As he jogged back to her, he called Enrique. He needed his help to smooth the way with the local authorities. As a foreigner, caught in the middle of a shootout in a city that wasn’t known for violent crime, he might be highly suspect.
“Enrique,” he said. “I’ve got a situation. A shooter in the market.” He gave him the details of what had happened.
“I’ll contact the San Miguel police and make sure you’re not detained for any reason,” Enrique promised. “A standard interview, you’re not going to get away from that. But I’ll make sure I’m there when it’s happening, conference call. Hour tops. You have my word on it.”
Trent ended the call and headed back to where he’d left Tara.
She was gone.
He asked the vendor in Spanish where the blond-haired American woman had gone. As much as he’d hated the fact that she hadn’t changed her hair color or length, he was glad for it now. He would be able to easily find her. But the vendor admitted to only seeing her briefly and having no idea where she went.
Trent retraced his steps and then stopped. Ahead, he saw a small crowd focused on something in its center. What the hell was going on? His heart skipped as he thought that someone might be hurt.
Tara.
“I’m a doctor,” a male voice said at his right elbow. A man moved past him after making that pronouncement.
Those words had Trent bursting into a jog, and he followed the husky gray-haired man, who pushed his way through the crowd.
Tara.
Where was she?
And then he was through and could see a woman on the ground. But it wasn’t Tara.
Instead, Tara was at the woman’s side. She was pulling a blanket, obviously borrowed from a nearby vendor, over her. Relief flooded through him as he remembered her penchant for helping people. She was always the Good Samaritan. But damn it, he thought, she didn’t need to be that here. Not when that could mean life or death. Especially as she didn’t know that the gunman had left, that the danger was over. She’d known none of that and still she’d insisted on potentially risking her life to help someone else.
She looked up and her eyes locked with his.
He crouched down beside her. “You weren’t there where I left you. You scared the hell out of me,” he said as he quickly surveyed the woman lying in front of them. “Shot?”
Tara nodded. “She’s conscious.”
“That’s good news,” he said as the doctor moved past him. “That and you’re safe.” He knew there was an angry edge to his voice. But he’d been scared that somehow, despite the fact that the gunman was gone, she’d been hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I saw a commotion here and realized someone needed help.” She shook her head. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Whoever he was, he’s gone, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s over.”
“Because of you. You scared him off,” she said softly.
He shook his head. He’d done no such thing.
She looked at him in a way that seemed to reach into his soul, into the very essence of him. It was a look that had brought his younger self many times to his knees.
“You saved my life,” she said. “There are no words to thank you for that, Trent. But words are all I have. Thank you.” She looked at the woman. “You may have saved hers, too, and a lot of others.”
“I did nothing,” Trent said. Except let a gunman escape, he thought. Damn it. Frustration rolled through him.
Tara shook her head. “You hunted the shooter down. He ran because of you. And this lady will hopefully live. That’s all on you. There would have been more shots fired if you hadn’t intervened.” The last words shook slightly, as if she were just becoming fully aware of all that had happened. “More people injured or even dead.”
“I should have caught him.”
“How?” she asked with that practical edge that had driven him crazy as a teenager. “There were too many people. Too many potential casualties.”
She was right. This wasn’t the Tara of his youth. She’d matured into someone he desperately wanted to get to know.
Her eyes burned with passion, but she trembled as if her legs wouldn’t hold her. He put his hands on her shoulders, to steady her.
“The crowd was against you,” she said as she leaned into him. “You did everything you could.”
The doctor stood up.
“I don’t think the bullet hit any major organs,” he said. The slight accent was the only indication that English was not his first language. “We’ll get her to the hospital and she’ll be fine.”
“I can’t believe this happened. Without you, Trent...” Tara’s voice trailed off.
But they both knew where her unfinished sentence would have gone. The gunman had been after her. He wanted her dead, and without Trent, that was what would have happened.
“It’s over,” he said, hoping to calm her. “He’s gone.”
“I thought it was safe here. I thought I had gone far enough and instead I’ve brought danger with me to San Miguel.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I caused this. If I hadn’t been here...” she whispered. “I tried to lead him out of the market. And at least one person got shot as a result.” Her voice broke. “This is my fault.”
“This wasn’t on you.”
“If not me, who?”
He knew exactly who the target had been, who it would always be. She couldn’t outrun it. But it wasn’t her fault. She needed to be with him so that he could keep her safe. He met the trepidation in her brown eyes and took her arm. “Let’s get through this, then we’ll talk.”
She was silent and despite everything that had happened, she seemed calm, poised even. There were no tears. He couldn’t believe how calm she was. She was a civilian, an artist, unused to such things. And here she was comforting others, shouldering the blame where she had no fault.
“You saved people by running and leading him away,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He took her in his arms and without thinking, he kissed her. It was a mistake from the beginning and there was no going back. Her lips were generous and rich beneath his.
“Trent, no,” she said and then gently pushed him back. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“You’re right,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. Or really, not thinking at all. Just feeling her presence—relieved that she was alive, remembering what they’d been. He wasn’t sentimental and yet all of that was sentimental nonsense. It was hardly enough to call it the wrong time and place. He’d been out of line on both the job front and the relationship front. But she did that to him.
She looked up at him and put a hand on his shoulder. The touch burst through his thoughts but it was her words that had the final impact.
“Never may be the time or place. I think we outgrew that part of our relationship a long time ago.”
“Of course. That’s over,” he said. But something died inside him at her words. In his heart, he hoped that wasn’t how she really felt. He hoped that, right now, she was just frightened. Because, he was falling for her again, or if he was honest with himself, he’d never gotten over her at all.
Chapter Nine
“The first responders are here,” Trent said. It was an unnecessary announcement. But he felt like he needed to say something. As he’d guessed, they were leaving their vehicles at the intersection. “I’m going to go down to meet them. You’ll be okay?” He spoke as if nothing had come before, as if she hadn’t told him that for her, any relationship they could have had was over. Right now, none of that mattered. He’d heard worse in his lifetime.
“Trent, I’m sorry for getting you into this. I don’t care what you—”
“No.” He put a hand on her arm. She didn’t have to say the words. He knew what they were. “Don�
��t say it. We’ll talk later. Stay here. I’m going to talk to the police.”
“Are you sure? Should I go with you? I—”
“No, not now. Wait here. Please.”
She nodded. “I will. I promise.”
He had to trust that this time she’d put her safety first. He needed to touch base with the police. He needed to make sure that his mission was not hampered by his position as a foreigner. He was counting on Enrique but the personal touch might help.
He headed down the street to the intersection where the emergency vehicles were beginning to congregate. He hoped that Enrique had put everything in place and there would be no red tape to wade through. He didn’t need any delays. He had to bring Tara home as quickly as possible.
If things went smoothly, they could be on a flight as soon as tonight. He was sure that, after this, Tara would have no objections to going home. He hoped today had proved to her that Mexico was no longer the safe place she’d imagined. The gang had found her.
The truth was that he feared they could find her anywhere in Mexico. They had connections; Jackson had already confirmed that. Except they knew little about this cartel, only an awareness of a few of the leaders and little about the man who was a brother to one of the bank robbers. That placed Trent at a disadvantage. What he didn’t know only fueled the urgency. He hoped Jackson could tell him more. One misstep here, and something like today could happen again, only she could die. Someone else might die.
She didn’t have the resources to disappear on her own. She needed him. If anyone could keep her safe, he could. It wasn’t arrogance that had him thinking that. He knew his limitations and he knew what he was good at. He was good at disappearing. He’d done it many times in his career, both for himself and for others.
Around him, people milled about, waiting for what would happen next. It was like the main show had hit intermission. With the panic gone, they looked more interested than upset. Some of them were even smiling and others watched curiously.
Emergency vehicles with sirens and flashing lights had become the show. A police car had parked three hundred yards down the street at the intersection. Another inched its way up the street and then backed up, stopping in exactly the same spot where the shooter had so recently escaped.
Trent kept going, dodging pockets of former shoppers and street vendors. This was the troubling part of any investigation, any disaster—the propensity for curiosity to overpower common sense. People were getting in the way of emergency crews. And like most crowds, they not only completely failed to help but instead hindered the investigative process.
The paramedics were moving up the street with a stretcher. It was easier coming in on foot and more than likely faster than trying to navigate the crowd and the narrow street in the ambulance. In the two minutes it took Trent to weave his way to the intersection, it was now crawling with emergency vehicles.
Doors slammed, lights splashed across the cobblestones. He scanned the crowd, his gaze finally locking onto the one man who appeared to be in charge. He was short and wiry but was bellowing orders as he stood in a way that commanded respect.
As Trent headed toward the man, more sirens wailed in the distance. A police car took the last available space in the junction where the two roads met. Six police officers were moving up the street. They had their guns in hand as they cleared a path for the paramedics bringing another stretcher up the steep incline. The cobbled street and the slope, along with the people milling around, didn’t make any of it an easy feat.
“Trent Nielsen,” he said to the man he believed to be in charge, holding out his hand as he approached. “US marshal.”
“Jorge Peraz,” the officer said. He frowned as he looked at Trent, as if he didn’t quite trust him. “I spoke to Enrique. He vouched for you.” His tone suggested that without that, he would have gladly detained him. “United States marshal,” he repeated. “I hope you don’t expect special treatment.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Trent replied. It wasn’t anything the man had said, being as he’d said little. Still, he disliked Jorge Peraz and his attitude.
“If this is about your authority here, I’m not disputing that. My only concern is what’s happened.”
“Fair enough,” Trent said, surprised and a little disconcerted.
“Okay, what have you got?”
“A visual on the gunman. Dark hair, tall, maybe six feet, with a light brown complexion.”
“Mexican?”
“I’ve no evidence to say one way or another. What I do know is that he seemed to be acting alone,” Trent said. “But he was picked up well over five minutes ago there.” He pointed. “By a brown Ford SUV. Besides the shooter, there was a driver and a passenger. I didn’t get a close look at either, but both looked to be males. The driver was wearing a navy ball cap. But I couldn’t get much else. The street was pretty congested then. But it appeared to be a planned pickup.”
Trent’s jaw tightened. A planned pickup was the logical way to go, anyone in law enforcement knew that. In a situation like this, the shooter needed to either martyr himself or have a planned exit. Martyr wasn’t the cartel’s way.
He pushed the thoughts away and focused on Jorge. He had to remind himself not to react to anything the man might say. Instead, he allowed him to take the lead. If he spoke up, stepped on the man’s pride, he’d only get more resistance.
Jorge’s dark eyes were fixed on Trent as if he would be able to ferret out a lie just by staring at him. “I suppose you also know who’s responsible?”
“Of course not.” Trent couldn’t contain his frustration. He also wasn’t giving Jorge everything he did know. That the shooter was after Tara. “I’m saying that I saw the shooter leave the area. There was only one.”
“You’re saying a lot.” The man’s voice had an edge. “We’ll need you down at the station to get your report.”
What was he about? Trent thought. Was the officer threatening him? The way Jorge was reacting wasn’t quite what Trent had anticipated. He hadn’t been able to get a complete read on the man but what he’d seen so far, he didn’t like. And he didn’t trust him.
He gave the officer a brief nod, reminding himself that he was a foreigner. This was not his country and that made Peraz the authority. They both knew it.
“Police headquarters in an hour. I’ll see you there,” Jorge said. He took down Trent’s name and number before moving up the street to catch up with his men.
Trent stood, thinking that so far what he had seen was a piss-poor way to run any police operation. He could take off and they’d never see him again, he realized. He was left standing alone at the fringes of the street where he’d left Tara.
Tara. He needed to get back to her.
As he headed up the street, he remembered that he also needed to call Jackson back. In all that had happened, he’d forgotten to find out what Jackson had left unsaid. That wasn’t good. His mind usually hopped from one task to the next, forgetting none as others lined up. The fact that this had been a chaotic emergency shouldn’t have changed that. But he knew in his heart what had changed it: Tara.
He felt things for her that he never thought he would. All these years later, he was a different person, as was she. And yet, in some ways, although they’d grown up, nothing had changed at all. At least not for him.
He thought how lucky they’d been, all of them. There was one known casualty when there could have been so many more. And she was going to be okay. Worse, there could have been fatalities.
He glanced around. The crowd was starting to thin. He wondered if the police had interviewed any of them.
He strode to the side of the street, out of the main flow of traffic. He was heading back to where he had left Tara, trying to stay out of the way. At the same time, he had his phone out and was making a call.
“What’s going on?” Jackson asked
the moment he answered.
He explained the last twenty minutes in terse words. The explanation was condensed into seconds. He was still moving forward, his long stride eating up the distance between him and Tara. “What else do you have, Jack?”
“A recent robbery in Albuquerque that we’re sure is connected to the one Tara witnessed. One of the bank clerks heard one of the robbers speaking in Spanish. She’s Mexican herself and she linked the accent to Mexico. Unfortunately she couldn’t pin any one state. She said she didn’t hear him clearly enough to tag anything but a country. We’ve got an alert at the border crossing.”
“The circle of trust, Trent, isn’t always as wide as you’d like to make it. Watch it, that’s all I’ve got to say. The authorities don’t always have your back. I’ve no specifics or I’d obviously tell you. Just keep your eyes open. This has gotten stickier than I’d like. And I want you home with the witness, pronto.”
Jackson disconnected soon after that. Trent had been walking all the while he was talking. Now he looked up to discover that he was almost at the peak of the street and at the exact spot where he’d left Tara. He glanced across the street through the remaining onlookers and the emergency personnel to see Tara heading toward him. There was a relieved look on her face and behind him was the scowling face of Jorge.
He ignored the police officer and met Tara in two strides. He took her by the shoulders.
“I’m fine, Trent,” she said before he could ask. She smiled, but her smile was shakier than it was steady. “Nothing has changed except that they’ve got the gunshot victim stabilized and almost ready to transport.”
Despite her words, there was a look of concern as well as relief on her face. Tara’s face had always been open. What she felt showed in her eyes, in her expression. Regardless of her earlier rejection and the words that had drawn blood, she reached tentatively for his hand. He closed his hand over hers, feeling the warm pulse of her palm against his. It had been a long time since he’d held her hand. It was a memory that came back with a rush of nostalgia.
Marshal on a Mission Page 7
