Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop

by Secrets in Texas

  The biggest difference, however, was that they made love when they returned. Cocooned beneath the wedding-ring quilt, they pretended, for a few hours, that the world they lived in wasn’t confusing and dangerous.

  “WHAT’S THE HURRY, Matt?” Angel broke into a trot to keep up with his stride.

  Matthew tried to slow his pace but couldn’t. He felt driven to talk to her immediately. Grasping her hand, he hauled her along toward their tree at the park.

  His movements were jerky as he helped her spread the blanket on the ground. Instead of lifting their lunch items one by one from the canvas tote, he simply turned it over and dumped the contents on the blanket.

  “Matthew.” Angel’s tone was shocked.

  “We’ve got to hurry. Things have been getting weird at the meetings. Jonathon’s jumpy and he’s applying pressure to find new short-term ways to increase income. I wouldn’t be surprised to be yanked back to the meeting hall before we finish eating.”

  “Did anyone say why he’s so jumpy?”

  “No. Raphael’s never seen him this bad. And Jonathon’s pressing me to tithe immediately to demonstrate my devotion to God and Zion’s Gate. I offered to write him a check for ten thousand dollars just to allay his suspicions. But he’s adamant I should give ten percent of my net worth. And make it by wire transfer to an out-of-state account when we’re in town tomorrow.”

  “Farmer’s market again?” Angel asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve noticed the trips to town seem to happen after the Humvee brigade visits. It might be just a coincidence. But, then again, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  He shook his head. “I used to. But not anymore. If the exchange of the smuggled goods is made at the meeting hall, then why do we need to go to town? What are we transporting for them?”

  “Cash from the transaction is my guess. Jonathon may be laundering money for his landlord. And I bet the evening patrols are the landlord’s idea, too, allowing him free access to the meeting hall and surrounding area.”

  Matthew handed her a sandwich and a soda. He unwrapped a sandwich for himself but had very little appetite. “Sounds possible. But what’s Jonathon getting out of this?”

  “Money. Protection against U.S. authorities. Protection against the lawless influences in this area. It’s a sweetheart deal. Except dealing with drug traffickers gets dangerous no matter what. I know of two brothers who tortured and killed their own mother because she threatened to turn them in.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “But maybe not that much farther out on the moral spectrum than what Jonathon practices. Once you start bending rules, it gets easier to lose all perspective on right and wrong.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Matthew hesitated. He hated to even voice the thoughts swirling in his head. But if he ignored his suspicions, people he loved might get hurt. Might even die. “With all his talk of doom and God’s wrath, I’m afraid Jonathon’s planning something drastic.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. Especially since we know there are at least a few semiautomatic weapons. But I don’t want to make dire predictions without proof. Can we get inside the meeting hall tonight?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Nope. Our landlord has offered to have his men help pack the produce tonight. They’ll be all over the place.”

  “Damn.”

  “Angel, I know this is what you’re trained to do, but I worry about you getting hurt.”

  “No need to worry, Matt. I can take care of myself.” She hesitated. Her voice was low, tinged with defeat when she said, “It’s you I worry about.”

  He grasped her chin. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay. I broke the rules when I got involved with you. What if my lack of objectivity gets someone killed?”

  “Aw, Angelina, don’t ever beat yourself up over what’s happened between us.” He cupped her face with his hand. “It was meant to be. I firmly believe that. With the two of us working together, we won’t allow anyone to get hurt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE NEXT MORNING, Matthew wasn’t surprised to see the trucks loaded and ready to go when he arrived at the meeting hall before sunrise.

  “Matthew,” Jonathon said. “I trust you had a thoughtful night.”

  “Very. I spent a quiet evening praying for God’s will.”

  “And how did He respond?”

  “It is right and good for me to tithe, Uncle Jonathon. I’m still unclear how He wants me to do that, though.”

  Jonathon’s eyes narrowed. “The Bible is very clear. Ten percent.”

  The man must be desperate if he thought Matthew was going to hand over ten percent of his net worth. Though, if it would buy his sister’s freedom, he’d do it without hesitation.

  “Yes, I agree, Uncle. But not retroactively.”

  “You’re being unreasonable, Matthew. And after all I did for your mother. Taking her in after my brother died, feeding and clothing her children.”

  Anger burned in Matthew’s chest. His mother hadn’t wanted Jonathon. Neither had her children, least of all Matthew. They’d still been reeling from the death of Matthew’s father when Uncle Jonathon had swooped down and claimed them as his prize of war. Because that’s what it had been. A bitter sibling rivalry that went back nearly to the cradle. A rivalry that ended with Matthew’s father’s death. Coincidence?

  Matthew tended to agree with Angel. There were no coincidences.

  He reined in his anger. It would serve no purpose now. But someday he would make Jonathon pay.

  “And was marrying my sister for my mother’s sake, too?”

  Jonathon stiffened. “I’ve been a good, righteous husband to Rebecca.”

  “Why doesn’t she live near the rest of your wives and children?”

  “Rebecca is delicate. She can’t handle the stress.”

  “So keeping her in seclusion is for her benefit?”

  “I love Rebecca.”

  Matthew rolled his shoulders. They were getting nowhere. His uncle was as hard to pin down as any politician. So he would get his attention the only way he seemed to understand. “Perhaps worry over my sister is interfering with my prayer life. That could be why I’m so unclear on the whole tithing issue.”

  “If I arrange for you to meet with Rebecca, will that clear your mind?”

  “Yes, I imagine it would help immensely.”

  “In the meantime, is there any reason why you can’t tithe ten percent of your income for this year? I’d counted on your wire transfer today.”

  “Prorated to reflect the actual portion of the year I’ve spent in Zion’s Gate. And after I speak with my sister, I’m sure my ability to comprehend God’s commands will improve.”

  “Fine.” Jonathon flicked the key tab, unlocking the doors of the Silverado. “Get in.”

  “I’m riding with you? I thought you drove alone.”

  “I’ve been remiss, Matthew. I should have spent more time with you once you returned. And I intend to remedy that immediately by spending the day together.”

  Great. Now his uncle was going to stick to him like glue.

  “That’s not necessary. I know what a busy man you are.” Matthew had no hope of slipping away to send Angel’s report if he was with his uncle.

  “Yes, I am busy.” Jonathon smiled, apparently somewhat mollified. “But we can spend some time together today.”

  Matthew nodded. A concession at least. And he might acquire new information by accompanying his uncle on his rounds.

  Jonathon settled himself in the driver’s seat.

  Matthew went to the passenger side and opened the door. There was a laptop case on the seat. He picked it up. “Where do you want this?”

  “See if you can wedge it in on the floor in the backseat.”

  Matthew flipped the seat forward and stashed the case on the floor. Pushing the seat back into place, he got in.

  The silence grew awkward as they drove toward to
wn. The conversation was even more awkward, if possible.

  “How are things going with Angel?”

  “Fine. She’s a good woman.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she is.”

  If Matthew had heard a leer in his uncle’s voice, he would have coldcocked him. Fortunately he seemed sincere and not alluding to Angel’s attributes. Though good didn’t begin to describe what they shared.

  Matthew loved Angel, pure and simple. Might have loved her since the first day he’d met her at the DPS offices in Brownsville. Smart, lively and strong. Everything he wanted to be.

  “Matthew?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked if Angel was with child yet.”

  “No, we haven’t been blessed yet.” But they might be soon, if they didn’t practice some serious self-control. They’d used the last condom in the night.

  “From what I hear, it’s not for lack of trying.” Jonathon laughed a little too loudly and punched Matthew on the shoulder. He shouldn’t try to be one of the guys. He failed miserably.

  “We’re newlyweds, Uncle. Besides, who told you that?”

  Jonathon cleared his throat. “Must’ve been Eleanor.”

  Matthew doubted it. Eleanor wasn’t one to gossip needlessly, even for Jonathon’s benefit.

  Then he recalled Angel saying she’d seen Jonathon and Ruth conferring early one morning in the kitchen. And seeming just a tad too chummy for simple pastoral counseling.

  But if Jonathon had something going with Ruth, why didn’t he simply marry her himself? What was one more wife once you passed the double digits?

  Matthew decided to let it go. He had much more pressing things to worry about. Like how he might be able to ditch Uncle Jonathon when they got to town.

  The rest of the trip went by in relative silence, a welcome relief. When they approached town, Jonathon turned off on a side road and the other two Zion’s Gate trucks kept going.

  “We have a few deliveries to make.”

  “Raphael said there’s a restaurant and a couple of small businesses that are good customers.”

  Jonathon smiled. “Yes. Very good customers.”

  When they pulled behind Just Greens Restaurant, Jonathon said, “You go ahead and make this delivery.”

  “Sure.”

  Jonathon got out but left the truck idling. He opened the rear door and hefted a box off the seat. “Here you go.”

  Matthew accepted it. He found it odd that Jonathon allowed the crates on his pristine upholstery when he had a perfectly good bed liner in the back. And an empty bed.

  “This is it? One box?”

  “Take that, then I’ll have a second one ready for you. When you’re done, Antonio will give you an envelope with payment.”

  Shrugging, Matthew decided not to take his uncle to task for poor time management. Or call him lazy. Two men, two boxes—the math wasn’t difficult.

  Antonio came out to greet him, eyeing Matthew with curiosity.

  “I’ve got one more box for you.”

  “Si.”

  Matthew returned to the truck. Jonathon selected a second crate and handed it to him. He carried it to Antonio and received the payment envelope.

  Jonathon put the truck in gear as Matthew swung into the passenger seat.

  After the last delivery at a fruit-and-vegetable stand, Matthew handed Jonathon the payment envelope.

  Smiling with satisfaction, Jonathon said, “It’s good to have you involved in the family business, Matthew.” His words were layered with meaning.

  Matthew got the sick feeling he understood exactly what his uncle meant. Matthew was now connected with whatever illegal activity Jonathon was involved in.

  ANGEL DRIED THE LAST breakfast dish and sighed. “Please tell me it’s baking day. If it’s laundry again, I don’t think I’ll make it till lunch.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Perhaps if you slept more at night, you wouldn’t be so fatigued.”

  “I sleep like a baby.” Which was the absolute truth. Spooned next to Matthew, she slept better than she had in years.

  “Like a baby. Interesting choice of words.”

  Angel braced her hands on her hips. “No, I’m not pregnant. And I’m tired of everyone mentally measuring my waistline.”

  “Oh, dear, I seem to have touched a nerve. I’m sorry, Angel.” She patted Angel’s cheek, her eyes warm with affection. “Believe me, I only want you to be happy.”

  Angel’s throat got all scratchy. “I know you do. I guess I’m sensitive because I know everyone is ready to pounce the moment I conceive so they can marry Ruth off to Matthew.”

  Why the thought upset her so, she didn’t know. Because she and Matthew had been careful and she definitely wasn’t pregnant.

  “I’m sure everything will work out as it’s supposed to. Now, I have a surprise for you this morning,” Eleanor chirped—and Eleanor was not a chirpy kind of woman.

  “Surprise?” She was intrigued in spite of herself.

  “I’m going to share my passion with you. Follow me to Jonathon’s study.”

  Angel nearly groaned aloud. Please, no more Bible readings or Book of Mormon studies.

  “Come on,” Eleanor said. “I will show you the world of genealogy.”

  “That sounds, um, fun.” Not.

  But it would give her a chance to scope out Jonathon’s study again. The thought made her hurry after Eleanor.

  When they entered the room, Eleanor headed straight for the desk and Jonathon’s padded leather chair. A satisfied smile curved her lips as she booted up the computer.

  “I wasn’t aware you knew anything about computers.”

  “Yes, dear, Jonathon allowed me to take an online course a few years ago. It opened up a whole new world to me.”

  “I bet. And you use the Internet to research genealogy?”

  “Uh-huh. Among other things.”

  Hydroponics? But Angel wasn’t supposed to know what the computer’s hard drive contained.

  “Pull up a chair, Angel.”

  Angel would much rather have wandered around the room to see if there might be a likely hiding place for incriminating documents. Or possibly a safe containing drug money. But she complied with Eleanor’s request. The woman seemed so excited to share her hobby.

  “I’ve got it divided into files. The Stone family and the Coopers. Abigail and I were Coopers before we married.”

  “Ah.”

  “You’ll notice here our maternal great-grandmother was Elena Marquez—I was named for her. Our great-grandfather met her when his parents settled in Mexico when he was a child.”

  “That’s interesting. I would have never guessed you had a drop of Hispanic blood. My mother is Colombian by birth and my father was born in Colombia to Anglo parents from Chicago. They taught English at the university.”

  “See, we have very much in common. My grandparents took us to Mexico once to visit for the summer.” Eleanor’s expression grew dreamy. “I recall the brethren there were warm and friendly.”

  “Habla Espanol, Elena?”

  “Si, y tu, Angelina?”

  “Si. Matthew doesn’t speak Spanish?”

  “No. Jonathon and Joshua’s parents disapproved of our mixed blood, though it was back several generations. They thought it better if we didn’t speak Spanish, particularly around the children.”

  “That’s too bad. I think they would have benefited from exploring the culture.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I do, too. But some people are not so open-minded.”

  “I intend to speak Spanish to my children so they can be bilingual.”

  “What a wonderful idea. Perhaps Matthew will learn at the same time. Or they can teach their papa.”

  Angelina smiled at the mental picture of Matthew telling bedtime stories in Spanish. The picture was so vivid it made her blink. Then she realized how intertwined her life had become with Matthew’s. And how badly she wanted to have children with him. To grow old with him. And share all the other moments in be
tween, happy and sad.

  Sighing, Angel couldn’t wait for him to return from town. Maybe tonight she would tell him she loved him.

  Eleanor grasped Angel’s hand. “It’s important that you know how much I love you. I was blessed with seven sons, but no daughter. You are like the daughter I never had.”

  Angel’s eyes blurred. “What a wonderful thing to say, Eleanor. And I feel as if you’re my second mother. Which makes me truly blessed.”

  Eleanor glanced at her watch. “Oh, my goodness. How the time has flown. I promised Rebecca I would drop off a jar of honey. Why don’t you stay here and investigate your genealogy a bit?”

  “I could go with you.”

  “No, dear, someone might see you and I would have a hard time explaining.”

  “Well, then, it would be lovely to spend some time at the computer.”

  “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  “Thank you, Eleanor.”

  A few moments later Angel heard the front door close. She filled in some of her family information and did a quick search on the genealogy site in case Eleanor checked.

  Then she explored, starting with the desk drawers. Locked. She’d come back to those later.

  Standing, she paced the perimeter of the room. None of the anemic pastoral scenes on the walls yielded anything but solid wall behind their frames. The floor was a weathered Mexican tile with the patina of many footsteps and many years. More than ten? She doubted it.

  A brightly colored wool rug covered the center of the room, running beneath the desk. As she pushed back in the chair, the wheels caught on something.

  She leaned over and felt along the wheels with her fingers. Probably a pen someone had dropped. But she encountered nothing.

  Curious, Angel stood, moving the chair to the side of the desk. Flipping back the rug, she noted the grout around one of the tiles was worn and chipped, probably from the desk chair rolling repeatedly over it during the years.

  Angel opened the top desk drawer and found a letter opener. She inserted the point in the cracked grout, wiggling it beneath. The tile popped out with very little pressure.