“Interpol came through for us. The guy’s kept a low profile for the most part, but they finally managed to track him when one of their undercover agents thought she recognized him. From there, it was only a matter of time.”
Gisella eyed Brock. His furrowed brow told her he was listening to the conversation with intent curiosity. She didn’t mind; she’d have to fill him in anyway.
Anderson continued his report. “Mr. Morton is still under 24/7 guard as we don’t want to take a chance on any more attempts on his life. Someone didn’t want him to wake up.”
“Can he communicate at all?”
“He can blink. He’s been answering some yes-or-no questions, but apparently no one is asking the right questions because every time he’s questioned he gets very agitated and his heart rate speeds up.”
“Ouch.” She winced.
“Yes. So we’ve been officially banned from his room until he recovers more.”
“Great.”
“Tell me about it.” His disgust with the situation came through loud and clear.
Gisella said, “All right, thank for the update. Let me know if anything else develops.”
“Will do. Stay out of trouble, Hernandez.”
She gave a short laugh. “Will do, Michaels.” Hanging up the phone she shook her head. While she didn’t doubt she’d earned the respect of her fellow male Rangers, every once in a while one of them would slip up and treat her like a kid sister. From them she didn’t mind it so much. But if anyone else—like Brock—tried that, she’d have his head.
Chavez snapped his gloves off and headed for the sink. “I’ll do my best to put a rush on this. No guarantees on the timeline.”
Brock nodded his thanks and pointed to the door. To Gisella, he said, “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving. You can fill me in on the way.”
Brock reached around her to pull open the heavy glass door.
As Gisella stepped past him, her shoulder brushed his chest. His hand came up to rest on her lower back as though to help escort her down the short set of stairs. Heart thumping double time at his touch, she pulled away and looked at him, confusion racing. “I can…”
The wood above the door exploded, raining bits and pieces down on them.
TWELVE
Brock shoved Gisella behind the bushes beside the porch and dove right after her. Landing with a grunt, he heard the screams of the people on the street and prayed they’d taken cover.
Gisella rolled away and gasped, “We’ve got to find better cover than these bushes.”
“Go that way.” He pointed toward a cement wall about five bushes down. Oh, God. I guess I’m praying again. Keep us safe, please.
As Gisella crawled another shot sounded and the bush in front of her shuddered as the bullet pierced the middle and buried itself into the cement behind. Fragments exploded from the building. Gisella flinched but kept moving.
Gritting his teeth, Brock stayed right behind her. She sprawled flat on the ground. He grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her up. He kept his eye on the cement wall expecting to feel a bullet slam into him at any moment.
Or watch one slam into her.
What seemed to stretch into ten minutes really only lasted for less than ten seconds.
Brock followed as Gisella threw herself behind the protection of the wall just as a bullet pinged into the building above them.
A siren sounded in the distance.
Panting, her gun in her hand, Gisella peered around the edge of the wall.
“What do you see?” His voice sounded raspy to his own ears. His heart thudded in his throat and he realized he wasn’t nearly as worried about a bullet finding him as he was about Gisella getting hurt.
A new kind of fear settled in his chest.
But he couldn’t worry about that now.
Gisella’s shoulders tensed. “I see someone on top of that grocery store. If you look at where the bullets are hitting, it makes sense.”
Brock had his phone out. The siren screamed louder. “Sheriff’s on his way, I bet.”
“Our shooter’s not getting away if I have anything to say about it.”
“What are you planning?” Brock shifted behind her. He’d already dialed the sheriff’s number, but the man wasn’t picking up. Probably on the line with someone else.
She never took her eyes from the building in front of her. “He’s got to come down. Where would you go from there?”
“I’d have a car waiting. Or at least a good escape route planned that would be easy to navigate on foot and lose anyone chasing me.”
Gisella finally looked back at him. “You want to go right while I go left?”
His slight hesitation made her frown and he told himself to get over it. She could handle herself.
And save his life while she was at it, she would no doubt remind him.
Nodding, he motioned for her to go. She did. He followed then branched off to the right. No gunshots sounded.
He made it to the back of the building and found the steps that led to the roof. Brock stopped and dialed the sheriff’s number.
Johnston answered on the first ring and barked, “What’s going on in my town, Martin?”
“We need to evacuate the grocery store on Main. Get everyone off the street and…”
“Where’s the shooter?”
“I’m going after him.” As soon as I can find him. Brock didn’t see Gisella. Where was she?
No sooner had he thought the question than he saw her dart after a fleeing figure. The masked man dodged a parked car, heading for the end of the building.
“Freeze!” Gisella shouted. The man ignored her. Gisella noted as many details about him as she could. He was taller than her, thin and light on his feet.
Brock spun on his heel and yanked at the back door to the store. Locked. Running out of time, he sped across the lot in the opposite direction Gisella had taken. He took a quick right, which brought him to the front of the store.
Just in time to see Gisella and the man coming his way. Fortunately, the front of the building was deserted. He figured the front door was probably locked, too. He gave it a tug to make sure. Relief filled him. The people inside were safe for now.
Gripping his weapon, Brock dove behind a parked vehicle and watched from underneath. An idea hit him. He wanted this guy alive and thought he might know how to go about catching him and keeping him that way.
Sliding under the truck that had been jacked up on four oversize tires, Brock lay on his back, head turned, watching, his gun ready just in case the guy decided to turn and try to get off a shot at Gisella.
Fortunately, he seemed more intent on getting away than shooting anymore. And hopefully, he was looking up and not down. Brock saw the man’s hands were empty. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a weapon on him.
Scooting closer to the edge, Brock waited.
Almost.
Now.
Brock swung a leg out from under the truck, catching the fleeing suspect in the shins.
A surprised yell escaped the man before being cut short when he slammed onto the asphalt. Another cry of pain ripped from him even as he desperately tried to keep going, crab-style. Lightning-quick, Gisella was on him while Brock scrambled from beneath the truck.
“Freeze!” she shouted again as she landed with a knee in the suspect’s back, forcing him back down. He screamed in pain, either from Gisella’s knee or the scrapes and cuts he had from head-butting the ground.
Brock made it to his feet, his eyes scanning for a weapon. Seeing none, he stepped on the suspect’s left forearm while Gisella wrestled his right wrist into one of the cuffs. Brock started patting him down while Gisella gritted, “Be still! You’re just making this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
“Let me go! You’ve got no right to do this!”
Gisella’s lips were so tight they looked almost white. “Brock, take a look at this.”
He looked where she pointed.
“I think you’re right. The question is, who is he?”
She flipped the man over and, for the first time, they got a good look at his face. “Hey, I know you,” she sputtered.
She glanced at Brock as they each grabbed an arm and pulled the man to his feet. Blood dripped from some nasty-looking cuts on his face. Gisella narrowed her eyes and said, “You’re the snarky one who stormed from the diner and told me to figure out for myself who you were.”
He offered her a sneer.
She glared. “Well, Jasper West, why were you shooting at us?”
When she said his name, he jerked as though she’d slapped him. Then glared back. But kept his mouth shut.
By this time, the sheriff had arrived with two of his deputies. Leaving his lights flashing a red warning, he hauled himself out of the vehicle. Chris Locke and Niles Vernon pulled in three seconds later.
Sheriff Johnston shoved his hat back on his head and took in the scene with a glint in his narrowed eyes. Looking at Gisella, he placed his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what to think about all the trouble that’s showing up in my town so soon after your arrival.”
Brock simply looked at the man. “Looks like we’re making a few people nervous.”
A short laugh escaped the sheriff. “I’d say. What happened?”
Brock filled him in.
Turning his attention to Jasper, the sheriff shook his head. “We’ve suspected Jasper of smuggling drugs across the border. Niles has been watching him for a while now. Let’s give him the pleasure of questioning our prisoner.” He scratched his chin.
The Border Patrol agent smirked at Jasper. “I told you I’d get you one way or another. This little stunt will earn us a search warrant, which will prove what I’ve suspected all along.”
“Hey!” Jasper protested. “I don’t smuggle drugs.”
Gisella snorted. “No, you just try to kill cops. That’s so much better.”
Jasper snarled in her direction and yelled a few choice words, which she tuned out.
“Guess we better get him cleaned up and down to the office for some questioning.” Niles gave a glance around. “Where’s the weapon?”
“Missing,” Gisella offered. “But as soon as we trace his steps, we’ll come across it. I just hope we find it before some kid gets a hold of it. Have his hands and clothing tested for gunpowder residue.”
Furrowing his brow, the sheriff jutted a jaw at Chris. “See if you can find it.”
Chris nodded and Gisella held up a hand to stop him. “He was on top of the grocery store when he took the shots. You might start there and work your way down.”
“Got it.” The deputy took off and Brock shoved the now quiet, but still clearly defiant prisoner toward the sheriff’s car.
“I guess he belongs to you now. I’d like to see if his prints match any of the ones found in Gisella’s hotel room. Get him downtown and we’ll be by soon to question him.”
A flicker of something crossed Jasper’s face and Gisella figured Brock was on to something. Brock must have noticed it, too, because he leaned in and asked, “Bought any red spray paint lately?”
Jasper’s lip curled and he looked like he wanted to spit in Brock’s eye. Instead of giving him the opportunity, Brock pulled back and slammed the door. “Good riddance.”
Gisella sidled up to Brock as Sheriff Johnston drove Jasper the short distance to the jail located behind the sheriff’s office. “Heard anything from your friend in the lab?”
He looked at his phone. “Nope. She’ll call when she has something ready for me.”
Gisella cut her eyes at him. “I knew it was a ‘she.’”
Questioning Jasper West was the top priority. If he had information that could lead them to the Lions of Texas’s head honcho, Gisella wanted it. Now.
She strode into the office the sheriff used as an interrogation room and looked at Jasper. He sat at the table head tilted listening to the man on his left.
Brock stood behind her.
The sheriff sat at the table opposite the lawyer and his client filling out paperwork.
Jasper already had a lawyer. Brock raised a brow and looked at Gisella. “That was fast.”
Sheriff Johnston looked up from his papers. “I let him call from the car.” He gave a shrug. “I figured the faster he got here, the faster we could get everything done. Simon Holmes, Boot Hill’s busiest lawyer.”
Simon Holmes lifted his brow. “I’m the only lawyer.”
Gisella sat next to the sheriff, noting that Mr. Holmes looked to be in his early sixties with gray hair and sharp green eyes.
Brock stepped farther into the room and took up residence against the wall. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Do you mind if we ask a few questions?”
The lawyer looked at him. “Go ahead. I’ll direct him as to whether or not he should answer.”
Brock looked at the man who’d shot at them. “Who told you to kill us?”
Without waiting for his lawyer’s input, Jasper gave a snort. “If I’d been told to kill you, you’d be dead.”
“Jasper…” the lawyer muttered under his breath.
Gisella tapped her lips and gave him a thoughtful look. “You weren’t working on your own. You had orders.” Her soft voice brought them all to attention. “Someone doesn’t like the questions we’re asking. You can sit there and deny it all you want, but we’re making someone nervous. I know you don’t care about helping us out, but do you really want to take the fall for this all alone?”
Jasper licked his lips and his gaze darted, bouncing off everyone in the room before landing on the table in front of him. Then he gave a small smile. “You’re right. I don’t want to take the fall. And I won’t. I got friends. I’ll get out of this because I didn’t do anything.”
“Jasper, that’s enough.” Mr. Holmes clasped his hands in front of him.
A knock on the door swung their attention to Chris Locke who joined them—with a rifle in his gloved right hand.
Gisella sat up straight. “Is that the weapon?”
Chris nodded. “I’m willing to bet it is. Ballistics will have to confirm it. I found it in a Dumpster out behind the back of the grocery store.” He sniffed it. “Recently fired. I’m getting ready to send it to the lab in El Paso. Just have to wrap it up and ship it off.”
Jasper simply looked at them. Gisella frowned. He didn’t appear to be worried about the fact that they had the rifle. “Jasper, are we going to find your prints on this weapon?”
He smirked. “I doubt it.”
Gisella huffed a disgusted sigh. “One more question. Did you kill Ina?”
“Ina who?” The tip of his tongue circled his lips then he made a popping sound. It was all Gisella could do to contain herself. She wanted to launch across the table, grasp his neck and demand he tell her what she wanted to know.
Instead, she stood and looked at the sheriff. “I’m not wasting any more time on him.”
The sheriff grunted, stood and pulled Jasper to his feet. “Come on. Maybe some time in your cell all alone with your thoughts will make you feel like talking.”
The sheriff led Jasper away and Gisella dropped her head in her hands.
Once they were alone, Brock asked, “Are you all right?”
She looked up. “I’m fine. Just trying to figure out the next step.”
“Let’s go over what we know.”
“We know drugs are coming in over the border into Boot Hill.”
“And someone in this town knows something.”
Gisella pursed her lips. “Ina knew something.”
“But her boyfriend didn’t.”
She cocked her head. “What about her family?”
He nodded. “I think that might be the next step. At least until we can get Mr. West to cooperate and tell us what he knows.”
“I did. I want to dig a little deeper into his background and see who his friends are.”
Together they rose and Gisella pulled out her phone to call her boss. Ben answered on the second ring.
“What do you have for me, Gisella?”
“A lot of puzzle pieces, but none that seem to fit together very well.” She filled him on the latest.
“What do you need from me?”
“I need some background on Jasper West. I want to know what his connections are.”
“All right. I’ll have someone get right on that and get back to you.”
She thanked him. “How is Quin Morton? Is he talking yet? Any progress there?”
A sigh filtered to her. “Not really. The doctors still won’t let us in to question him like we need to.”
Frustration ate at her. This whole case could be blown wide open if the man with the answers would wake up and talk.
But until that happened, she had to keep digging, keep after the answers and find them some other way. “All right, Ben. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.”
She hung up and looked at Brock. “You want to question Ina’s friends and family?”
“Let’s go.”
As they exited the building, he placed a hand at the small of her back and this time the ripples of awareness that shivered up her spine didn’t surprise her. From the corner of her eye, she looked at the man beside her. In a different time, a different place…he would have been a definite possibility.
THIRTEEN
Ina’s home sat on about an acre of land on the outskirts of the small town. The double-wide trailer with its trimmed hedges and overflowing flower pots said someone took care of it even though money was in short supply.
A pickup truck sat in the yard and a pitbull stood to attention when they pulled up in front.
“Can we get past the dog to knock on the door?” Brock muttered.
“I think he’s tied to that tree.”
“You think? Let’s make sure.”
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