our backs as we go.”
SEVEN
“Come in.”
Pastor Ruben Perez opened his office door and beckoned them to enter. Fortunately, the part-time secretary had been in her office when Brock called and asked to see the pastor. He’d been waiting for them.
Perez slipped behind his desk and asked, “What can I do for you?”
Brock held the door for Gisella. As she stepped inside, her shoulder brushed his chest and he caught his breath. Being so close to her did strange things to his pulse. Not that he’d never been attracted to a woman before, but he’d never been attracted to someone like Gisella. One who understood his job for starters. One who didn’t let him intimidate her. And one who wasn’t attracted to him because she thought cops were glamorous.
Very strange.
But was it worth the possible heartache of pursuing?
Gisella sat in the rickety wooden chair and it wobbled. She caught herself and the pastor flushed. “Sorry, we’re a poor church and…” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I thought mi hermano, my brother, had fixed that thing.” He stood. “Here, take mine.”
“No, it’s fine.” She perched carefully and smiled at the man. Brock watched the pastor relax under the influence of her charm.
He paused. Is that what he was doing? Falling for her charm? Maybe. He raised his guard a bit.
She said, “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
“No problemo.” He gave a shrug and Brock judged him to be in his early forties. A tall man who easily topped six feet, he exuded a sincerity that Brock found intriguing.
She leaned forward. “We’re here investigating reports of drug runners in the area and wondered if you might be able to tell us anything.”
The pastor held up a hand. “I don’t get involved in that stuff. I know that some members of my congregation are. However, we have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy.”
Gisella frowned. “Is that safe?”
Ruben sighed and rubbed his cheek. “It is the only way I can build a relationship with the people here. I am not from here originally, therefore I’m still considered an outsider. However—” he lifted a finger for emphasis “—after seven years, they are beginning to trust me, allowing me into their homes, permitting me to help them and to pray for them.”
“Very admirable,” Brock interjected, “but your initials were found in a book that has information about drug running here in Boot Hill.” Okay, so they didn’t exactly know that the RP in the book had anything to do with the man in front of him, but why come out and say so?
“My initials?” A black brow shot south. “What made you assume the letters referred to me?”
Gisella shot Brock an irritated look. “We didn’t just assume that, Pastor Perez. However, when we asked around as to who the initials could belong to, your name came up.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I see. Well, I can assure you I have nothing to do with the drug running. I am doing my best to stop it, too.” He smiled. “I just use prayers and love instead of guns.”
Brock’s phone buzzed. He looked at the number and didn’t recognize it. Excusing himself, he stepped outside the office and took the call. “Martin.”
Silence.
“Hello?” he barked.
“Um…are you the one who wants information about the people involved in the drugs?” Brock barely made out the words; the whisper was almost nonexistent, but he thought it sounded like a young woman.
“Yes, who is this?” He thought it was probably the girl from the restaurant. Ina something.
“Could you meet me tonight? Will you pay me for information?”
He snatched the opportunity. “Sure, where do you want to meet?”
“The graveyard on the east end of town.”
His stomach clenched. “Why there?”
“I want to show you something. You have to see to understand.”
“See what?”
“I won’t tell you until I have the money, but you will be glad you came.”
“Fine. I’ll be there. What time?”
“Nine o’clock. You bring the money, too?” Her voice wavered as though unsure whether or not to ask.
He went along. “How much?”
“One, no, two hundred dollars. Sí, two hundred.”
An amateur. She hadn’t thought this all out. She’d sounded sure about the meeting place and time, but not the amount of money. Was it an impulse idea to sell the information?
“This better be some good stuff.”
“Sí, very good, I promise.”
Brock hung up the phone as Gisella and the pastor exited the office.
He waved the phone at her. “We have another appointment.”
Curiosity lit her eyes, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she said to Ruben, “Thank you for talking to us. If you can think of anything that might help us, just give us a call.”
“I have your card. I will do so.”
Back in the car, Brock filled her in on the conversation he’d just had. She glanced at her watch. “It’s not even noon yet. I want to go out to the border crossing and talk to some of the agents, however, I really feel like if we focus on the information in that book, it’s going to blow this drug smuggling case wide open.”
“So, the border? Or the hotel?”
Gisella blew out a sigh. “I guess the hotel for now. We can study the book for a bit and if we don’t come up with something, we can make our way over to the border crossing. It’s not far from here and I want to get out there soon.”
Brock turned toward the hotel. “Sounds like a great plan.”
She leaned her head back against the headrest. “I don’t know. With the book, I just keep hoping something’s going to jump out at us.”
Brock snorted. “Right.” Then he looked at her and shrugged. “Why not?”
He wouldn’t mind spending a little time with her. He wanted to ask her some personal questions but didn’t want to put her on her guard with him—any more than she already was. That he wanted to get to know her bothered him.
A lot of things about her bothered him.
Like the fact that he thought she might be the first woman since his ex-fiancée that he could actually find himself caring about.
The little sliver of fear that darted through him shook him.
To the core.
Putting his heart back out there would take a courage he wasn’t sure he had. He thought he might prefer facing armed drug runners.
“Are you okay?”
He jerked and looked at her. “Oh. Yeah. Fine. Why?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t know. Something seems to be bothering you.”
Hoping his year-round tan hid the flush he could feel working its way up the back of his neck, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sorry, just thinking about how we’re going to figure out where those drugs are coming from. I really do think we’re on to something here.”
“I agree.”
He pulled into the hotel parking lot and he noticed the scene from last night was gone. Except for the charred area of the asphalt, no one would suspect anything out of the ordinary had happened the night before.
Climbing out, she asked, “You want to meet in the conference room if it’s available? I think I saw a sign that said they had Wi-Fi there.”
Brock shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought thi
s place would be that technologically advanced.”
“I didn’t say it worked. I said I saw a sign.”
He gave a low chuckle, appreciating her dry humor. “If it doesn’t, I have a broadband card.”
“Although, I have to say, for a small town, this hotel has really surprised me.”
“I’m with you there.”
“I’ll get my computer and see you in a few—” She came to the door to her room and stopped, reached for her weapon and motioned for him to do the same.
“What is it?” he whispered. Stepping up behind her, he froze. Her door was cracked. Mimicking her actions, he reached for his gun.
From the side, she toed the door open. It swung in without a sound. Odd. This morning it had groaned like an old man getting out of bed.
Brock stood opposite her, his stance saying he was ready. In one smooth move, she rounded the door jam and pointed her weapon.
Into an empty room.
One that had been ransacked. Pillows lay on the floor, her bag had been tossed, her cell phone charger pulled from the wall. She wondered if her laptop was still under the mattress.
Brock tread on silent feet to her left, then ahead of her. He cocked his head to the bathroom. She nodded and slipped to the bathroom door.
Crouching, she peered around the door and aimed her gun into the small area. Brock followed, weapon held ready. He swung around the entrance to aim at the tub.
Gisella pulled in a deep breath and shot a glance at Brock. The shower curtain had been pulled shut. She always left it open. Stepping into the bathroom to check behind the curtain could sign her death warrant.
She held up a finger to Brock in a signal to wait. Silently lifting herself to her feet, she stepped back into the room and grabbed a pillow from the bed.
Back at the entrance to the bathroom, standing off to the side so if someone decided to shoot she wouldn’t be a target, she slung the pillow blindly at the shower curtain. She heard it drop into the tub with a thud. A quick glance around the door showed the shower curtain fluttering. No one waited behind it.
Gisella felt her muscles relax. “Clear.”
Threat of Exposure Page 6