by DiAnn Mills
“Why keep the trip secret from his family, his mistress, and business executives? The background on Anita Krantz verifies her plans to move to Portland. Was he tired of the race—work, family, the affair? Was there another woman? A business venture with partners to expand his business with less risk? Falling oil prices is a downside for anyone in the industry. Then again, London is a money capital for investors. Or had he taken the only steps he could to protect his family from a predator?”
“Cole, when we find out his reasons for not informing anyone about the trip, then we stand a better chance of learning who killed him and why.”
He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and grabbed a napkin. “How many people have motive?”
She tilted her head, an expression he’d come to recognize, in such a short while, as her means of processing info. “Start a list. Lots of people have motive.”
“My point, Tori. From Houston to London, from women to environmental activists, we have no idea who murdered Nathan. All we can do is dig through the life of a man we called a friend. Franc Lawd smells like trouble. Preston Ustach discovered something. Anita Krantz could be lying. We want to believe Sally is innocent, but that could blow up in our faces. Lance is a lit fuse and despised his dad. Jack apparently wears a halo. The roughnecks appear loyal, though we’ve uncovered a few with criminal records. People lie and can be bought, especially when it comes to money, power, and vengeance.”
TORI SIPPED HER TO-GO COFFEE from Kenny & Ziggy’s while Cole drove south on I-45 to Texas City. Traffic refrained from bumper-to-bumper mode while most people slept. Great thought when her schedule cleared. After Preston Ustach’s funeral, she’d change into jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Then they’d do a little snooping. The oil rig had closed for the day due to the death, like they’d done for Nathan.
“Know why I like your truck?” she said.
“The hunk driving it?”
Cole and his wit. “No. It’s the height. I can see all around. Comfy too. But I bet my Charger can take you on open ground.”
He chuckled. “I’m a sucker for a race. I have the perfect spot. It’ll be our celebration ride.”
“Weep and mourn, Cole.” She slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes. “What is it about the US Marshals that attracted you?”
“An interest in protecting the judicial process of our country. My parents had a family friend, a congressman, who was often threatened because of his decisions. At times he sent his family out of the state.”
She valued his commitment to protect the innocent. “You were insistent Sally and the boys leave town.”
“Right, and I really wish she’d taken my advice. Anyway, I looked into the Marshal Service and its other areas of expertise. I saw protecting witnesses was another area where mistakes meant death. Combine those interests with a redneck cowboy who liked to shoot, be a hero, and just passed his bar exam, and out rolled Deputy US Marshal Cole Jeffers.”
“Impressive record. You’ve taken a few risks.”
“Hmm. So have you. We have the gene that defies common sense.”
“You mentioned Nathan’s death pushed you into a reinstatement.” Tori craved knowing more about his life. Never mind why because that frightened her as much as the big C.
“Yes, and one of the Marshals is a good friend, Manny Lopez. He’d been after me to come back for a long time, and I couldn’t ignore the nudge in my spirit or let it go.”
Max had asked if Manny was a yardman, spoke English. The memory embarrassed her. “Tell me more—I mean, the wanting to return but hesitating. I’m not nosy, just curious.”
“Right. You find me so irresistible that you have to know everything.”
“Please.” She dragged out the word and stared out the window so he wouldn’t see he’d been right.
“All right. I missed the work of being a part of the national police. Kept up with what was going on through Manny. A judge in Dallas had been threatened, and US Marshals were assigned. Two prisoners escaped at Huntsville and US Marshals were on it. I wanted to be there.”
“What areas have you worked?”
“Is this going into a report?”
“We’re getting to know each other.”
“I’ll remember that. Okay, I’ve worked within the investigative operations, witness security, and prisoner transport. The end.”
“Huge stretch from the Marshals to landscaping.”
He palmed the steering wheel. “Blame my mom for that. She forced me to endure hours of lectures on soil, plants, fertilizer, design, you name it. When I needed a second career, landscaping came naturally.”
“Have you checked me out?” She groaned. “Delete my question.”
“I have. Homecoming queen. Prom queen. Head cheerleader. Lettered as a pitcher in softball. Class president junior and senior year of high school. Majored in law enforcement at the University of Texas. Top of the class. Expert marksmanship.”
She raised her hand. “How’d you know about the high school stuff?”
“I’m good at what I do. By the way, is tomorrow your Sunday for church?”
She saw the path this was headed. “It is. Are you inviting me?”
“Thinking about it. Not sure you can handle two days in a row of my incredible charisma.”
What he didn’t know was she’d welcome the time with him.
They drove into Texas City and easily found the church where the Ustach funeral would be held. Her carefree persona changed the moment they saw the parking lot filled with vehicles, mostly pickups. Yesterday, she’d attended Nathan’s service, and today Preston Ustach’s. Back-to-back grim affairs. And the killer could be among the mourners.
“What are the chances of the same person or persons attending the funerals?”
“Like us?” He stared at a family mounting the steps to the church. “That’s why we’re here.”
People young and old crowded the building. She and Cole signed the guest book and took a place along the back wall. Tori glanced at a framed photo of the man who’d asked her to dinner. So much of life ahead of him and then murdered. Cole appeared to observe those filling the pews, nodding as they passed. She recognized some of the men from the rig but didn’t see Jose Aznar. Two of the executives from Moore Oil & Gas paid their respects and took a seat in a middle pew. Preston’s mother sat in the front row in a black suit. Many embraced her, supporting her.
When Kevin had died, Sally and Nathan were with Tori and her mom every step of the way.
She hated funerals. She despised killers more.
The music began, a mournful song titled “Life’s Railway to Heaven.” A woman sang in a clear and passionate tone. “Life is like a mountain railway, with an engineer that’s brave; we must make the run successful, from the cradle to the grave; watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels; never falter, never fail; keep your hands upon the throttle, and your eyes upon the rail.”
Tori tuned out the rest of the words to the song. She’d handled Nathan’s funeral better without the religious stuff to make her feel uncomfortable. After all, she was there to study those in attendance.
At the close of the last hymn, Cole took her hand—strong. She didn’t mind. In a way, they were playing a role this morning. He lingered at the guest book, and she read each name. He turned the page. A few were familiar from the oil rig, but none from Nathan’s funeral except the executives. Cole squeezed her hand, and she looked into his sky-blue eyes. A weak moment and she’d lose herself in the depth of those pools or in his strong arms. Working with Cole brought out the best in her . . . as well as other things she found hard to accept. She released his hand.
“We paid our respects to a good man,” he whispered. “His mother and sister saw we were here.”
Outside, a soft breeze played with a curl on her neck, and the sun touched warm on her face. Seemed wrong the day could be so beautiful when those inside the church were laying a good man to rest.
Cole’s voice broke her brief respite. “
There’ll be a guard at the rig. He’s expecting us.”
“The same man who was on duty when Lawd showed up?”
“Yes. Maybe he’s remembered something about him.”
Tori waited to speak until they passed a small crowd from the funeral. “Lawd bothers me. He lied to gain access to the site but we have no clue why. The surveillance team will have a report on him before the day’s over.”
“If he’s the mastermind, he’ll not be seen doing anything that would send us back to him.”
“No one’s foolproof.”
He opened the truck door for her, and she climbed in. “When’s the last time you caught up on your sleep?”
“That bad? For the record, you look like a zombie.”
He grinned and closed the door and made his way to the driver’s side. Once on the road, he turned to her. “Is tonight when you move in with the Moores?”
She nodded. “Doubt I’ll catch up on sleep there either.”
“What are your plans?”
“We’re going through everything Nathan owned. Although that’s been completed by one of our teams, he could have hidden things in obscure places. Nothing at his office or safe-deposit boxes has revealed anything amiss.”
“With what we learned about his London trip, the investigation will take longer than we anticipated.”
“As in Max will have a tough time finishing the case.” She feared he wouldn’t endure another week unless he made the choice to survive. “Wish he’d agree to more chemo.”
“Are you friends with his wife?”
“Both treated me like family. I regret what tore her and Max apart, but it’s too late now.”
“Maybe not. Is she aware of his diagnosis?”
“Where have I been, Cole?” Guilt riddled her. “Why haven’t I contacted her, told her how seriously ill he is?”
“What if she knows and doesn’t care?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll take the risk. On the way back to Houston, I’ll call her.”
He smiled. “Compassion is one of the reasons you’re a great agent. I noted it when you talked to Mrs. Ustach.”
“Not always, as I just confessed to not calling Max’s wife.”
Cole stared at his rearview mirror. “We’re being followed.”
She noted the vehicle gaining on them. “It’s a van, possibly a cargo type. Can’t tell from this angle.” She jotted down the license plate number.
He turned down a country road, taking a left, another left, then a right, and another right. Definitely a cargo van. A half mile later he announced they’d lost the tail. He drove on another two miles, then took a series of turns that eventually brought them back to the drill site.
“Want to speculate on who was following us?” she said. “No generic ‘all those who don’t want us to find them.’”
“Send the license plate through the FIG just in case.”
“Already done, partner.”
A single battered Ford was parked near the security entrance. They greeted the older guard at the gate and presented their IDs.
“Sir,” Cole began, “do you recall anything the night of the bombing or the day of the shootings that raises suspicion?”
“Are you sayin’ I wasn’t doing my job?”
“Not at all. Sometimes we remember details after the fact.”
The man’s drawn face told Tori he blamed himself. She touched Cole’s arm. “Sir, no one’s blaming you,” she said.
“Thanks. I pride myself in keeping my eyes open. Haven’t seen or recollected a thing.”
Cole reached through the truck’s window and shook his hand. “Mind if we look around?”
“Go ahead. No one’s around.”
Cole parked near the rig and they exited. “In my experience, the bad guy often returns to the scene of the crime. Either to admire his work or make sure he didn’t leave any evidence.”
“Investigators have been thorough. What are you expecting to find? I get it. We’re going to look at where the bomb went off and walk the path of the sniper.”
“The one detail bothering me is the bomber could have set it off during the day and taken men out. He could’ve also set the IED in a place that destroyed more of the rig.”
“Maybe he tried and someone saw him, like Preston Ustach.”
“Who in turn went to Nathan and got himself killed. But why wound a second man when Ustach was the target?”
She sighed, taking in the surroundings. “To throw us off the motivation?”
“Makes me wonder if we’re looking at separate crimes that crossed paths.”
“Try proving it.” A nearby shed caught her attention. Flies swarmed around the door and she pointed to it. “What’s stored there?”
“The other day it had a padlock. But I don’t see one now.” Cole walked toward the shed and she followed.
He opened the metal door, and they both peered inside.
Jose Aznar had been shot in the chest, his mouth clamped shut with a staple gun.
“CALL IT IN, TORI.”
As she reached for her phone, Cole bent over Aznar’s body. Suddenly rifle fire cracked the air. They whirled around.
The cargo van they’d seen earlier raced past the guard gate and toward them. A rifle from the passenger side unloaded again.
The nightmare flash hit him hard. The shooter standing over him, watching him bleed out.
Not this time! Amid heavy gunfire, Cole raced with Tori to the truck. The van slid to a stop next to them in a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust. Weapons pulled, Cole and Tori took cover on the driver’s side and crouched behind the tires. Three black-hooded men poured from the rear, and two from the side door in a roar of fire. Five plus the driver against two. Bad odds.
A firefight edging closer to a disastrous outcome.
Bullets whizzed in both directions. How long could they hold off these guys? The men fired repeatedly into his truck using high-powered large-caliber weapons that sounded like M60s.
“Cover me,” he called to Tori. Opening the driver’s side, he grabbed an AR-15 from under his seat. They needed rifle power, more than their pistols and his hunting knife in the glove box.
Tori rose from her folded position and fired. A shooter fell against the truck bed less than six feet away and slid down, leaving a trail of blood. She shoved a magazine into her Glock as another shooter moved closer. Cole aimed and fired at a slight man moving toward her, sending him backward. Cole spun to his left and put a bullet into another man’s ribs. Shooters poured more fire while others grabbed the downed men and pulled them into the van.
The acrid scent of blood assaulted his nostrils, and if he didn’t control the memory, he’d be useless.
Help me.
The shooters inched closer, like animals surrounding a kill.
Cole snapped to attention and leveled his rifle.
The odds were still against them. A shout ordered the shooters back inside the van. They hadn’t given up, so what was the plan?
Gut-wrenching dread crawled up his spine.
Tori shot out their front passenger tire. The van moved ahead several yards, bouncing on its rim. It stopped, and what looked like a Barrett M82A1 emerged. The .50 caliber rifle fired an armor-piercing round that, while ineffective against modern tank armor, could penetrate a well casing or the piping on a platform.
The oil rig would blow like a volcano.
A streak of light flew toward the drill site.
Cole grabbed Tori’s hand and they raced away from his truck, his body shielding her side. Bullets whistled, following their every step. A sharp sting hit his shoulder, and he stumbled. “Keep going, Tori. I’ll hold them off.”
“Fat chance.” She returned fire. “I’m not leaving you. Get on your feet or I’ll drag you.”
He leveled energy into his body and obliged while firing at the cargo van. “You’re one stubborn agent.”
The roar of the explosion sent them scrambling, and the force hurled them airbo
rne and to the ground while the van sped away in a cloud of gunpowder. An inferno burst into his senses and darkness overcame him.
TORI PACED the emergency visitor area of Galveston’s UT Medical Branch while a team hovered over Cole. The bustle of activity heightened her stress, reminding her of the times Kevin and Mom struggled with medical issues. Shouldn’t she have word soon about Cole? Nearly an hour had passed since they were brought in—him near death and her with scrapes, bruises, and wearing his blood. His treatment continued while she’d received stitches in her right arm below her elbow.
The image of the left side of his burned and battered body wouldn’t leave her. He’d been shot in the upper left shoulder before the explosion sent them flying. Even in his war-torn condition, he’d shielded her from serious harm. His sacrifice and the question of his recovery caused her to wonder what more she could have done.
Though her ears had rung like a dinner bell from the explosion, she’d heard him moan and call her name just before his body succumbed to unconsciousness. At the time, she viewed it as a blessing because he couldn’t feel the agony. The pounding in her head must have dulled her thinking, though, because she’d kissed him and begged him to hold on. That’s when she realized her heart had fallen prey to Deputy US Marshal Cole Jeffers, something she believed would never happen.
Thankfully the van didn’t return—the shooters must have thought the agents were dead.
She’d ridden in the ambulance that transported him, and he’d not wakened in the ten-mile drive to the hospital. Who were the shooters? With their black hoods and only the size of their bodies as an identifying factor, she had little means of assisting law enforcement. Crossing her arms, she concentrated on the parking lot. Bad guys with an agenda could take out a lot of people while searching for her and Cole. Today raised the stakes big-time for the task force. What had Preston Ustach and Jose Aznar discovered? Were she and Cole close to identifying the killers? Was that why they’d been attacked?
But nothing fit, and she despised being inept.
The injured shooters would require medical attention. Every doc-in-a-box and medical facility in the area had been alerted the moment she entered the ambulance with Cole. She’d texted the ASAC with all she remembered. No one, absolutely no one, would hurt the innocent on her watch.