Threat of Exposure

by Lynette Eason

  “I think so.”

  She glanced around one more time, eyes probing the darkness beyond. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. Another shiver racked her, this time from the cold, and she was grateful for the heavy coat and gloves.

  They made their way through the wrought-iron gates, cautious and alert. A sound scraped behind her and Gisella whirled a hand on her gun as Brock palmed his own weapon and they slipped behind a large mausoleum to her right. “What was that?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure,” he whispered back. “I don’t see anything.”

  Gisella, positioned behind the large building, felt a flash of déjà vu again. Any moment now, she expected gunshots to break the silence and pound the ground around her. Brock slid close to her, his focus on the area where the sound had come from. Softly, he said, “I brought a flashlight just in case, but I’d hate to use it. I don’t want anyone seeing it and coming to investigate yet.”

  Her eyes caught movement. A shadow to her left. With her gun in her right hand, she reached out to grab Brock’s arm and squeezed.

  He understood and froze. Her heart pounded. Was someone following them?

  Breaths coming in shallow pants as her adrenaline surged, she simply waited.

  And heard the faint sound of rustling pebbles. Brock tensed so she knew he heard it, too.

  They waited.

  And then Brock let out a small laugh. Gisella started. “What is it?”

  “Look.”

  Gisella squinted and finally made out the form of a large dog standing still, eyes glowing in the faint moonlight. A pup hung from her jaws. With a warning growl, she took a step toward them.

  Brock backed up and spoke low. “Go on, girl, we’re not here for you.” Gisella felt Brock’s hand clasp hers and pull her back, away from the headstone. She knew he didn’t like dogs but admired the fact that he didn’t let his fear rule him. She absently wished he’d transfer that over into other parts of his life. Like the one where fear seemed to rule his heart.

  Together, they gave the animal her space and she loped off into the trees beyond the entrance.

  Gisella pulled in a deep breath, shelved her personal thoughts and holstered her gun. “Now,” she said looking back at the book, “where were we?”

  “This way.”

  They made their way to the back of the cemetery. Finally, lights from the border fence filtered through, cutting the darkness better than the moon.

  Using her flashlight as a necessary evil, Gisella consulted the picture of the map on her phone, compared it to the map in the book one more time. “Okay, we’re almost there.”

  A moment later, she came to the area they’d been looking for. “X marks the spot.”

  NINETEEN

  Several graves surrounded a large mausoleum. A small cement building, it stood alone. A single light burned at the right edge of the roof, casting an eerie glow on the nearby graves. Wrought-iron bars covered the double cement doors from top to bottom. The right door was cracked. Ignoring the spooky-looking building, Brock moved forward and started examining the letters on the nearest headstones. “Lawrence Polk.”

  “Nope.”

  “Rosalinda Pena.”

  “RP. That could be one of them.”

  He heard the excitement in her voice and shot her a smile. “Looks like your hunch might be paying off.”

  He moved to the next one. “Not this one.” Then the next and the next until he felt his heart thud with his own excitement. “Quaid Vess.”

  She moved next to him and breathed, “QV.”

  Brock hurried to the next one. “Not this one.” He moved on.

  “It’ll make a triangle.”

  Stopping, he looked at the mausoleum, made a judgment based on the location of the other two graves and said, “Here.” He stooped to brush away a tangle of leaves coming from the greenery in the vase perched on top of the headstone. Satisfaction surged. “Jim Zachary.”

  “JZ. We found them.” Her eyes glowed in the dim light.

  “But we’re not done,” he reminded her.

  She let out a laugh. “Not by a long shot, but this is what I call progress.” Pulling out her phone, she tapped at the keys for a few seconds, then slid it in her back pocket.

  Probably letting her fellow Rangers or her boss know what they’d found.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she spun in a slow circle. “So, we found it. I totally believe this is a huge breakthrough in the case. But what did we find?” She looked at her watch. He knew she was worried that she was right and at eleven o’clock the bad guys might show up.

  Brock studied the layout. The triangle. The mausoleum in the middle. “Look at that page with the map of the cemetery again.”

  She did and held it angled toward a sliver of light so he could see it. “Okay, there are the three graves. And look. In the middle. Another set of initials. We haven’t found those.”

  “But that would put them right where the mausoleum is.”

  She cocked her head. “Then I guess we need to go in there.”

  “I agree. What time is it?”

  “10:40.”

  “Pretty quiet around here for something to be going down in twenty minutes.”

  She nodded, disappointment reflected in her gaze. “I agree. Maybe I was wrong about what the eleven meant after all.”

  Brock placed his hand on the mausoleum door and pulled. It opened without a sound. Gisella stared at it with a raised brow. “Now that’s just not right.”

  “You noticed that, too?”

  “Of course. This isn’t the most well-kept cemetery. I expected that door to groan and creak like my grandma’s joints.” She stepped inside then looked back at him. “I can’t see a thing. I think the flashlight might be all right to use in here. Necessary, in fact.”

  He pulled it from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Let me just shut the door before you turn it on.”

  He didn’t think anyone was watching. Then again, he didn’t know for sure, so wasn’t going to take any chances. Carefully, he pulled the door toward him leaving a finger’s-width crack just like he’d found it. “Let me block the crack in the door with my body then you can turn on the light.”

  “Good idea. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  He shifted his body then said, “Go ahead.”

  He heard her flip the switch.

  Light bathed the tomb and she gasped.

  Gisella stared at her eerie surroundings. She was inside a tomb with the door shut. And she was alive. Not exactly how she pictured her interment.

  Her heart skipped a beat then pounded faster. Three coffins surrounded her. She wondered where the occupants now spent their eternal days.

  Walking to the first coffin, she stared down at it. It was a metal casket that looked like it had been there awhile. A plaque attached to the top of it read, “Lilly Smith. 1929-1999. Beloved wife to Harold Smith.”

  Gisella swung the flashlight to the second coffin. “Hmm. My guess is that’s Harold over there. What do you think?”

  Brock’s eyes followed the path of her light. “Yep, it’s Harold. 1919-1982. Beloved husband to Lilly Smith. Short and simple. I like that. Hey,” his voice sharpened, “shine your light over to the left a little, will you?”

  She complied. “What is it?” The beam of the light came into contact with what had caught his interest and she blew out a sharp breath. “Oh.”

  A skeleton. Scattered along the wall. Empty sockets stared back at her from the skull and even though she didn’t spook easily, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. Gisella shifted closer and said softly, “Okay, why is this person not where he or she belongs?”

  “Good question.”

  Gieslla ran the light over the skeleton, focusing on the skull. “Hmm. A hole in the temple. This was either murder or suicide,” she muttered.

  Brock pointed to the third coffin, interrupting her musings. “Look. Does the lid on that one look odd?”

  Gi
sella peered closer. “Yes, now that you mention it.”

  He moved from the door, pressed his fingertips underneath the edge of it and lifted. It opened without a sound. Just like the door.

  Heart thudding, Gisella pointed the light down into the coffin and sucked in a lungful of air. “Brock, do you see what I see?”

  “A ladder.”

  “They pulled that body out of this coffin and turned it into…whatever they turned it into.”

  She looked at the metal structure that had been bolted into the dirt wall. Then she glanced up at him. “Take a deep breath. Did you notice the air quality in here, too?”

  He did as she suggested then nodded. “It’s not musty or moldy like it’s been closed up.”

  “Someone is in here on a regular basis.”

  He peered over the edge. “I think we just found how our drug runners are getting across the border so effectively.”

  “I think you’re right. Are you coming?” Excitement sounded in her voice.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  She shot him a grin then swinging a leg over the edge of the coffin, eased herself down onto the first step. She flashed the light in front of her. “Let’s see where this goes.”

  Brock followed close behind her. Gisella aimed the light, first in one direction, then another. A flash of white along the bottom edge of the dirt wall caught her eye.

  Swooping in like a bird of prey, she zeroed in on the item. She knelt. “A small package of drugs?” she questioned.

  “A lab would have to confirm it, of course, but I’m guessing it’s not baby powder. Must have fallen out of someone’s bag and he didn’t catch it.”

  Gisella snagged her phone from the clip on her pants. “I think it’s time to bring in the cavalry.” She punched in Ben’s number. He would arrange to send in the authorities from the Border Patrol to set up a watch and see who they could catch coming and going from this place.

  Holding the phone between her chin and her shoulder, she shined the light on her watch. 10:56.

  Then she realized the phone wasn’t ringing. Pulling it away from her ear, she checked the signal strength. Nothing. “Great. No signal. As much as I want to explore this tunnel, I want to call this in more.”

  Brock nodded and turned to head back the way they came.

  Single file, they ascended the steps. Brock climbed out of the coffin and reached down to help her up and out.

  Gisella started to shut the coffin lid when a noise caught her attention. Brock reached out and grasped her hand.

  He’d heard it, too.

  No sooner had she flicked off the flashlight than she felt his gloved finger slide against her lips. She nodded and dislodged his finger. He made little noise as he moved and the sliver of light coming from the crack in the door disappeared. But she could picture him pressing his ear to the opening.

  Voices reached her. Clear voices. Near voices. And she didn’t need her ear pressed up against the crack to hear them. “I’m telling you,” one said, “they’ll be here within a minute.”

  “They better have the money. I’m not playing games.”

  “They’ll have it. Quit your whining.”

  Brock whirled from the door and grasped her arm. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “They’re headed this way and we’ve got no backup. Let’s head back down the tunnel and see if we learn any more. If they keep talking, they may reveal something that will lead us to a bigger slice of the pie.”

  Gisella didn’t hesitate. She moved back to the coffin and climbed in. Brock followed and pulled the lid shut this time.

  Pitch black greeted her eyes once more but she didn’t dare use the flashlight in case someone opened the lid to look down into the tunnel.

  She felt him touch her arm, then his hand slid down to wrap her gloved fingers in his. “If we have to move,” he whispered, “I don’t want us to get separated.”

  She squeezed his hand and waited, listening, frustrated with herself and the fact that she hadn’t contacted someone before heading down into the tunnel. But there hadn’t been time. They’d barely made it down as it was.

  Boots thumped against the floor overhead. Gisella stepped down the steps as silently as possible. She didn’t want to be visible if they opened the lid.

  Brock stepped after her and she had no doubt he shared her concern. At the bottom, she stopped, turned and waited.

  From above, a beacon of light appeared. Brock pulled her blindly back into the tunnel. “They’ve opened the lid,” she whispered.

  “If they decide to come down, we’re going to have to use the tunnel or face them.”

  And then light from the other end bounced off the wall in front of Gisella and she sucked in a breath. “Or we can figure out how to not be caught in the middle.”

  TWENTY

  Brock’s mind raced. Bad guys behind them and more in front of them. Brock’s thoughts worked through and discarded one plan after another at the speed of light.

  He could hear them getting closer. The tunnel lightened due to a very bright light the approaching group carried. Gisella squeezed his hand and pulled him toward the bouncing light. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Trust me.”

  His gloved fingers wrapped around his weapon. The other gripped Gisella’s hand. He let her lead.

  The light ahead grew brighter.

  The voices louder.

  She turned a corner with a sudden move and pulled him behind her. Once again they were bathed in darkness, the part of the tunnel they’d just come from now lit up like the sun. As long as no one pointed the light in this direction, the men would walk right past them.

  A mixture of Spanish and English reached him. They were talking about the drugs. Anger gripped him around the throat. They discussed it openly, no fear or anxiety in their voices. Instead, it sounded like their weekly conversation about their most recent entertainment.

  Laughter ricocheted off the walls and his gut tightened even more.

  Leaning down, he whispered against her ear while breathing in her unique scent. “How many voices do you count?”

  “Five, maybe six. Could be more though, and they’re just not joining in the fun.” Her voice was barely there. A quiet mist on a winter morning.

  Real fear filled him at the thought of her falling into these men’s hands. His heart shuddered at the thought. Somehow, he would get her out of this.

  The light passed them as well as the shuffling sound of booted feet. Their shadows were briefly illuminated on the far wall and he saw that each man carried a load on his back.

  Backpacks full of drugs most likely. Anger stirred. He wanted these men put away. Part of him wanted to rush out there, gun blazing. But he restrained himself.

  Be patient, these are the peons. Let them lead you to the big guys.

  As the light faded, Brock’s breathing slowed.

  Then Gisella pulled at his hand once more. She led the way from their hiding place, her fingers trailing the wall like a blind person, back out into the main tunnel. She turned right and Brock listened to the men’s receding footsteps. “Why do you seem to know where you’re going?”

  “It’s the picture from the book.” Once again he had to strain to hear her. Which was good. That meant whoever else was down there wouldn’t hear her, either. “The drawing that we thought were roads. It occurred to me it might be the tunnel. When we were about to be caught in the middle, I realized I had to take a chance. Fortunately, it paid off.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “Shh.”

  She’d turned and twisted a couple of times and Brock realized he had no idea where he was. But Gisella didn’t seem to have the same problem. “Now—” she leaned close “—if I’ve remembered correctly, we’ve come full circle and this is going to take us back to the steps. If they’re gone, we can go up and slip out. If they’re not…”

  “…we’ll wait them out.”

  “Right.”

  Together, single fi
le, they made their way back to the main tunnel and finally the steps. Brock didn’t know how she knew where she was going in the inky blackness, but he followed her lead and trailed his fingers against the wall.

  When she came to the end, he was relieved to realize no light reached his eyes. Which meant the bad guys were up above.

  Gisella flicked the flashlight on and a faint glow surrounded them. She’d covered it with her hand to avoid its full power. Brock saw the stairs just in front of him. “Let me go first.”

  If someone heard them, or opened the coffin lid unexpectedly, at least he would be in front of Gisella if that someone had a weapon.

  Ignoring the stubborn thrust of her jaw that said she wanted to argue with him, he stepped ahead of her and started climbing.

  Gisella grasped the rung to close in on Brock.

  A footstep sounded behind her and she whirled, one hand on the rung, the other reaching for her weapon.

  A light flashed in her eyes blinding her, but not before she saw a glint bounce off a gun held steadily in a brown hand.

  “Brock! He’s got a gun!” The words ripped from her even as instinct compelled her sideways and onto the dirt floor.

  The man lunged forward and Gisella dodged his swinging hand. If he fired the weapon in the confined space, they’d all be deaf if not dead from a possible cave-in.

  Brock landed beside her with a grunt. The light moved closer. Gisella didn’t hesitate as she scrambled to her feet and kicked out. Their attacker screamed and the light skittered across the dirt, bouncing shadows from one wall to the other.

  Satisfaction curled inside her as she realized her judgment was good and she’d connected with flesh and bone. Then dismay as she swallowed the fact that she’d kicked the wrong hand. She’d been aiming for the gun. Vaguely she wondered about the men above and prayed they were far enough in the tunnel that their struggles were muffled.

  Thankfully, the man still hadn’t fired the weapon.

  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t when he had a good shot.

  Determined not to give him one, she moved left.