Over the Line

by Kelly Irvin

  The thought of those intruders in Gabby’s house didn’t help. Terrorizing a woman in a wheelchair and two fatherless children. His chest hurt with the desire to destroy them.

  Gabby wiggled on the seat next to him. She hugged her purse to her chest. “Are they open?”

  “Sign says nine o’clock.”

  She nodded and turned her head to stare out the passenger window. Eli contemplated his strategy for this encounter. They were in hostile territory now. The chances that the Figueroa family was fronting for the cartel were extremely good. Kristina Briones’s story hadn’t left much doubt what Jake had been up to before his disappearance.

  Garza had incriminating evidence. The cartel thugs thought he’d told Gabby what that evidence was. Given her his phone. Even if she didn’t know anything, they thought she did. Keeping her safe was paramount.

  Eli tightened his hands on the wheel. The chances of getting Jake back alive dwindled to nothing. How Laredo PD and Sunny Mendez figured into the story was way beyond his reach—for now. “I want you to stay in the car.”

  “No.” Gabby’s head popped back up. She sounded like a small child being denied a treat. “Not happening.”

  “I’m not kidding. Do not get out of the car. No matter what.” He double-checked his weapon, even though he knew it was loaded. “If it looks like trouble, I need you someplace where you can call for help.”

  Her face set in determined lines, Gabby opened her door. “I need to be where I can see what’s happening. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

  “You’re not armed.”

  “You have a backup piece. Give it to me.”

  She’d spent enough time with him at the shooting range to handle a weapon, but that meant nothing when confronted with armed, living, moving assailants. He had enough to worry about without dodging accidental friendly fire. “No.”

  It was a standoff, but he had the guns and the upper hand. Eli slid from the car and walked toward the store. A dark late-model luxury car roared around the corner, its motor revved, muffler popping.

  The window rolled down.

  A long barrel extended beyond the tint.

  Eli went for his weapon.

  Bullets exploded around him in the erratic, maniacal rat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon.

  He hurled himself to the sidewalk. The cement scraped his nose. Gravel and rocks scratched his face. Trash stank around him.

  The seconds ballooned until they seemed to last for years. God, don’t let them take Gabby. I know I don’t deserve any favors. I’m not worth the air I waste. Save Gabby. Save Gabby.

  The screeching of rubber on asphalt faded into the distance, the shots with it.

  Eli rolled to his feet and pounded after the vehicle, trying to get a fix on the license plate. The car had none. He got off one shot, then common sense told him the car and its occupants were far beyond the reach of a simple S&W.

  He whirled. “Gabs!”

  His heart pelted against his ribs so hard, he had trouble forming the syllables. Maybe this was what a heart attack felt like. “¿Querida?”

  The black pickup truck—Ram or Tundra—parked in front of the pawn shop started to move. Tires squealed, the motor revved, and the truck bounced forward. Straight at him.

  Eli dove toward the sidewalk—again.

  He rolled and blasted a shot at the moving target. He got a glimpse of a dark-haired driver. A man. Maybe. Then it was gone.

  He lay on his back, not breathing. The sun burned his face. Sweat trickled into his hair and tickled his ears. “Gabs? Gabriella!”

  No answer.

  Eli rolled over and propped himself up on his hands and knees, fear a blade pressed against his throat.

  She sprawled, not moving, facedown in the dirty strip of sparse grass between the sidewalk and the curb. The Charger’s bullet hole–pocked door stood open, shielding her from the street. He crawled to his feet and stumbled toward her.

  Her head lifted. “That’s it. That is it!”

  He recognized the tone and the wild, fierce look in her eyes. It hit people that way sometimes. Shock, disbelief, anger rolled into a vicious, consuming desire to pound someone into the ground. “It’s all right, corazón, they’re gone.” He knelt and pulled her into his arms. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. It’s okay.”

  For once she didn’t fight him. She huddled close, her forehead resting on his shoulder, her heart pounding against his chest. He inhaled the clean smell of her favorite natural store shampoo. His hand rested in her fine, silky blonde hair. His fingers tightened around the soft strands.

  Images bombarded him. Gabby slipping a pie into the oven, her cheeks red from its heat, laughing as she shut the door and turned to harass him about something. Gabby wrapped in a blanket, lying on the rug, Artemis snoring at her feet, as she studied the flames in the living room fireplace. Gabby dodging him on the basketball court, tossing in a perfect hook shot, then turning to land a kiss on his lips out of sheer exuberance.

  The enormity of what he’d lost confounded him. How to get it back. Get her back.

  Her hands came up, palms flat on his chest. Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged. He didn’t move, afraid the slightest gesture would send her reeling back. In six months she hadn’t let him get this close. Now fear drove her into his arms. She knew he was good for this. Protection. He couldn’t be trusted with anything else but this.

  Finally, she raised her head and let out a long breath. “It’s not okay. Somebody just tried to kill us.”

  Forcing himself to focus on what he did know how to do, Eli stared at the empty street. “They tried to kill you, mi amor. They know you’re here.”

  The creaking sound of a door opening made him turn.

  He rose and pulled Gabby up with him. He stepped in front of her, hand on his holster.

  A young guy dressed in black jeans and a black shirt with a button-down collar and long sleeves sauntered from the sporting goods store. He smiled. “Hijo, you must’ve really made someone mad.”

  Chapter 19

  The guy looked a lot like Alberto Garza, only alive. Eli extracted his badge from his belt loop and held it up. Dressed-all-in-black peered at the credentials and shrugged. Eli edged closer. “You know those people?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t get a look. Liked the sound of their artillery, though.” His amused smile revealed perfect, sparkly white teeth. “Sounded like they might be collectors.”

  Collectors. Collectors used a gun show loophole in the law to sell their so-called private collection of firearms without having to run an instant background check or even giving a receipt. “What makes you say that?”

  “They didn’t stop by my store. Guess they just came from a gun show.”

  The guy was yanking his chain and enjoying it. “How ’bout we go inside and wait for the police.” Eli lifted his phone to his ear. Detective Rincon probably wasn’t on duty on a Saturday. Maybe Rincon had called in a favor to get a cop from out of town off his back.

  The Johnny Cash wannabe feigned disinterest until the call was complete. Then he crossed his arms, his lips twisted in a defiant smile under a wimpy mustache. “You do your cop business out here. We’re closed. Death in the family.” He headed toward the door.

  Eli drew his weapon. Getting shot at rattled a man’s nerves. Worse, Gabby had been in harm’s way. He should’ve locked her in the Sevilles’ house with Natalie and the kids. That would be next on his list. Getting her safe. “I don’t think so. We talk in there, or we talk out here. What’s your name?”

  “¡Cálmate!” The guy raised his hands in mock surrender and jerked his head toward the door. “Chuy Figueroa, at your service.”

  A row of AR-15 rifles glistening in the fluorescent lights greeted them at the door. Gabby’s fingers slid between Eli’s. Startled, he peered at her face. She looked gray with exhaustion. “Do you need to sit?”

  “I’m fine. That couldn’t have been random.” She kept her voice just above a whisper
. “Who were they, and how did they know we were here?”

  “We’ve talked to half a dozen people since we got here. I don’t trust anyone at this point.” Eli ran down the list mentally. “Take your pick.”

  “And what about the pickup truck? Do you think it was the same one that followed Natalie and Deacon here from San Antonio?”

  “It seems likely. The question is, which one of the people we talked to sent them after us?”

  Alberto Garza’s younger brother’s insolent expression throughout the interview of his family and the way he’d hovered over the girlfriend of his dead brother had triggered more alarms in Eli’s head.

  The father, on the other hand, had looked scared. Of what?

  Eli zeroed in on Figueroa. “Where’s your father?”

  “In Mexico on a business trip. He’ll be back in time for Beto’s funeral.”

  Consorting with the enemy, or hiding out until the situation cooled off? Eli counted to ten, slowly. “So, your dad hooked Alberto up with someone who wanted him to buy guns for him. Who was it?”

  Chuy lit a cigarette and sucked on it, taking his time. “I don’t know what Beto was up to. He went to the store in San Antonio whining that he needed a job, he needed money fast. My dad took pity on him and offered him a gig doing deliveries, kind of like a courier.”

  Ignoring Gabby’s disgusted look, Eli stepped into the plume of smoke and inhaled. Secondhand smoke was better than no smoke at all. “Buying and delivering guns.”

  Figueroa glanced at a sleek, expensive-looking wristwatch. It seemed he had somewhere to be. “He did whatever my dad asked him to do. We’re completely legit here. I need to close up. I have to help my tío make the arrangements. Beto wasn’t my best buddy, but he was family.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Let me check my calendar.” Figueroa’s smirk deserved a whop upside the head. Eli counted to ten again. The smart aleck gazed into space. “Thursday? Maybe. Thursday afternoon? Something like that.”

  Right about the time Jake was meeting another informant at the river. And then disappearing. “What was he—?”

  The bell over the door dinged as it opened. Rincon walked in, looking all spiffy and clean shaven. The guy must lead a double life as a stockbroker. “And we all know how into family members you are, Figueroa.” He slid one finger down the barrel of a rifle like he was checking for dust. “Especially the dead ones.”

  “It’s like a convention of cops in here. I haven’t seen so many police around here since the policía were on trial at the federal courthouse.” His grin got wider. “Who important got murdered? I know you aren’t here about my cousin. SA is outside your jurisdiction.”

  “Shut up and I’ll tell you.”

  “You didn’t just tell me to—”

  “Shut up? Yes, I did. These folks are visitors from out of town. We don’t like it when tourists get shot at. It’s bad for business.” Rincon tapped on the glass case with two manicured fingernails. “They’re asking questions about a missing ATF agent who is connected to a family member of yours. Maybe your folks aren’t happy about that. Maybe you know something about the situation.”

  “N’ombre.”

  “Like you’d tell me.”

  “You’re the one asking the stupid questions.”

  Rincon inclined his head toward the door. “Detective Cavazos, Miss Benoit, let’s talk outside.”

  Rincon’s questions only took a few minutes. Eli gave him a bare bones recitation. Not that he could remember much about the shooter’s car. Black or dark-blue, four-door, BMW, maybe. Gabriella hadn’t seen a thing.

  “So whose face did you get in?” Rincon leaned against the storefront, one manicured finger rubbing a spot on his temple.

  Eli ran down the list, including the visit to the sporting goods store in San Antonio and the armed intruders who’d broken into Gabby’s home. Rincon pursed his lips in a frown. “It sounds like you’d do well to stay out of this. Keep your friend under wraps until we finish our investigation.”

  “Are you getting anywhere?”

  He shifted and straightened, obviously hearing the challenge in Eli’s question. “We’re making progress.”

  “What’s the ATF saying?”

  “Nothing. The ATF is looking for a missing agent. We’re looking for him as a murder suspect. Those goals don’t exactly mix. They’re trying to stay ahead of us.” Rincon stopped. His gaze went to Gabby. “However . . . that is one place where you might be able to stick your nose and I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  “What do you mean?” Her face brightened. She was itching for a fight, that was obvious. “I’ll do anything . . . anything to find my brother and make sure he’s okay.”

  “You’re the agent’s family. You have a right to know what’s going on. Get in the ATF’s face and stay in their face until someone tells you something.”

  “Didn’t LPD have involvement in the task force trying to stop gun smuggling?”

  “We did, but now that we’re investigating this murder—”

  “They know you’ll use the information to find Jake and put him in jail.” Her voice strengthened. Anger could do that, buoy a person up when nothing else could. “You want to string my brother up for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  “Find him, and he’ll have the opportunity to tell his side of the story. We don’t have all the facts, and I’m a fair man. You get some information that will help us find your brother and bring him in, and I’ll make sure he gets a fair shake.”

  “I’m an attorney, Detective, don’t try to snow me. I find my brother, rest assured, I’ll be protecting his rights.”

  Rincon didn’t seem fazed by Gabby’s attitude. “Understood. But I can keep him alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he’s mixed up in something involving one of the cartels, his life is in danger if he isn’t already—”

  Eli jerked his head at Rincon. The detective followed him to a safe distance from Gabby. “Who in the ATF will talk to us? Any ideas?”

  Rincon’s eyebrows popped up. “She’s his sister. Doesn’t she know who he’s tight with?”

  “She’s had a lot on her plate for the last few years.”

  “I looked into her . . .” Rincon wrinkled his nose as if an odor disagreed with him. “And you.”

  “So you know what she’s been through. She has a sister in a wheelchair and two kids living in her house now.” Eli worked at his game face. “And an ex-boyfriend who wants her back and won’t leave her alone.”

  Rincon’s gaze strayed toward Gabby, who stood, arms crossed, staring out at the street. “I can see why you don’t want to give her up. We haven’t been able to get any cooperation from the ATF. You might try a guy named Larry Teeter. He’s a newbie. He was assigned with Benoit. He seemed pretty upset about his partner’s situation. He didn’t tell me much, but I bet he’d spill it all to a family member.”

  Nothing new there. “Thanks.”

  “I scratch your back; you scratch mine.”

  Not exactly. Not if it meant helping Rincon put Jake in jail. “Sure. Right. If we find out anything pertinent, we’ll let you know.”

  Chapter 20

  Women were God’s way of driving men crazy. Eli slapped his sweaty hand to his aching side and huffed as he tried to keep up with Larry Teeter. That and jogging. Gabby refused to consider returning to the Sevilles’. She argued that Teeter would be more likely to open up to Jake’s terrified, sad sister—and Teeter claimed the only time he could talk was during his “run.” Only seriously deranged people ran in South Texas on an August afternoon. Ninety-five degrees with 100 percent humidity. A person could cut a slice of air with a bread knife.

  Eli’s lungs threatened to explode. He hadn’t jogged since before the shooting. Teeter had set aside an hour to jog—for stress relief he said—before a family commitment that couldn’t be missed.

  Even by a guy whose partner had been missing for two days.

>   His route from an apartment complex through a city park and past half a dozen store parking lots filled with cars seemed never ending. And they still had to run back. Eli couldn’t decide if the pain in his side was from the scar tissue or sheer laziness. “Do you mind slowing it down a little?”

  Teeter glanced back. Sweat rolled down his obsidian skin. “What’s the matter? City cops got it so cushy they can’t keep up anymore?”

  Gabby ran in place for a few seconds. She had given up jogging after she opened the restaurant, but she still punished herself regularly on a treadmill in her office. This pace was a piece of cake for her.

  “Look, can we just grab a bench or something and talk? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Teeter’s arms pumped. He leapt over a broken beer bottle in the middle of the sidewalk. “I promised myself this run. I need it. If I don’t run five miles a day, my middle starts to spread.”

  Eli gritted his teeth and wiped sweat from his eyes. Teeter’s middle didn’t look like it needed any work. In fact, he looked like he spent more than his share of time with the weights at the gym. Eli sucked in air and tried not to gasp. Only pride kept him from puking. “Fine. How well did you know Jake?”

  “They stuck us together about six months ago.” Instead of stopping at a yellow light, Teeter picked up the pace, forcing them to cross on the red. “His partner retired, and they didn’t want him flying solo on this operation.”

  “When was the last time you saw Jake?” Gabby didn’t even pant when she spoke.

  “Thursday morning. We briefed the boss on our plan of action. We spent about thirty or forty minutes on it.”

  “You said ‘our’ plan of action. Why was he out in the field on his own after that? You didn’t deploy together?”