“I know. Just hang tight. Make sure you don’t leave that house. We’ll get these bastards.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I will,” and he disconnected the call. He slipped the phone in his back pocket and gripped the edge of the stair banister. The more he thought about it, the more he really didn’t like this.
“What?” Her eyebrows pinched together.
“I don’t want you staying here by yourself.”
Her smirk was almost as adorable as her smile. “Don’t start that.”
“Just for a few days until they find him.”
“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve lived just fine on my own for years.”
“You haven’t had a cartel hitman on your tail before. I need to make sure you stay safe. My first suggestion is I stay here, but I know how small towns are. Your reputation and everything…”
She cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. Just the way Tinkerbell did in Peter Pan. So stubborn and adorable. “How noble.”
“I mean it, Lynée. I’m not being cute or sarcastic. You need protection right now.”
“No, thanks.” She turned back around to the box of evidence.
He nearly growled. She was so damn frustrating. “You don’t get a choice. I’ll call the sheriff. Request he put a man in front of your house overnight.”
“I’m positive Wyatt, and his deputies have better things to do than sit out in the cold all night long.” She ran her fingers through her hair and shook out the tangles. “Besides, that’s the best way to ensure all the gossip about my reputation makes the complete circuit around town…a cop car sitting outside my house for days.”
“Not days. Just overnights. I’ll be here during the day.”
With a flip of her hair, she gave him an incredulous look. “All day every day? What happens if you need to run out and get lunch? Or go do your agent things and run down a lead? Good heavens, how will I ever manage on my own if you have to go to the bathroom?”
He closed the distance between them in two large strides. “You know what? This is how.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Sheriff Wyatt. After a brief conversation, the man agreed to help provide protection, and in fact, was happy to send a deputy over right then. Jace ended the call.
Lynée glared. “Why in the world does he have to come over now? You’ve completely let your power run amuck in your head.”
“I told you, you’re not gonna be left alone for the near future.” He turned and grabbed his keys off the coffee table. “And, I need some air.” He stood by the front door, waiting for the police car to pull up.
She followed with her hands on her hips. “You’ve been in a pissy mood ever since you walked through that door. What stick crawled up your behind?”
He chuckled, only because her attempts at cursing and sounding vulgar sounded like a toddler. But she wasn’t wrong. He had been in a pissy mood. Not just because she was infuriating and stubborn and countering everything he’d said. But because he was angry with himself. For not having better control over this case, and letting a maniac get this close to her. Hell, the woman had only been inches away from unthinkable torture, and here she was arguing with him about having a little extra protection.
“Don’t ignore me,” she warned. “Is that what you do when someone disagrees with you? You run off so you don’t have to hear it. You see, that’s the problem with people today. They are completely incapable of handling discord in a mature, productive manner. Let me guess, in whatever law enforcement academy you attended, you were taught to bulldoze people for having differing opinions and find the closest exit with the path of least resistance.”
He rolled his eyes skyward and forced a deep breath before he responded. “No, Lynée. I was taught to arrest people. To completely ignore whatever bullshit stories they concocted to get out of being slapped in handcuffs. Then I was taught to defend myself against physical altercations so they wouldn’t pose a danger to the rest of society. To innocent civilians like you.”
By some miracle, the deputy’s car pulled up in front of her house right then.
“Hallelujah.” He threw open the door and tossed one instruction over his shoulder. “Make sure you lock this door.”
With a few quick instructions to the officer and exchanging contact info, he threw a leg over his Harley and drove off.
Jace needed to think. And he could always think better on his bike. He took off through the mountains, breathing in the fresh air, taking in the change of scenery. Thinking about the break-in at Skye’s house and the image of that son of a bitch in the bathroom mirror. His mind should’ve been focused on the case and finding out who that man was, how he was connected with the cartel, and finding an end to this whole mess. Because he was certain it was all connected. Hell, he could easily see how that was the same man in the car on the surveillance video from the motel explosion.
But all he could think about was how damn close Lynée had come to being killed. That bastard could’ve jumped her at any moment. And Jace would’ve been too late to stop it. His vivid imagination afflicted him with the images of previous gruesome crime scenes, any one of them could’ve happened to her.
The cold air slapped his face going down the mountain. This was why he’d remained unattached in his career. These thoughts drove men insane. Drove damn-good agents to desk jobs and early retirement because they were worried about significant others. That something would happen to them. Or to themselves, leaving their significant others to mourn in agony.
His mother suffered horribly after his father’s death. He’d seen her sob on the bathroom floor countless times, and she had stayed in bed all day for months on end. He’d vowed to himself to never do that to a woman in his life. The only way to ensure that was to never let one get close.
Dammit, Lynée was getting too close. Or more specifically, he was allowing himself to get too close to her. What was more, he couldn’t bring himself to back off. Not even a little. With that break-in and her unknowingly near-miss with death, he wanted to hold on tighter. Make sure she stayed safe. Beside him.
He drove for a while when his stomach started talking to him. Time to feed the beast.
Scoping out the town, he found a cafe to eat his usual—a sandwich with extra meat, soup, chips, pasta salad, and a tall glass of milk. Just as he dug into the food, his phone buzzed.
Caller ID showed it was Phil.
“Hey, old-timer,” he answered.
“Just checkin’ on you.” Phil’s voice sounded raspier than usual, but still upbeat. “How’s your case coming?”
“It’s been…interesting.”
“I would imagine so. It’s not every day you investigate a crooked DEA agent. Is he still under wraps right now?”
Jace paused with his fork dangling over his plate. “Why?”
“I heard there’s a cartel assassin in your neck of the woods. Is that related to your guy?”
Absolutely. “Might be. You saw the notice we put out?”
“Everyone has. And based on our last conversation, that’s why I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Do you need any kind of backup?”
“No, I have it under control. I have someone helping me look through all the data.”
“Really? Who?”
“A local.” He wasn’t quite ready to share with him this local was a woman, a librarian, who’d spent most of his days with.
The background noise silenced as if Phil had stepped into a different room or closed his office door for privacy. “Look, I remember these guys from my field days. They’re not amateurs. So whatever you’re doing on your case, you need to wrap it up ASAP. I understand if you’re not comfortable bringing in someone from the El Paso office to help you. But I can send someone I trust. You just need to tell me where.”
He sat back in his chair. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I would never ask you to betray your gut. If this guy is truly being framed by another crooked agent, we owe it to h
im to help him out of this. But more importantly, I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“I appreciate that, Phil. But I can handle myself.”
“I mean it, J. I don’t like what I’m hearing coming up the chain. You need to be careful.”
He raised his eyes skyward. “I will, Mom.”
“Don’t be an ass,” he snapped, “or I will call your mother. How much longer do you need?”
“Not sure. We’re close, though.”
“We? You mean the local? What kind of qualifications do they have?”
“I’m…not comfortable sharing that right now.” He looked around him, with several other patrons sitting a little too close to overhear.
“Fine. Let me know when you’re finished. If anything goes haywire, you call me.”
“I will. Take care.”
He finished his meal, realizing it had been far too long since he’d last seen his mentor. Even longer since he’d sat down to dinner with both Phil and his mom. Maybe over Christmas, they could all get back together again.
As he strode back to his bike, a store caught his eye—a butcher.
Steak.
Damn. When was the last time he had a really thick juicy steak? The diner doesn’t count. His stomach turned over. He left his bike and strolled inside.
If Lynée didn’t have a grill, he could easily cook the steaks in a skillet with butter. Not as tasty as from a grill, but it would do the job. He could practically smell the juicy, tender prime beef. This time he’d make sure there wasn’t a single ketchup bottle in sight.
Maybe he could use this as an olive branch. She’d been right. He was angry and ended up taking it out on her.
When he arrived, the deputy’s car still sat by the curb. The man had a plate of muffins and a thermos of some hot liquid. No doubt Lynée had provided those treats, probably meant as an apology.
Once inside, he spotted her staring at a wall of pictures, her glasses sliding down her nose, and a pen tucked behind her ear. She’d changed into a loose button-down blouse, steel-blue, and a gray wool skirt that reached her knees. Still very academic, but with a little more leg than she usually showed. The look was quite becoming. A little furrow in her brow proved she’d been thinking too hard.
The other wall was covered with more papers. The corkboard from the church was in the center, with dozens of different color strings keeping track of various events in a long timeline.
“Holy shit, woman.”
She tapped her pen on a few photos in front of her. “Don’t touch my system over there. It’s all coded.”
“Care to explain it to me?” Maybe they could call a truce over work.
She turned around, her skirt furling a bit in the twirl, and she stared at her creation. “Green and teal strings are the financials, DEA events in red, news articles about the cartel in purple, Reed’s files in yellow, the black are Joe’s reports…” She continued on with the various categories. “I was trying to see where various lines crossed.”
Her research mode was in full throttle, and it was as intimidating as hell. He glanced at the far wall with all the photos.
“What is this stuff, Bell?” He set the bags on the counter.
“Cabello family tree.”
He nearly snorted and came up beside her. There had been countless agents working on that cartel affiliation over the years, probably all staring at the same thing. But he wouldn’t disrupt her line of thinking.
“What did you find?”
“Lots and lots of dead relatives.”
“A testament to the cartel lifestyle.” He recognized Carlos Cabello at the top, as well as a few others taped to the wall, all connected by various colored strings. Diego Huerta’s picture was off to the side, unconnected.
“As I come across an incident in Reed’s reports—a contact or a suspect—I print off a picture and stick it on the wall. Then I research them to see how they’re connected.”
“Damn.” He put his hands on his hips, stunned by the sheer number of people she’d uncovered from the reports. And had found their photos.
“If this wasn’t a visual-enough tale to convince people not to go into the drug trade,” she continued, “then nothing would.” She bit her lip in that adorable way and stepped forward to point at some pictures. “Carlos had a dozen brothers and sisters, of whom half died during childhood. The other half became grunt workers for the cartel, especially the women’s husbands. A bunch of children from those siblings, many of whom ended up killed in one capacity or another. This brother here,” she pointed to a more sadistic looking man that was clearly copied from an old newspaper clipping. “He was one of Carlos’ key enforcers for years before a heart attack at age forty-one. Never married, but a bunch of newspaper articles refer to several illegitimate children, who were raised on the Cabello compound. Which, according to a watchdog reporter, is also heavily protected by the local police. Carlos, on the other hand, has never been married and doesn’t appear to have any kids. Really strange, considering everyone else has or had at least five.”
He loved the determination in her voice, that unwavering focus. “Okay, so where are you stuck?”
“This guy.” She pointed to Diego Huerta’s photo. “I’m trying to figure out how he fits in.”
“Monroe said he was the computer genius. And a bounty notice for Reed Monroe claimed for the death of Carlos’s nephew. Can we assume Huerta was the nephew?”
“A nephew…” she thought out loud. “From which sibling?” She sifted through a file and pulled out a paper. “His birth certificate lists the mother’s name, but no father. Mom isn’t related to the Cabello family at all. But her death certificate is only a few years later,” she pulled another paper, “under suspicious circumstances. I can’t find her picture.”
“What do you mean, suspicious circumstances?”
“The cause of death was crossed out. And it says un asunto familiar. I translated it to ‘a family matter.’”
“Okay. As amazing as this family tree is, and your level of detail is exceptional, why is this important?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Reed’s reports and files are thorough. They list names and contact info for everyone, and each specific date Joe interacted with them. And everyone is coming back as a family member. Very few outsiders. Everything this guy does involves family. They’re all interconnected somewhere.” Her eyes narrowed, looking at the data.
“Which means…”
Lynée sighed. “If you want to capture Carlos Cabello, DEA needs to track and follow his family members.”
“True. But we’re not here to do that. We’re here to see if Monroe is telling the truth. Was he the mole, or his former partner, Joe?”
“That’s what I’m saying. There is no connection between Reed and Cabello. None. But Joe, on the other hand…” She bit her lip again and turned away from the wall. She stood in front of a different box.
“What? You’re saying there’s a connection?”
“I’m not sure.” She pulled out a file. “I hated doing this because I know Reed thought so highly of him. But Joe had several cousins and siblings who went to prison for drugs. Including one for distribution.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re connected to the Cabellos.”
“True. But they all lived in El Paso. And what if the cartel got to Joe through his family? They knew Joe was DEA and needed an insider. So if his relative was running drugs for the Cabellos and realized they could threaten Joe into working for them or his family member would be killed… Do you think he’d do it?”
Jace chewed on this inside of his cheek. “I’d like to say no, but it isn’t the first time they’ve gotten to an agent that way.”
“So it’s more likely that Joe was the mole and not Reed.”
“More likely, yes. But that’s not enough to clear him of these charges. We need definitive proof.”
She clumped down into the loveseat and pulled her glasses off. Then she rubbed her eyes. “Proof
that Joe was the mole.”
“Joe, or anyone else. Though, since Joe was the one who first alerted the existence of a mole, that’s unlikely as well.” He knelt in front of her, caressing her thighs over the wool. “Listen, you’ve done exemplary work here. I can imagine the amount of time and effort involved in this eye-crossing computer work. You would make one hell of an analyst.”
The side of her mouth quirked up at him, her face still defeated as she plucked at her skirt’s hem. She’d tried so hard to help exonerate her friend. So she and Monroe could come home.
“Don’t give up. We follow the evidence, no matter where it leads.”
“I know I’m right, Jace. I can’t prove it yet. But you’ll see.”
His heart sank. “I hope so.”
“You don’t sound like it.”
“I’m thinking about where the case goes if Reed is found innocent.”
“Meaning?”
“The mole is still out there…and both of them are still not safe.”
A flash of worry crossed her face.
He loved the way she was an open book. How every emotion played on her face each moment. For a librarian, the cliché was heartwarming.
“Then we’ll do it. We’ll figure it out. And they can come home.” He exhaled. “Look, Lynée, about earlier—”
She met his gaze. “It’s all right. I know you’re just trying to protect me. For that, I’m grateful.”
The corners of his lips curved slightly. He was thankful they didn’t need to speak about it anymore. At least one thing went right that day. He held out his hand.
She slipped her fingers in it, squeezing him back.
“Okay, now that that’s clear,” he stood and helped her to her feet, “let me show you what I bought us for dinner.”
“Oh my gosh, Jace.” Lynée leaned back in her chair and exhaled. “That dinner was perfection. I can’t tell you the last time I had steak.”
“Perfection?”
She licked her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He lifted a brow.
Why did it seem everything had a sexual connotation with this man? She huffed and rose to take her plate to the kitchen.
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