by Alex Ander
Ashford nodded. “That’s right. At first, I thought about taking everyone to a hotel, but then,” his eyes fell upon Cruz, “I thought of you.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you did. You know you’re welcome here, anytime.” She spied Hardy. “Do you think we can take this to the President?”
Hardy uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and methodically placed his cup on the coffee table. “I think,” he winced, “I think we can speak to Director Jameson,” before shaking his head, “but not the President. This might turn out to be a random mugging attempt, a matter for local police. At this point, I’d say we can’t involve the President.”
Ashford scowled at the two on the sofa. “The president of,” he paused, “what exactly?”
Hardy and Cruz gave each other a look before coming back to Ashford, their faces stoic.
“You mean thee President?”
They nodded.
“What...you two have the President of the United States on speed dial?”
Cruz shook her head. “No.”
Hardy nodded. “Yes.”
The couple regarded each other.
“Well,” he lifted a shoulder, the one nearer to his woman, “he’s further down the list. You’re still my number one contact.”
She half grinned. “I better be.”
“Okay,” Ashford leaned back in the easy chair across the table from them, “I think we have some catching up to do, Cruz.”
She chuckled, “That we do,” before wavering. “Look, Ash,” Cruz crossed her legs and pushed her t-shirt hem over her knees, “if I know anything about Jessica, it’s that her loved ones mean everything to her.”
Ashford nodded.
“She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their safety. And, in this case, that means keeping you in the dark about,” Cruz rolled her head, “whatever’s going on down in Mexico.”
Hardy grabbed his cell. “Without more details, I’m afraid all we can do is help you,” he pointed his chin at Father Mahoney, “protect your family. That being said, I’ll still place a call to Jameson. He’s higher up the food chain. Maybe he knows something we don’t...or can ask questions of people that we can’t question.”
“It seems,” Mahoney put his cup on the table, “you people have some work to do. So,” he rose from his chair, “I think I’ll take this opportunity to excuse myself...and try to get some shuteye.”
Cruz stood. “I’ll show you your room, Father.”
“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep on the floor at the foot of my granddaughter’s bed. I brought my sleeping bag.”
Head down, Hardy thumbed his cell phone. “Just like a good shepherd would do.”
Cruz, Ashford, and Mahoney fell silent.
After several seconds of hearing only the ticking sound of a nearby clock’s second hand, Hardy looked up and saw everyone staring at him. “You know,” his gaze went from one person to the next, “like in biblical times...when the shepherd would literally lie across the opening to the sheep pen. Any predator that wanted to harm his flock would have to go through him.” He motioned toward the religious man. “Am I right, Martin?”
Hearing his first name being spoken aloud, Mahoney smiled at Hardy. “You and I are going to get along just fine, young man. And, yes...you are right.” He raised a hand. “Good night, all.” The man picked up his sleeping bag and suitcase and ascended the staircase to a chorus of well wishes.
Cruz pointed at Ashford’s duffel bag. “Grab your stuff.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “You’ll be sleeping in the room next to Cassie’s.”
“Wait a minute.” Ashford snagged the hand she was motioning with, her left hand. He frowned at the appendage before peering at her. “We just saw each other...what...two months ago?” Hardy, Cruz, Ashford, and Devlin had met for drinks at a restaurant. The occasion had marked Hardy’s introduction to the latter couple.
Ashford lowered his gaze to a piece of jewelry on Cruz’s finger. “And that wasn’t there.”
The trio exchanged glances, two of the three grinning from ear to ear.
Ashford shot out a puff of air. “I stand corrected, Cruz.” He let go of her hand. “You and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 21
Nightmare
3 may—2:49 a.m.
mexican highway 2
southwest of
san antonio, texas
“Not without Hawk.”
“We’ll be cut to pieces.”
“I’m going for him.”
Hawkins caught her eye.
She regarded him.
Shaking his head at her, he pressed his back against the SUV, made a face, and pushed himself upward.
The cacophony stopped.
Staring at Devlin, Hawkins nodded once. “Tell her I love her, Dev.” He whirled around.
“Hawk!”
Devlin jolted forward in the seat. “Hawk!” Breathless and perspiring, she batted her eyes before rubbing them with a thumb and forefinger. She glanced around the GTO’s interior, her mind still showing her flashes of the shootout. After raising the seat’s backrest, she threaded fingers through her hair, pushing locks away from her face.
“Are you okay?”
She eyed the driver. “Just a bad dream—nightmare, actually.”
Randall nodded while shooting downward peeks at his forearm. “I can tell.”
Her gaze dropped to her left hand. She still had a crushing hold on his right limb. She let go. The moonlight reflected off the white hand imprint on his skin. “Sorry.”
“No problem...kept me from falling asleep at the wheel.”
She caught her breath. “What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
“What? You were supposed to wake me at two.”
Since leaving San Fernando, Randall had raised the convertible’s top, and the muscle car’s occupants had taken turns driving, so they could get some sleep. During the times when both had been awake, the mood in the vehicle had been somber. Neither person had spoken a word. The only sounds had been the engine groaning and the wind racing by the Pontiac.
“You were out cold. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Anyway, the couple of hours I got earlier were plenty.”
“Where are we?”
Randall gawked at the GPS map on the cell phone from Steele. “Not far from the coordinates Steely gave us.”
Yawning, Devlin shifted her position, crossed arms over her chest, and rolled her head over the headrest, away from Randall.
He peeped at her a few times, washed a hand down his face, and squirmed in the seat. “Hey, I’m truly sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you and your family. I...I never thought the plan to find the mole in the Marshals Service would go this far...or lead to the deaths of good people. From the depths of my soul, I just wanted to apologize.”
Devlin turned toward him and studied the side of his face for nearly ten seconds.
His eyes jittered back and forth between her and the road ahead. Feeling the heat from her stare, he gripped the wheel tighter. Say something, will you? Anything, except this awk—
“It’s not your fault.” She looked away. “You were doing the job your superiors ordered you to do.” She envisioned her right cross connecting with his chin. “As long as we’re doling out apologies, I think I owe you one as well.”
He made a face. “You do?”
She came back to him. “How’s the jaw?”
“Ah,” he bobbed his head up and down before stroking his left cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I probably had it coming.”
“I wasn’t in a good place at the time.”
He waved a hand in the space between them. “I get it. It’s fine. In your shoes, I would’ve done the same thing.”
Moments passed while both of them sat still, listening to the rushing wind and the tires rolling over the pavement.
“By the way, that was a good pu
nch.” He motioned toward the lights in the sky. “I saw a couple stars.”
Devlin closed her eyes before ogling him. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“In the future, however, I would greatly appreciate it if you would direct,” his finger twitched her way, “those fists toward someone else.”
She lifted a corner of her mouth.
He did the same while sneaking a peek at her in his peripheral vision. “So...we’re good then?”
“We’re good,” Devlin turned away from him, “until you piss me off again.”
Randall’s laughter rose above the 360 horses of the Pontiac’s Tri-Power V8. A quarter mile later, “Well, sadly,” his amusement died to a muted chuckle, “I seem to have that effect on women.”
She confronted him. “Was that true...what Bill said? Are you really divorced?”
The driver nodded.
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes, a life in the CIA brings its own...challenges.”
Devlin squared her upper body with him and unfolded her arms.
“It’s hard to build a relationship when one person is keeping secrets from the other.”
She cocked her head at him. “You worked in intelligence. Secrecy comes with the territory.”
Randall lifted eyebrows at her. “Tell that to a young bride who wants to know how your day went.” He bobbed his head while acting out a conversation. “Hi honey. How was your day? Fine. Anything exciting happen? Plenty, but you’ll never know about it.” He sucked in a breath and sighed. “Those were tough days.” He shook his head. “I think I broke her heart one day at a time,” he hesitated, “one conversation at a time.”
Devlin pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry.”
“That was the reason I left the CIA...for the DEA. I thought maybe the move would help salvage our marriage.” He rolled a hand toward his passenger. “At least I could come home and tell her I busted up a drug ring...or arrested some smuggler. But,” he grimaced, “by that time, we were too far gone.”
For the next half mile, Devlin tried to come up with something comforting to say. Drawing a blank, she drifted to another topic. “Do you have any children together?”
Randall shook his head. “Not sure why...wasn’t for lack of trying. That’s for sure. Sex was the one thing we were good at.”
Devlin closed her eyes to fend off the images that were trying to invade her brain.
“I mean when we were together,” he faced her, “we would—”
“Nope.” Her hand shot up, as if she were a cop stopping traffic. “I can do without the visual aids. Thank you very much.”
He smiled. “Right. Anyway...I guess it was for the best that we didn’t bring any kids into our little mess.” He peered out his side of the Pontiac for a few moments. “Although I wouldn’t have minded having a little Noah...to play with...show him the ropes...do all those dad things that dads do.”
“There’s still time.” Devlin extended an upturned palm in his direction. “You’re only what...” her eyes zipped over his beard and tanned skin, “forty or so?”
Randall whipped his head toward her, his eyebrows forming a straight line.
She leaned away. Oops. “I meant thirty-five.”
His mood lightened. “You can’t take it back now.”
“Sorry.”
“Relax.” He made a face at the windshield. “It’s just a number.”
“So how old are you, anyway?”
“I’m thirty-six.”
“You look good.”
He rolled his eyes toward her, his head following. “Save it, sister.”
Devlin grinned.
Shaking his head, “Forty,” Randall went back to watching the road, “or so.” He glimpsed headlights in the rearview mirror.
“What I meant to say was...”
He squinted at the reflection of a fast-approaching car.
“...you’ve still got time to meet someone...”
Flashing lights appeared atop the trailing car’s image.
“...and have,” Devlin turned toward the oncoming light show, “a couple of,” her voice trailed off, “kids.”
Randall’s body stiffened. “Not if we get caught by the police, I won’t.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 22
Head Start
Peering into the mirror on her side of the Pontiac, Devlin scowled at the police car’s reflection. “Well, this is an unexpected pile of ‘S’ ‘H’ India Tango.”
Randall frowned at her.
Whipping her head around to see out the back window, she caught his look. “It’s my husband’s way of swearing when my daughter’s within earshot. It means—”
“Yeah, I figured out what it means.” He had already merged the two letters with the two words from the military’s phonetic alphabet. Pushing on the brake pedal and easing the GTO to the side of the road, he repeated the phrase in his head and chuckled. “Permission to use that in the future?”
“To my knowledge, Curt hasn’t filed for a copyright, so...”
Randall double-checked the condition of his pistol.
“...be my guest.” Devlin watched him. “What are you doing?”
“We need a head start.”
“You’re going to kill a police officer?”
“Who said anything about killing? I’m a crack shot. I could drop him with a flesh wound. He’ll probably be assigned a desk job for the next three months. Hell, when you look at it that way,” Randall eyed the side-view mirror, “I’d be doing him a favor.”
She gripped his gun hand.
He pivoted his head toward her.
“We’re not shooting him.” Her discourse gained speed. “He’s another member of law enforcement doing his job. Just because he’s not American doesn’t mean we—”
“Easy, Devlin.” Randall removed her hand from his. “I’m only kidding.”
The officer exited his vehicle and drew nearer to the muscle car.
“You need to,” Randall watched the man’s image get bigger in the side mirror, “get to know my sense of humor.” He paused. “Better hang on to something.”
“Why?”
When the officer’s frame had filled the reflective surface...
“What are you plan—”
...Randall stomped on the gas pedal.
Devlin’s back hit the seat.
The Pontiac’s wheels spun, as the car’s rear-end fishtailed right.
The officer brought up his hands to block the spray of dirt before reaching for his gun.
Cranking the steering wheel to the right, Randall straightened the GTO.
The cop ran to his patrol car.
“Sorry Steely, but we’re going to have to see what this baby can do.”
The GTO reached speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour.
Watching the police vehicle’s lights become tiny dots in the rearview mirror, Randall patted Devlin’s arm. “Check the GPS. How far are we from our destination?”
She grabbed the cell phone. “It’s just around the next bend in the road.”
Making a face, he glanced at the mirrors. He’s too close. We need more time. Randall glimpsed his passenger, snatched the pack from the backseat, and dropped the bag onto her lap. “Get out.”
“Why?”
“You,” he navigated the bend and slammed on the brakes, “ask a lot of questions.” The car screeched to a halt, right-front tire on gravel to the right; the other three tires on pavement. “You know that?”
“Comes with the badge.” She grabbed his arm.
He eyed the taut lines on her stoic face.
“And I’m used to getting answers. Now, tell me—”
“You go find Paco, and I’ll,” Randall jerked a thumb behind him, “draw this guy away and meet you at...”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m...”
“...the river.”
“...not leaving you behind.”
He shoo
k his head one time. “I have no intentions of being left behind. Now, get out. I’ll find you.”
After scrambling out of the car and slamming the door, Devlin shouldered the pack and thrust a finger at him, “You damn well better,” before bolting away from the car.
He smiled at her departing figure, his mind envisioning the strained look on her face from a second ago. What do you know? I think she’s warming up to me. His foot transitioned to the gas pedal, and the GTO sped away. Ten seconds later, glimpsing the police car’s flashing lights in the rearview mirror, Randall adjusted his position in the seat, “All right,” and pushed harder on the accelerator, “time to play.”
*******
ten minutes later...
3:09 a.m.
Cell phone in hand, observing the GPS coordinates, Devlin stepped out from a thicket, took two steps toward the river, and stopped. The image of an alligator popped into her brain, along with Steele’s warning: Though rare, they’ve been spotted in the Rio Grande.
She backed up and scanned both ends of the riverbank before squinting at the opposite side of the flowing water. Having stood at the fifty-yard line of her high school’s football field many times, performing cheerleader routines, she had a sense for the distance between midfield and a goalpost. That has to be fifty yards away...maybe sixty.
A branch cracked.
Spinning around, she drew her 1911 and aimed the gun at an emerging shadow.
Hands up, a skinny teenager came into the moonlight. “Hola...Senora Devlin?”
Devlin cast glances at the brush on either side of the boy and came back to him.
He patted his chest. “Paco...Senor Steele sent me,” he poked a finger beyond her shoulder, “to get you across.” The boy ducked back into the shrubs and reappeared, dragging a raft.
Watching the teen lug the craft to the water’s edge, she peeked at her Colt. What are you going to do, Jess, she bobbed her eyebrows, shoot a kid? She holstered her weapon.
Paco stood, looked in all directions, and faced her. “Where is Senor Noah?”
She cranked her head around and eyed the greenery. “That’s a good question, Paco.”
“Senora Devlin, you must go now...police on other side come soon...patrols.”