Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop

by Secrets in Texas

  Her whispered discussion of leaving reminded him time was short and he had objectives of his own. He wasn’t leaving until he found his sister and knew what had really happened the night his father died. “I want to get in to see that computer. Hopefully he keeps the majority of his records there. I suppose a word-processing file containing his memoirs is too much to expect?”

  “Even if he kept something like that, you know it would just be self-aggrandizing BS.”

  “No doubt. Too much to hope for incriminating self-aggrandizing BS?”

  Angel grinned. “Maybe, but Jonathon likes to hear himself talk—that’s a good thing. If he gets caught up in hearing himself touted through a memoir, he’ll let down his guard. Maybe you can suggest it to him as a hobby?”

  “That’s not such a bad idea. My ancestors were big on keeping written records.”

  “Let’s hope Jonathon has carried on the tradition.” Angel’s voice was low. “I think we can go now. This is an early-to-bed, early-to-rise bunch.”

  “Especially with the curfew. No Letterman to keep them awake, either.”

  “Come on. Follow my lead.” She turned the doorknob and looked into the hallway.

  “You’re not exactly dressed for recon,” he commented. “Didn’t you have anything darker?”

  “Nope.” She made a face. “Pastels are it.”

  “Get behind me if a patrol passes.”

  She glanced down at her pale pink cotton dress. “Purely for practical reasons. Don’t get any ideas of protecting me because I’m a woman. I can defend myself in ways that’d give you nightmares. And I’m very effective on the offensive, too.”

  Matthew forced a grin. No way would he allow her to know she intimidated him at times. She’d never let him hear the end of it. “Yeah, you’re effective on the offensive as long as the patrol isn’t made up of hornworms.”

  He yelped as she elbowed him. Rubbing his ribs, he said, “Hey, I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  They stole into the hallway, a small night-light glowing a few feet away. Angel led the way down the stairs. She’d already discovered which boards were likely to squeak if stepped on and avoided them.

  When they got to the front door, Matthew pushed forward and twisted the dead bolt. If there was danger on the other side, he wanted to take the brunt of it, Angel’s training notwithstanding. It was an instinctive need to protect, and he didn’t intend to stop and analyze it.

  The fact that the door was locked at all made him pause for a second. They’d never had locks on the doors in Arizona. Was this another indication of Jonathon’s growing paranoia?

  They stepped outside and waited. The compound was eerily silent. He listened but didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps or voices.

  Angel stood completely still, watching, waiting.

  She took the lead and signaled him to follow.

  He modeled her behavior, keeping to the balls of his feet, moving quietly, head swiveling, allowing him to visually search their path.

  They moved quickly over the open ground, then went past Raphael’s homes, hugging close to the walls. He thought of his half brother sleeping in one of the buildings. Which of the wives was he with? Did he dream of Theresa or was he as resigned to his fate as he indicated?

  Matthew relaxed a bit as they moved on. Maybe the rumor of patrols was merely a lie Jonathon circulated to keep the rebellious in line.

  As they approached the meeting hall, Angel stopped. She grabbed his arm and pulled him around the side of the building, flattening herself against the wall. He did the same.

  Male voices floated softly through the night. Matthew couldn’t discern their conversation, though the two men passed within yards of them.

  He strained to get a good look at their faces in the dark but didn’t recognize them. Were they men he knew well or some of the new faces he’d noticed at church? Matthew was more inclined to think they were borrowed muscle from the landlord.

  The clouds parted, revealing a half-moon. Silvery light silhouetted the men, allowing him to see each was armed with an assault rifle.

  If they were members of Zion’s Gate, they were heavily armed, something unheard-of in the past. Matthew’s father had abhorred guns and had only allowed a few rifles for hunting. And when not in use, those had been locked in a cabinet in the meeting hall.

  Angel looked at her watch, then nodded, motioning for him to follow. They made their way to the front gate, the only legitimate way in and out of the compound.

  Light shone from the guard shack several yards from the gate.

  Angel crooked her finger. He bent down so she could whisper, “There’s nowhere to hide near the gate. It’s too exposed for me to check in these clothes.” She gestured at her dress reflecting the moonlight, almost glowing white.

  He pressed his lips to the curve of her ear. “What do you need to know?”

  “A make and model of the locking mechanism. Is there a keypad for numbers? Letters, too?”

  He nodded and waited until the clouds covered the moon again. Then he hugged the wall as far as he could before sprinting to the gate.

  Damn. He couldn’t see a make. And he could merely guess at the model number. But he memorized what he saw. The keypad appeared numerical only.

  The rumble of an engine cut through his concentration. Matthew looked up but didn’t see a vehicle. Until it was a few hundred yards away.

  He slipped away from the gate, taking cover when he got back to the building. Cupping his hand by Angel’s ear, he murmured, “Vehicle coming. No lights.”

  Angel frowned. They wedged themselves into a space between the building and a trash bin.

  The black Humvee stopped at the gate. The window on the driver’s side lowered. A male, barely discernable with the moon playing hide-and-seek, keyed in a series of numbers on the pad. The well-oiled gate quietly rolled open. The Humvee pulled through and the gates closed.

  The guard stepped out of his shack and waved to the occupants of the vehicle. Then he stepped back inside.

  The Humvee moved forward, headlights still dark.

  “Come on.” Angel crouched low, following the back of the building to emerge on the other side, out of the guard’s line of vision.

  And just in time to see the Humvee back to the rear of the meeting hall. Six men got out of the SUV. One opened the rear hatch.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made Matthew’s blood run cold. He pulled Angel back around the corner. The two guards they’d seen earlier joined the six men, conferring quietly. Finally the guards nodded and headed for the back of the meeting hall. The other men followed.

  Four of the men were huge and sauntered with a gorillalike stride that probably warned most folks to look the other way.

  “Come on. Let’s get closer,” Angel said, her voice low.

  “No, we need to get back to Eleanor’s house. This looks dangerous.”

  “I have a job to do, Matt. Let me do it,” she protested.

  “You have no gun, no backup.”

  Shrugging, Angel trotted toward the back of the building.

  He had no choice but to follow and hope to hell they both didn’t end up dead.

  Angel slowed as she approached the corner of the building. Then she stopped and listened. So did he.

  She peeked around the corner, the lines of her body tense, almost quivering with excitement. She was in her element.

  And he felt like a damn fool.

  The low murmur of male voices reached his ears. He caught a word here, a word there, all in English. Something about a shipment. Payment. Family.

  Then…vato. The Spanish slang for friend.

  A two-way radio crackled.

  Angel turned. “Go. Run.”

  He didn’t stop to ask why. He merely turned and followed her instructions.

  She sprinted beside him, pointing toward the nearest of Raphael’s homes.

  His lungs burned and his blood pumped as he stretched to keep up with her. Though
her legs were considerably shorter than his, she was fast and strong.

  When they reached the house, she bumped him with her shoulder, sending him sprawling around the corner.

  Angel came flying after.

  She caught her breath, then murmured, “The guard at the gate thought he saw something. The men are going to fan out on their way to the gate to see if they stir anything up.”

  A stitch in his side doubled him over. “Need…to…catch my breath.”

  “No time. Come on.”

  She grasped his hand and hauled him along the path they’d used less than a half hour earlier.

  She didn’t seem to worry about staying to the shadows. Just the most direct, quickest route to safety. Probably because Raphael’s house blocked them from view.

  When they reached Eleanor’s place, Matthew turned the knob and pushed. His efforts were met with solid resistance. Panic rose up. They had to get inside before they were discovered.

  He turned to Angel, spreading his hands helplessly.

  “Try again. Maybe it’s stuck.”

  “It was locked.”

  “Do you want me to do it?” The determined set to Angel’s jaw told him she’d kick the door in if she had to. And wouldn’t they have a fine time explaining that to Eleanor.

  Taking a deep breath, he twisted the knob and shoved with his shoulder at the same time.

  And fell into the entryway.

  Straight into Aunt Eleanor, who stood, arms crossed, with the most forbidding frown he’d ever seen.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ANGEL STUMBLED IN behind Matthew, grateful she hadn’t been forced to damage Eleanor’s door to gain entry. Grateful, that is, until she saw the women herself standing in the entryway, anger written in every stern line on her face.

  Angel swallowed hard, trying to think of an explanation for their late-night outing. She would have almost rather faced several armed gang members hopped up on methamphetamines than Eleanor’s disapproval. And her razor-sharp perception.

  Matthew straightened, raising his chin. “Aunt Eleanor, I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

  “So am I.” Her reply was tart.

  Angel tried to think of a logical explanation. “We were, um—”

  Matthew interrupted her. “We were eager for an evening stroll.”

  Angel suppressed a groan. Only an idiot would buy that explanation. She stepped forward. “Eleanor, it’s my fault. I wanted some time alone with Matthew—I mean really alone. With no one next door, no one down the hall.”

  “A lack of privacy can be difficult for newlyweds. But you must learn to accept sharing space with others.”

  “It started out innocently enough. A midnight stroll. So romantic. But, um, we sat under the tree at the park and kissed. One thing led to another and—”

  Eleanor raised her hand, palm outward. “Enough. You took a risk, even after I explained the consequences of defying curfew?”

  Matthew put his arm around Angel’s shoulders. “We weren’t thinking of consequences. I’m sorry we worried you. It won’t happen again.”

  Rubbing her temple, Eleanor relented. “Just see that it doesn’t. I…would hate to lose you, too.”

  Angel’s chest constricted at Eleanor’s admission. She hated causing the woman more pain.

  Matthew touched his aunt’s arm. “You won’t tell Uncle Jonathon, will you?”

  Eleanor hesitated. “No, God help me, I won’t tell your uncle. But don’t put me in this position again. If I’m forced to choose between my husband and you, I will choose Jonathon.”

  The sad acceptance in her voice reminded Angel of another woman at another time who hadn’t wanted to choose between her husband and loved ones.

  “We understand,” Angel murmured.

  “Go upstairs, you two. I’ll lock up.”

  Halfway up the stairs, Angel looked over her shoulder and wished she hadn’t.

  Eleanor leaned against the doorjamb, her shoulders slumped, shaking with silent tears.

  A lump in her throat, Angel followed her husband to their room. The woman deserved so much better than to be hurt by the ones she loved.

  But, Angel realized, Eleanor would inevitably be hurt when she found out Angel’s profession and the real reason she was here.

  When she closed the door behind her, Angel released a breath, her knees shaking. “That was close.”

  “Too close.” Matthew’s voice was so low she had to move closer to hear. She doubted Ruth was awake, but Matthew’s caution was prudent. Especially since their exploration had gone so wrong.

  “What did you see before you told me to run?” he asked.

  “The big guys from the Humvee were loading boxes in the back. The boxes were closed, nothing to identify the contents.”

  “What size?”

  “Maybe twelve inches by two feet. Like the boxes reams of copy paper come in.”

  “How many boxes?”

  Angel frowned. It had happened so quickly, she hadn’t counted. But she did now. Good thing she was trained to recall details. “Four pushed toward the back. Two more in front of those. And the guys carried two more. Eight total.”

  “The boxes you described aren’t large enough for firearms, unless it’s pistols or something that could be disassembled.”

  “That’d be a huge drug shipment, unless it’s marijuana.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t get close enough to peek inside.”

  “No way. Those guys weren’t going to let the shipment out of their sight. The men who came out of the meeting hall weren’t going to, either.”

  “Were you able to distinguish features on any of the men?”

  Angel closed her eyes, trying to recall everything she’d seen. “No… Except two of the three who weren’t from the Humvee spoke fluent Spanish. Mexican, not South American or Puerto Rican dialects.”

  “The rest spoke English?”

  “Yes.” Angel tried to recall the bits and pieces she’d heard. Nothing she could put together for a cogent phrase. She opened her eyes. “English as a first language, except one guy spoke English with a Mexican accent. In this area, that doesn’t narrow it down.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it does. Did any have Texas accents?”

  “I don’t remember…. That’s weird. I totally didn’t get an impression.” Her voice trembled with frustration.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It was only a few seconds. I’m impressed you got as much as you did.”

  “But I’m trained to observe more.”

  “Maybe you’ll remember after a good night’s sleep. I’d suggest you take a nice, soothing bath, but I’m afraid Ruth might wake up and wonder what’s going on.”

  The line between who she was pretending to be and reality was beginning to blur. She could barely comprehend the ramifications of what she’d seen, yet she needed to make the leap to a woman in love. “We are newlyweds, aren’t we?”

  Matthew hesitated. “Yes, we are. And that matters at the moment because…?”

  “What, you’ve never made love in the bathtub?” It was meant to be a teasing remark but came out a challenge.

  He stepped closer. Dipping his head, he kissed her on the mouth, then drew back. His gaze was intense. “Oh, yes, Angelina, I have. But never with you.”

  His breath caressed her face. She leaned into him just for a moment, closing her eyes. The thought of being held by Matthew was surprisingly erotic. She could envision his hard, naked body, making love while the sensual water lapped at their bodies. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe the line between reality and playacting was already indistinguishable.

  “Angelina.” Her name was half caress, half curse. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He threaded his hands through her hair and drew her head back.

  She opened her eyes, panicking at the restraint. Until her gaze locked with Matthew’s and recognition flooded her. He wasn’t Kent. He would never hurt her.

  “Matthew,” she breathed.

  He lower
ed his face, his mouth hot and searching.

  For a moment she froze. Then she returned his kiss with a passion she hadn’t experienced for a long, long time.

  Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her snug against his body. Rational thought fled as Angel lost herself in the sensation of learning Matthew.

  It was a fully clothed exploratory encounter, without overt possession. Only kisses and promises. Caresses and honest connection.

  It was an experience so new, so intense, Angel wanted to cry. Kissing Kent had never been this way.

  Matthew pulled away, his voice full of frustration. “What are we doing, Angelina?”

  She touched her lips, in awe of her response to him. She’d feared Kent had robbed her of the ability to respond to a man with complete trust. Nine intervening years and a few sexual encounters had seemed to confirm it. Until now.

  Resisting the impulse to draw Matthew to her, she stepped back a pace while she tried to regain her equilibrium. “I’m here on assignment. I shouldn’t be getting involved.” The reminder was as much for herself as Matt. Maybe even more.

  He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled and boyish. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. It was totally unforgivable.”

  “No, Matthew, it was…nice.” God, that was the understatement of the century. Beautiful. Mystical. The touching of souls. He would laugh if he knew he had the ability to make her wax poetic about his embrace.

  How could he know her love life had never matured past first love? Because sex with Kent had become a power play, twisting what they’d initially shared into something degrading and shameful. And in the process, the tender, innocent part of her had almost died.

  Angel smiled a secret little smile. Matthew had given her the hope that tenderness and passion could coexist, untarnished, in a world abounding with evil.

  MATTHEW LAY AWAKE for what seemed like hours. The bed was more uncomfortable than the floor had ever been.

  Or maybe it was his conscience that made it intolerable. He shouldn’t have acted on his urge to kiss Angel. He’d never been impulsive, so why now? Probably because it hadn’t been as spur-of-the-moment as he would like to believe. The thought had been in the back of his mind pretty much since the first time he’d seen Angel.