by Misty Evans
Gun shop owners routinely reported suspected straw buyers to ATF, but it was a matter of catching the buyer off-loading the weapons.
“Jesus, with all the databases,” Mitch said. “How the hell do we get into those files?”
Caroline cocked her head. Hold the phone. “Wait. This gun has an ATF tag? As in the taskforce agents knew it was purchased by a straw buyer but it was still on the streets?”
“If that code was in the report, yes.”
If the ATF, and the taskforce Tommy had been working for, had flagged a guy as a straw buyer but hadn’t picked him up or confiscated the weapon…
“Oh, shit,” Mitch said.
Chapter Nine
The rattling air conditioner kicked off, leaving the room in silence.
Mitch uncrossed his arms and grabbed onto the windowsill to steady himself. Couldn’t be.
His breath jammed in his chest. He forced air into his lungs, his brain running at warp speed. “Tommy was killed by a gun the ATF let walk. A gun that should have been confiscated by Tommy’s taskforce before it could be used illegally. How the fuck did that happen?”
“Hold on,” Caroline said. “Tommy was found with a bunch of weapons. Maybe he had confiscated them and was going to arrest the straw buyer.”
“Or,” Brice added, “he was using his undercover status to work with the straw buyer to follow the guns to the big fish, the gun runner Ethan told us about. Balboa. There was another taskforce a few years ago that tried a similar thing. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.”
Caroline frowned. “Or…” She hesitated and glanced at Mitch. “Tommy really was dirty and using the straw buyer to cover his tracks while he sold the guns to Balboa or one of his rivals.”
Silence fell again. Mitch drilled her with a look that conveyed all the pent up anger raging in his body. How many times did he have to insist Tommy wasn’t a dirty agent? “That’s what they want it to look like, Caroline. It’s the perfect setup.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Agreed.” Releasing him, she moved to sit in front of the laptop. “We need a list of higher-ups who would have seen this report and want it kept under wraps.”
Of course she wanted to make a list. “What good will that do?”
“We’re taking this information to the New Mexico Attorney General. At least we’ll start with him. He needs to investigate this operation, and maybe the Justice Department does too.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Brice started backing up. “If someone’s covering this up, there’s got to be a legitimate reason.”
“Legitimate?” Mitch hollered. “You of all people, Brice, recognize a conspiracy when you see it. Tommy was killed with a gun ATF knew was purchased by a straw buyer and they let that gun walk. Wake up and smell the conspiracy! They don’t want an official investigation that would make all parties involved look like idiots.”
“Don’t forget the press and bloggers like our Brice here,” Caroline said. “They’d have a field day with this.” Her fingers typed furiously. “Okay, since this was a joint taskforce between ATF and the FBI, the New Mexico ATF director and the head of the New Mexico Bureau office had to okay letting guns walk. They had to know. Who else?”
Brice shook his head, but gave up arguing. “DEA. They might be involved because of the drug cartels and the guns they ship across the border. Balboa probably moves drugs as well as weapons. And the top prosecutors in the border states had to sign off.”
“There’s no way that many entities knew about this operation and no one raised a red flag about letting guns walk,” Mitch said, finally understanding Caroline’s need for the list. “But this might prove someone set up Tommy, and if they did, all these state level people are shitting bricks. There’s a cover-up here, and it starts with them. Kemp Rodgers told me the prez will invoke Executive Privilege if the White House is subpoenaed. This cover-up goes all the way to the top.”
Mitch glanced out the window, checking the parking lot. He felt antsy, unnerved. Too many months on the run and now this. Who exactly was involved with Tommy’s death? Who had pulled the trigger, and why were they making it look like Tommy was a traitor? Was it the same person responsible for Kemp’s murder? “Why kill Kemp? He didn’t know any more than I did.”
Caroline stopped typing. “Maybe he did, or someone believed he did. Either way, they know you were with him that night at the park. You could be next on their hit list.”
Mitch moved away from the window and went to Caroline. Her ponytail brushed his arm and all that dormant heat and the trouble he’d already brought to her made him crazy. He should put her on a plane home. Get her as far away from this as possible. Too late now. Gotta do it. “There’s one way to smoke out the bad guys.”
Caroline shifted sideways and eyed him. “How?”
“Brice leaks the ballistics report and the trace information on his blog.”
Gasping, Caroline gawked at him. “Are you crazy?”
Brice was already across the room, grabbing his messenger bag and laptop off the floor. “Send me those files.”
Caroline sprang up. “Wait. Not so fast. Let’s think about this a minute—”
“What’s to think about?” He started typing, his fingers flying over the keys as if he couldn’t get the information out to the free world fast enough. “We’ve got government corruption and a dead agent.”
A loud ring came from Caroline’s briefcase. She shrugged out of Mitch’s grip and dug around in it, bringing out her cell phone.
“Who is it?”
“Donaldson.”
“Shit.” He’d told her this would happen. “Cocksucker is fast.”
“Only my family has this number. Oh, my God. My career is over.” She stared at the phone as if she might actually answer it. Mitch grabbed it from her hand, and dropping it on the floor, he stomped on the phone, killing the thing in mid-ring.
“Hey!”
Mitch started gathering their things. “He’s probably already traced that phone. We need to move, Brice. Now.”
“A couple more seconds,” Brice said, still typing furiously.
“What have we gotten into?” Caroline said.
Mitch fought the urge to grab her and run. “Whatever it is, it’s big. And we’re about to blow the lid off it.”
Caroline shoved her laptop into the hatch of the Prius. Next to her, Mitch and Brice scrambled to stow their gear, all of them moving fast in the oppressive heat. Each intake of air so harsh, it burned all the way down her throat.
They needed to get away from this motel. Donaldson obviously knew she’d downloaded the report and most likely had traced the IP address. For all she knew, federal agents would soon be swarming the place.
Mitch closed the hatch and the three of them piled in, buckling up as Caroline started the car and got them moving. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?
In contrast to the unseasonal heat wave, goose bumps rose on her skin. Icy, slick panic hurdled up the back of her neck, pounding at her, making her realize that, yes, once again, her attachment to Mitch, the stupid lust mixed with all the emotional what-if scenarios, had led her somewhere she had no business being.
All because she loved him.
“Damn you, Mitch Monroe,” she muttered.
“Hey, I said I’d put you on a plane.”
“I know. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“Then don’t be pissed at me.”
“I’m not. I’m pissed at myself.”
“Holy shit,” Brice said from the backseat.
Mitch angled back. “What?”
“I’m watching my blog on my phone. That fucker just exploded.”
Caroline checked her rearview. ”Exploded how?”
“Comments are about to crash me is how.”
“Already?” Caroline asked. “It’s only been a few minutes.”
“Yeah, but I have social media links. Hang on.”
Taking her eyes off the road ahead, Caroline glanced a
t Mitch.
“It’s Twitter,” Brice said. “We’ve gone viral, kids.”
“Fucking A,” Mitch said.
“Oh, my God,” Caroline added. Twitter. A gurgle of nervous laughter itched in her throat and she made a strangled sound. “Twitter. Unbelievable.”
“Not really. I have seventy-five thousand followers.”
Now that was interesting. “You’re kidding.”
“The world is full of anti-government conspiracy theorists. They love governmental watch dogs.”
Caroline stopped at a traffic light and checked the GPS. “Fellas, where are we going?”
Mitch held up a finger, thinking. “We need to hide in plain sight.”
The light turned green and Caroline drove through the intersection while Mitch hit buttons on the car’s GPS. GPS.
“Dammit!” she hollered.
“What?”
“We need to ditch this car. Donaldson is probably already tracking where my phone pinged last. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not stupid. In ten minutes, he’ll have figured out that we needed wheels and that I rented a car. Hello, GPS.”
She slid a sideways glance at Mitch, hoping he’d have something inspiring to say.
“Shit.”
So much for inspiring. “Quick, find me a rental location where we can drop off the car.”
“Brice,” Mitch said, “you know anyone here who can help us with wheels?”
“Let me make some calls.”
An hour later, after returning the rental car and cabbing it to a rundown restaurant on Roswell’s west side, Caroline slid into a booth beside Mitch.
Her leg bumped his and a second later he patted her thigh. Did he have to put his hands on her? Maybe that pat was casual, a meaningless gesture so innocent he hadn’t even looked at her, but he wrapped his long fingers, the ones she’d spent so much time thinking about, around her leg and gave it a little squeeze. That casual but supportive squeeze did things to her. Things she shouldn’t be focusing on right now.
She shifted sideways.
Not that she minded, but she minded. You’re a mess, Caroline.
Through the window, she watched Brice wander the parking lot in easy, random circles—no hurry—while he talked on his phone. Beyond the lot, intermittent cars cruised along the two lane road. All in all, not a bad place to squat for an hour. Not too busy, not too slow. In a place like this, they wouldn’t stand out due its proximity to Highway 285 and all the tourists that traveled it.
“If he can’t get us a car,” she said, “we’re screwed.”
“No, we’re not,” Mitch said. “I’ll find us a car. I’ll owe someone a monster fucking favor, but I’ll get us a car.”
“See, this is what I love about you. You never abandon the fight. You always have a plan. It might be half-assed, but you make it work.”
He grinned. “Is that a compliment?”
“As crazy as you make me, there are times I wish I could be more like you. Not so Type A. Not worrying. Not hung up.”
“You’re cautious. If everyone in the world were like me, it would be chaos.” He cracked up. “Jesus, that would be a hot-ass mess.”
Caroline snorted.
“Anyway, Type-A personalities like you and Grey give people like me balance.” He tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “You give me balance, Caroline.”
A whooshing noise sounded and Caroline flinched as Brice slid into the booth across from them, her gaze on him. He smacked the menu open and looked down at it. Could the man be so hungry that he hadn’t realized he’d interrupted what might have been a big moment in the Caroline-is-a-fool saga?
After a second, the weird silence finally drew his attention. Slowly, he raised his head, glanced at Mitch then Caroline. “Did I miss something?”
Mitch bumped Caroline’s leg with his, but kept his focus on Brice. “No. Wheels?”
“Yeah. It’s not pretty, though. Five calls later, I’ve got us a pickup. It has a bench seat so we’ll all fit.”
“Hey, we’ll take it.”
Caroline nodded. “Thank you, Brice.”
“My guy is bringing it here. He’s also got a trailer we can squat in. It’s at an RV camp site near Bottomless Lakes State Park.”
“I was at that park once,” Caroline said. “My family took a vacation there when I was a kid. There’s a bunch of lakes. Ten maybe?”
“Nine,” Brice said. “But yeah, that’s it. He said the RV is in a remote area so we should be good to go.”
“Who is this guy? You sure you can trust him?”
Brice nodded. “He’s solid. Helped me out before.”
A remote RV, a truck, it all sounded too convenient. “I don’t like it,” Caroline said. “How do we know he won’t give away our location?”
“Well, Caroline,” Brice said. “I guess we don’t. I’m open to your brilliant suggestions, though, so fire away.”
“Don’t get pissy,” Mitch said.
As if she needed him to defend her. “I wasn’t questioning you, Brice.”
“Yeah, you were.”
She sat back, held up her hands. “Never mind. We’re all on edge. And hungry. Let’s eat, chill out for a few minutes, and regroup.”
As if a beacon had flashed over their heads, a waitress stepped up to the table. Caroline needed food. And to sleep for a month. Sleep wouldn’t happen any time soon, so she’d settle for food. Food always helped her focus.
After taking their order, the waitress swished off, her rubber soles squeaking against the tiled floor. Brice had set his phone on the table and was busy scrolling so Caroline reached across and gave him a gentle poke. “Hey, I’m sorry. You’ve gone above and beyond. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“No sweat, Caroline. You think too much. Whoa.”
Mitch leaned in. “Whoa, what?”
“What the fuck?”
He tapped the front of his phone and using two fingers, expanded the screen.
“What is it?” Caroline asked.
But Brice continued reading, ignoring them and that same panicky itch in Caroline’s throat returned.
“What. The. Fuck?” Brice repeated. “You guys are not gonna believe this one.”
Chapter Ten
“What?” Mitch asked.
Phone in hand, Brice slid from the booth. “We gotta go. Now.”
“We have food coming,” Caroline protested.
“Forget it. Let’s move. Got a gun shop to visit.”
Mitch dropped money on the table to cover the food they wouldn’t eat, grabbed his and Caroline’s duffels, and followed Brice out of the restaurant, Caroline on their heels.
“What gun shop?” she huffed. “This better be worth me leaving behind that quarter pounder and fries.”
“It is.” Brice stopped in the parking lot, waved at a truck pulling in. “There’s our ride.”
Mitch was surprised the damned thing actually ran. The color might have been blue. There was so much rust and mud on it, it was hard to tell. The rusted-out body made it look nearly skeletal. The front fender was missing and the windshield looked like a baseball had hit it in the lower passenger side, spider web cracks inching out from a central circle.
One of the side view mirrors hung suspended from a broken piece of plastic and a few wires, swinging erratically as the truck bounced into the parking lot.
“That’s our ride?” Caroline’s voice had a tight, high sound to it. “You can’t be serious.”
“No GPS. No actual record of the thing. Buddy runs a junk yard. The plates on it are from another vehicle chopped up for parts a few months ago.” He grinned and slapped Caroline lightly on the back. “You wanted off the grid. This is it.”
He jogged off to say a few words to the guy who climbed out of the truck and handed Brice a set of keys.
Mitch was grinning but hid it from Caroline. If she saw his face, she’d slug him. “What was that you said about wishing you were less Type A and more easy going?”
He dodged just as she swung a balled fist at his arm. “Shut up.”
Brice’s friend took off on foot without glancing at them. Brice motioned for them to join him. Mitch started walking, realized Caroline wasn’t following, and pulled up short. “It won’t kill you, Caroline.”
Her face was pale, lips tight. “It might. I’m not sure my tetanus shot is up to date.”
This wasn’t about the condition of the truck and Mitch knew it. “You don’t have to come.”
“Oh, I’m coming. Just give me a sec.”
Mitch held up a finger to Brice who waved frantically from the driver’s seat. “I know you want to drive, but I don’t think in this case you have a choice.”
“It’s not that.” She fingered the strap of her briefcase. “What’s this gun shop we’re visiting? He’s not telling us what’s happening.”
Her voice now held a thread of paranoia. “Brice is on our side, Caroline.”
“We barely know him.”
Yep, paranoia had entered her bloodstream. All thanks to him.
Mitch walked back to her, put his face in front of her and smiled, turning on the charm. “I’ll protect you.”
Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on him like she had him in her sniper scope. “I don’t need you—”
He put his hands on both of her elbows. “I know. I’m just kidding. If Brice turns out to be a douchebag, you’ll take him out before I have time to blink, right?”
“Right. And down deep, where it counts, I know he’s on our side. I just don’t know how far reaching this thing is and I’m worried.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“What territory?”
“Being a renegade.”
She shivered under his hands. “I’m not a renegade. I’m just an agent looking for answers.”