by Julie Miller
There wasn’t anything good about that.
He clipped his badge back on his belt where it belonged. “What did Puente say?”
Teresa recoiled half a step, hugging her arms around her waist when he dismissed her overture of trust and support. “He thanked me for contacting him. I thought I was helping. Did I get you into trouble?”
A little bit, darlin’. “Where’s your computer?”
“In the living room.”
“I need to see it.”
It hurt to do it, but Nash lifted the bag onto his uninjured shoulder and stalked down the hallway after her. The main rooms smelled like Christmas with the fragrant pine needles on her tree and the scents of home cooking filling the apartment. Taking stock of his surroundings in daylight, Nash shook his head. Teresa had not only emptied out the armoire, but she’d shoved it back into place, away from the door. He’d been a sitting duck for several hours, plenty of time for the mole in his department to find that email to Captain Puente and track it back to its source.
While she sat at the computer desk behind her couch to turn on the machine, Nash pushed aside the hodgepodge of toys and other gifts, wrapping paper and ribbons on the dining room table and set his bag down. He checked the front window and peephole of the door. Everything was still locked down, and nobody appeared to be showing more interest in her fourth-floor apartment than they should be. Reassured there wasn’t a pending home invasion, at least, he crossed to stand behind her chair.
“Show me the messages,” he ordered.
Teresa pulled up her email account. Nash leaned over her shoulder to read her message to the captain.
Dear Mr. Puente—I have a man here with ID that says his name is Charles Nash. He’s badly wounded, but I’ve taken care of his injuries. I don’t have a picture to send, but he’s about 6’3”, muscular, has dark blond/light brown hair and needs a shave. He has scarring on his left arm and back. To be honest, they look like knife cuts and a bullet wound. Is he really a DEA agent? Is he working a case for you here in Kansas City? He’s warned me several times not to contact the police, but I found your name in his bag and took a chance that you could help me.
He hasn’t hurt me yet, but there have been plenty of threats. Please advise before I turn him over to the authorities here. He asked me not to, which makes me wonder if he’s telling me the truth.
He doesn’t know I’m writing you. I don’t know how long I have before he wakes up, so I’d appreciate a quick reply. Sorry to contact you this way, but I don’t have access to a phone.
Thank you.
Teresa Rodriguez, R.N.
After he nodded to her, she clicked on Captain Puente’s alleged reply.
Dear Ms. Rodriguez,
Sounds like the Charlie Nash I know. You say he’s injured—have you taken him to a hospital for proper care? I’d like to follow up on his condition because yes, he’s working an important case for me, and if he’s out of commission, I need to replace him on the investigation.
Rest assured, you are safe with him. He’s a good man, if a bit of a loose cannon sometimes.
As soon as you can reach a phone, please call me at this number to verify your identity and confirm Nash’s badge number. Thank you.
Captain Jesse Puente
Houston Office
DEA
Nash read the phone number at the bottom of the email. Puente’s direct line. Was that significant? Why not simply request a reply to his email? Why not instruct Teresa to call the general office to get whoever was on duty, or notify the local cops to request backup for an injured officer?
While sorting out possibilities, Nash rubbed his jaw, massaging the stubble there. He needed a shave. He needed some food. He checked the clock on the computer and the time stamp of the two emails. Almost three hours old. Plenty of time to catch a flight to K.C. He needed to get out of here. But things had just gotten more complicated. He needed to come up with a plan F or G now.
“Have you made any other contact with the captain?” Nash asked.
Teresa shook her head. “I heard you moving in the bedroom. You must have been having a nightmare. But I didn’t want to risk you waking up and catching me out here. So I shut the computer down and went back to watch you sleep.”
The nightmare was the same whether he was asleep or awake. Nash pushed away from the chair. “There’s no proof that it was Puente who got the message. Anyone could have answered that.”
She followed him across the living room, rubbing her arms as though she was cold. “He made me think I could trust you. Should I have emailed my brother instead?”
“If it was me, I would have run out that door.” He nodded toward the television and sound equipment on the floor. “Your survival instincts are on the fritz. You had the means to escape. To turn me in. Why didn’t you?”
“If you didn’t have me, you might take Mrs. Walker or someone else in the building hostage. I can deal with you better than an old woman or a young family can.”
“Deal?”
“Yes.” She moved into the kitchen to stir the soup. “If Mrs. Walker knew about the guns in your bag and all the blood you were hiding under that blanket, she’d probably have a heart attack. If you’re a good guy and need help, I have connections no one else in this building has. If it turns out you’re a bad cop, I can put up a better fight than anyone else. So you’re stuck with me.”
Nash stopped at the kitchen peninsula, breathing in the fragrant meal simmering on the stove. “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that, Teresa Rodriguez?”
“I know.” Her agreeable response surprised him. She covered the pot and held up her hands, showing she had no hot liquid or dangerous utensils on her as she circled the counter to join him. “That’s my nickname. Gamberro.” The Spanish word for troublemaker. “I’ve been called that my entire life.”
So his wasn’t the only life she’d turned sideways? He settled onto the nearest stool, bringing his height closer to hers. “Who calls you that?”
“My older brother and sisters. My mother, when she was alive. I’m too impulsive. I have a temper. I lead with my heart.”
“You get yourself into trouble before you figure out a way to get out of it.” Like stopping to help a stranded motorist on a wintry night.
Nash felt a little of that same chill that had her rubbing her arms for warmth again. “They make me feel like a child. But I’m twenty-nine years old. I have skills and talents I need to use. I can do more with my life than be taken care of. I’ve dealt with some horrible things as I’ve grown up. I don’t need to be protected from everything.”
“Yeah, you do.” Although he wondered how her idea of “horrible things” stacked up against his murdered parents and violent youth, he didn’t have time for curiosity or compassion. “The moment Captain Puente or whoever’s impersonating him opened that email in Houston, a clock started ticking.”
“What does that mean?”
He might as well spell it out since, as far as he was concerned, they were in this together now. “I’m an undercover agent, Peewee. I supervise a team of agents who’ve infiltrated a drug war. Only my cover’s been blown. So were theirs. By a crooked cop or someone else on the take in the Houston office.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “The men who tried to kill you were cops?”
“I doubt the three goons who came after me yesterday were actual cops, but they’re definitely working with one. No one except for the people in my office knew I was heading for Kansas City. Yet the cartel thugs who shot me up and murdered a friend didn’t just track me to my location. They were waiting for me.”
Her soft gasp barely registered. “You lost a friend yesterday?”
“A rookie agent. He was trying to help me.” Nash’s wry laugh elicited a frown. “Maybe I should have you contact your brother—see if
KCPD has had a report of four dead bodies at a chop-shop near the river. They could at least get Tommy back to his family in Houston.” Any urge to laugh, even with that raw sarcasm, was crushed beneath the load of guilt he carried. “I didn’t even hold his hand or check to see if he was killed instantly. I just... There were too many bullets flying. I had to leave him behind.”
And now her hand was on his arm—comforting him? Seeing an opportunity to finagle her own rescue? “I can do that. If you give me back the cords to connect my phones, I’ll gladly call AJ and find out if he knows anything about your friend.”
Nash shook his head. “Just kidding, Peewee. No cops.”
She pulled her hand away. “I don’t understand. Clearly you’re upset. AJ can help. If I ask—”
“No.” Even if her brother had good intentions, it’d be too big a risk to take. “Someone at Houston HQ is funneling sensitive information to the Graciela cartel. I’m the only survivor of three different hits. Until I can identify the mole in our office, I’m off the grid. At least, I was until someone in Houston read your email. There are warring factions within the cartel, and both sides want me dead—I get that. But knowing someone I trusted leaked our names and locations? I intend to live long enough to find out who betrayed my men.”
“And you. He betrayed you, too.” Man, she was still feeling sorry for him.
He’d get her over that real quick. “Now your name is on that hit list, too. Every bad thing you think about me? Those cartel thugs are worse.”
“What did I do?”
He pointed to the computer. “You sent an email that can lead the traitor straight to Kansas City. Straight to this apartment. Straight—”
“To me.” She sank onto the stool beside him, her skin turning pale beneath its warm olive tone. “You think they’ll come after me to find you?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t you just call this Captain Puente to see if he’s the one who got the email?”
“What if he’s the traitor?” Nash had been proud to get assigned to Captain Puente’s team, had always considered the older officer a straight shooter. But then, he’d thought the best of every man on their undercover unit...until his friends had died, and the only explanation that made sense was a mole on the inside who’d leaked their names to the cartels.
Teresa’s knuckles turned white where she gripped the counter. “There isn’t anyone you can trust?”
“I’m flying solo on this. At least, I was until you picked me up.” Knowing he was wasting precious time and energy caring about her distress, he slid his hand across the counter to rest it over both of hers anyway. There was only so much guilt a man could bear. “That’s why I didn’t want you to call the local cops or your big brother. That’s why I didn’t want to go to the hospital. They’re all red flags to where I’m hiding out that I’m not ready to put up yet.”
Her grip on the counter relaxed, but she didn’t pull away. “You need to get better before you deal with those horrible men.”
“I don’t have that luxury. But I do need to stay ahead of these guys. I need to get some leads and pinpoint who set us up before they strike again. If I die, they’ll get away with murdering my men. I’m the only one who knows the leak came from our office. That’s why they’re looking for me. Once I’m gone, the bastard who gave up my team can go right on selling information to the cartels.” She shook her head and started to pull away, but Nash curled his fingers around hers, apologizing, reassuring, warning her of the danger. “And since they’re going to be looking for you now, too...”
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
“Nope. Rule Two, remember? Protect your assets.” He threaded the fingers of his left hand through the velvety strands of coffee-colored hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “I thought I could use you to patch me up enough to keep me going a few days longer. If I kept you from asking questions, if I kept things anonymous, you’d stay an innocent bystander and I could leave without making you a target. None of the people after me would even know of your existence. But that’s all changed now. You’re part of my team now. I’m not going to lose anybody else to these bastards. Especially a sweet thing like you.” Her chin tipped up with a jerk at the offhand compliment. Barely noticing the twinge in his shoulder, he pulled his fingers down through the length of her hair before letting her go and nodding to the kitchen. “You got a thermos or something you can pack up some soup in? Get an overnight bag with whatever you need for a few days.”
She gathered her ponytail and flipped it behind her back as she pushed to her feet. “I have a job. I have plans for Christmas. I can’t go with you.”
“Right now mine’s the only plan you have to worry about. You’re going to need my protection.”
“That sounds like a really desperate pickup line.”
“The only thing desperate is the situation. I can’t let you go until I find this guy, but I won’t let you get hurt. I give you my word.”
“Your word?” She went into the kitchen and turned off the burner beneath the soup. “Forgive me if I don’t jump at the chance to go on the lam with you.”
“There isn’t anybody who can vouch for me right now. But when I make a promise, I keep it. I know it’s a huge leap of faith, considering how I’ve treated you. But I will keep you safe. What does your heart tell you about me?”
Her eyes locked on to his for an endless moment. Yeah, he’d been listening when she said she led with her heart instead of listening to common sense. And yes, he would play on that weakness of hers to ensure her cooperation. “This...mole would really come after me?”
“You’re his best lead to finding me.”
Teresa nodded slowly, as if evaluating her options. “And you’d probably die of infection or pop those stitches and bleed out without me to take care of you.”
Possibly.
“Would I be your partner or your captive?”
“Depends on how well you cooperate, Gamberro.”
“Don’t call me that. Peewee is bad enough.” And then the energy in the room shifted. She squatted down and disappeared while he heard her rummaging through a cabinet. “I actually only have one day I’m scheduled between now and Christmas because I’m working the holiday. But Christmas Day is nonnegotiable. I’m planning a party for the patients who’ll be hospitalized over the holiday. I have presents and cookies and decorations. I could only help you through Christmas Eve.”
“Teresa, this isn’t a negotiation. I can’t leave you—”
“I won’t disappoint those children. I suppose I could call someone to take my shift tomorrow and clear the trade with my supervisor.” The cabinet door closed and a thermos appeared before she popped up to face him over the counter. “If I had a phone.”
Nash tapped his cell in his pocket, wondering how many other saps had succumbed to that sweetly innocent smile of hers, which he suspected wasn’t so innocent at all. Yet he was actually toying with giving the phone to her. “I suppose I could trust you enough for one call. But only with me listening in.”
“Partner or captive?” she pressed.
A knock on her apartment door startled them both. “Teresa, are you in there?”
She set down the thermos at the man’s deep, slightly accented voice. “AJ?”
Nash pulled his weapon and stood. “Big brother the cop, AJ?”
She’d tricked him again.
Chapter Seven
Nash grabbed Teresa by the arm to keep her from hurrying past him to the door. His voice was a furious whisper. “I thought you said you didn’t contact anybody else.”
“I didn’t.”
Screw that innocent act. Why had he not seen this coming? “You set me up. All this chitchat was a stall until he could get here.”
“No. I swear.” She splayed her hand against hi
s chest, her eyes wide, her voice hushed. “Put your gun away. Please. I don’t know why AJ’s here, but he can help us. We’ll just tell him the truth. He can give you protection. Put you in a safe house.”
Nash’s voice was equally toneless and urgent. “If I had a little sister that some desperate man had kidnapped, I don’t think I’d be willing to listen to any explanations before I slapped the cuffs on him and threw his butt in a jail cell.” He leaned down to whisper against her ear. “Where I’d be easy pickings for Graciela’s and Vargas’s hit squads, by the way.”
“Hit squads?”
He raised his head enough for her to see he was dead serious. “If they think you know anything about me—about my investigation or where I’m hiding—they won’t be nice about how they get the information out of you. And if I’m in a holding cell or even an interview room, I won’t be able to protect you.”
The color blanched from her cheeks before she turned her head to another knock on the door. “I swear I didn’t contact him.”
“Tía Teresa, I have some visitors for you.” AJ Rodriguez sounded patient, cajoling, not at all like a big brother bent on smashing the man who’d endangered his sister.
“Tía Teresa,” a child’s voice called. “Did Santa come to your house?” Someone even younger laughed.
“My nephews.” Teresa’s fingertips pinched the skin beneath Nash’s shirt as she held on tighter. “Please, put the gun away. AJ will be armed, too, and I don’t want my family to get hurt. I’ll get rid of them.”
Nash’s thumb rubbed tiny circles in the wool of her sleeve as he evaluated her sincerity.
