by Cat Johnson
“That I could save the client money.” And make a bit of profit for herself by adding a ten percent fee while still keeping the cost well below what it would have been locally. “But what are you doing here? Were you down here for the day?”
He looked at her like she was a lunatic. “No. I came to find you.”
Really?
She frowned. “How did you even know I was here?”
“Amanda. She’s flipping out because you said you’d be home by dinner.”
“Oh. Yeah. The trip took a little longer than I expected. First I was hungry and I’d read online that the place that invented the Caesar salad is down here and still in business so I had to go there. Then I stopped in a few shops. Then I had to get to the tile place and wait for them to load my car . . .” She let the sentence trail off as he shook his head.
How could he relay so much judgment in one little headshake?
Finally he let out a breath. “Are you done with all your sightseeing and shopping? Can we get you back across the border now?”
“Yes. I just have to check the tile.”
“Here? Now? Couldn’t you have done that at the tile place?”
“Yes,” and she should have but she didn’t. It didn’t matter anyway because that was before the near crash. “But I just had to slam on my brakes and everything shifted pretty hard and I’m afraid some broke.”
“So you decided to check on the side of the highway?” His chin dropped as he shook his head, clearly unhappy with her decision.
“If I need to go back and buy more I’d rather know now.” She defended her action with logic even Zach shouldn’t be able to dispute.
“They won’t still be open now, but fine. We’ll check the load and then get back on the road. Okay?”
“Yes.” But now that she agreed she realized the logistical issues of having to unload twenty cases, check them all, then load them back inside again.
They’d be lucky if they didn’t attract some sort of highway patrol and that was the last thing she wanted. Maybe they could check just the front row of boxes.
Zach was already tearing into the cardboard, seemingly unperturbed. He had no problem tearing the two sides apart without causing himself bodily injury.
He spread the cardboard flaps wide and glanced at her.
“The top ones are perfect. See?” he asked as he took one step to the side so she could get a view inside the box past him.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He nodded, then hoisted up the heavy box and gave it a bit of a shake. “I don’t hear any movement. I don’t think the underneath ones are broken. Do you still want to check them?” he asked.
She cringed, afraid to tell him the truth.
Yes, she did want to check them and in fact should have while they were being loaded, but he was already being so nice helping her, how could she ask him to inspect all the tile piece by piece?
She hesitated long enough after his question, he didn’t wait for her answer. He put the box back down with a sigh and said, “Yes, you do want to check them all. Okay.”
“Maybe just all of them in one—or maybe two—boxes.”
He ignored her and started to take the tiles out, stacking them neatly on top of the sealed box next to him. He got almost all of the way down to the bottom and pulled out a piece of cardboard, then went still.
“Fuck.” He started loading the tile back inside the box, fast. “Gabby, get in the car.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
He finished reloading the box and slammed the cargo hatch. When he turned to look at her, his expression was more glacial than usual.
Jaw tight, nostrils flaring, he said, “Get in the car.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
He hooked her arm in an iron grip, leading her around the car to the driver’s side. “Get in the car, Gabby. Now.”
“I don’t—”
“There are drugs in those boxes.”
“What?” Her eyes flew wide. “I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t, but your bargain tile dealer did. Follow me.”
“Where?”
“I’ll figure that out when I get there. Just stay on my tail.” He turned toward his truck and squinted across the highway. “How long has that van been parked there?”
“What van?” she asked, frowning in the direction he’d been looking against the glare of the sun that was just dipped halfway below the horizon.
He sent her a wide-eyed stare. “Never mind. Hop over to the passenger seat. I’m driving.”
“But what about your truck?”
He aimed his own key fob at his truck and clicked to lock the doors then slid into the driver’s seat. “It’s going to have to stay there for now. I’m more worried about getting us and your load of drugs out of here before whoever owns it figures out we know and they decide to come get it.”
She buckled in and held on tight to the armrest as he pulled out into traffic. Zach somehow managed to zip between the cars and across all of the lanes before steering them off the road and across the grass median.
As the vehicle bottomed out in a low spot she heard the boxes in back bouncing. She hissed in a breath and he shot her a glare.
“Stop. I’ll buy you new fucking tile if it breaks, but I’m not getting killed over that shit back there.”
It wasn’t shit. It was gorgeous hand painted tiles—made as a cover to traffic drugs into the US apparently. And they’d seen her as the perfect mule.
Jeez. This was the stuff of crime shows on TV, not her life. But it somehow had become her life, and now Zach’s too because of her.
She kept all thoughts to herself. Probably the only smart thing she’d done since deciding to buy the damn tile in the first place.
Instead, she prayed they’d get out of this thing alive.
FIFTEEN
It took a bit of skill and a lot of law breaking, but Zach shook the van that might or might not have been tailing them. He still wasn’t sure which.
There was a good chance if they’d put drugs in her car, they’d also put a tracker so they could retrieve their stash once she’d gotten it across the border. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t keep eyes on her to make sure she didn’t unload those boxes somewhere en route.
All of his maneuvering put them in downtown Tijuana where he figured they could hide amid the tourists while they figured things out. But it also put him miles away from where he’d left his truck.
Man, did they have a lot to figure out, like what to do with the drugs in the back and what to do about the drug dealers who would no doubt be looking to get their stash back.
And last but not least, how to get his vehicle someplace safe before it was towed or stolen. He wasn’t all that into material things but dammit, he loved that truck.
Time to call in a favor.
Reaching for his cell, he struggled to get it out of his pocket while slowly cruising the streets and watching for the reappearance of the tail.
“Who are you calling,” Gabby asked. “And you’re not supposed to hold the phone while you drive.”
He cocked up a brow as he punched the screen to connect with Hawk and sent Gabby a glare. “And you’re not supposed to transport drugs across the border so . . .”
She pouted and mumbled, “I was just saying that I have a dashboard holder if you want to use it.”
He glanced at the dash and saw none.
“It fell on the floor,” she continued when she noticed his glance.
Zach let out a breath as Hawk answered the call.
“Z-man, please tell me no one is in prison.”
“Not yet.” Unfortunately, it was still a very real possibility one or both of them could end up there. “Look I need a huge favor from you. And you’re going to have to get one of the other guys to come with you.”
Zach realized that might be easier said than done. Compass and Dutch had headed off to Alaska, of all places, the day after they’d all met at the bar.
And Rocket had left for Vegas directly from McP’s the night they were all there.
“Sure. What is it?”
“I need you to drive across the border and one of you has to drive my truck back. It’s parked on the Mexican side on the shoulder of the North bound lane of Highway 1, two miles from the San Ysidro border crossing. There’s a hide-a-key near the driver’s side rear wheel well.
“Um, okay. I can do that. Is everything okay?” he asked.
That’s what Zach loved about his teammates. When push came to shove they’d do anything for him, no questions asked. Even when he was asking them to do something this crazy, if he offered no other explanation than he needed them to do it, they would.
But in this case, he did need to tell Hawk what was happening because this pile of shit Gabby had gotten herself into might be more than Zach could handle on his own.
Hawk had asked if everything was okay. Not quite.
“Well, it seems Gabby’s tile dealer is dealing more than tile. I was checking her load and found something.”
“Oh, shit. How much?” Hawk asked, guessing the content of those boxes correctly.
“I don’t know. She’s got about two dozen boxes in the car and I only checked one.” One had been enough for him to know they had to get the hell off the side of the road where a patrol could stop by any moment.
Hawk let out a long low whistle. “What are you going to do?”
Zach laughed. “Good question. Got any answers?”
“Let me call Alexander. He has a fuck-ton of contacts in DC. He’ll know what to do. This could be a good thing.”
Zach blew out a snort. “Oh really. How’s that?”
“The authorities might be able to use Gabby’s little mishap to shut down a major drug runner. Who knows?”
Who knew, indeed?
“All right. Make the call,” Zach agreed.
“Expect a call back from either me or him shortly,” Hawk continued.
“Thanks, Hawk.”
“You got it, bro.”
Zach disconnected the call and blew out a long slow breath before he glanced at Gabby. She looked shaken but to her credit she was holding it mostly together.
Thank God, because he didn’t need hysteria on top of everything else.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He lifted a brow. “Really?”
“Yes. You’re here.”
The comment took him by surprise. It was a few seconds before he could absorb all the ramifications of Gabby’s blind trust in him to save her in this pretty dire situation.
Finally, he swallowed. “It’s gonna work out.”
She dipped her head, her gaze holding his. “I know. I trust you.”
Again her blind trust struck him like a physical blow.
On the team they depended on one another, but they were also equally skilled, highly trained, combat hardened operators.
It was rare he was put in this position, protecting someone so completely innocent and—he hated to say it—helpless.
She might be a strong woman—at least she sure as hell was strong willed—but none of that mattered against a Mexican drug cartel or the authorities, both who would be looking to grab her because of what was in her vehicle.
But Gabby didn’t need the reminder of that truth and he wasn’t about to risk pushing her into the breakdown they’d avoided so far.
He needed a distraction and found one out the side window. “Look. There’s your Caesar Salad place.”
She glanced out the window and then back. “Yeah. Are you hungry?” she asked.
He was starving, but now wasn’t the time to stop for a meal.
“Because I have some granola bars if you want.” She reached into the console and emerged with one, handing it to him. “I have water bottles too, in an insulated bag by my feet.”
Smiling, he reached for the bar she offered. “Thanks. This is good.”
Nope. Not helpless, but certainly good at stepping in shit, this one.
His cell rang and an unfamiliar number flashed across the screen. He answered the call, “Hello?”
“Master Chief Browne?”
“Yes.” Shit, he really hoped he wasn’t about to get recalled from leave for a mission. This was the worst possible timing.
Please don’t be command and please don’t ask where I am.
“Zane Alexander here. Jace Hawkins called and said you’re in a bit of a situation.”
“Yes, sir. That's right.”
“You can call me Zane, Master Chief.”
“And you can call me Zach.”
“All right, Zach. I need a sit rep, starting with your current location.”
The no nonsense orders coming from the former SEAL put Zach right back into his comfort zone. This was like any other mission—almost. He might have started this on his own and without backup, but it felt like that was rapidly changing. He had a team behind him again and in his current situation that was incredibly comforting.
Zach hit to put the call on speaker phone and navigated on his screen. “I’m texting you our exact GPS location now.”
“Got it,” Zane said. “Now tell me about these drugs and this . . . tile is it?”
“Yes.” He shot Gabby a look.
It sounded as if her exploits had managed to baffle the combat hardened SEAL on the phone, who’d no doubt seen and heard a lot during his career in and out of the service. Had to admire that skill in a woman.
Zach told the story, everything he knew, including the make, model and year of Gabby’s vehicle.
When he didn’t have all the facts, Gabby filled them in. Such as her license plate number, who had loaded the car, and who had taken her payment for the tile.
She did well, telling the story concisely and with detail.
Zane blew out a breath. “That’s one hell of a situation you two are in. But I’ve got someone listening in who I think can help.”
Well, shit. Someone was listening in? That would have been nice to know in advance. This whole thing had better not blow back on Gabby.
But what else could he have done but call in backup? Dumping the drugs wasn’t an option, even if they could find any tracking devices hidden on the car. Not when the dealer had all of Gabby’s information and could easily track her down.
He had to trust Zane and his D.C. contacts to not screw them. Trusting Zane, a former SEAL, was easy. Wrapping his head around trusting Washington bureaucrats was another thing altogether.
“Zach, this is Silas Branson with the DHS.”
Holy shit. Now the Department of Homeland Security was involved? Zach was starting to second-guess his decision to involve Zane Alexander, if this was the result.
“Can you and Miss Lee hear me?” Branson asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“No need for the sir. I left the SEALs and being Lieutenant Commander a few years ago. I’m just Silas now.”
Jesus, it seemed you couldn’t throw a rock nowadays without hitting a SEAL.
Okay, at least the DHS dude was a team guy—an officer, but a SEAL nonetheless. In this case, it felt like a good thing that it was a fellow frogman involved with saving them.
“Yes, sir—Silas,” Zach corrected himself.
“First I need you to know I’m assembling a team and you and Miss Lee will be covered throughout the entire operation.”
There was a team and an operation now? Zach shot Gabby a glance. She was starting to look less calm.
“All right,” Zach said, wondering how this team had been assembled so quickly given Silas was, as far as he knew, across the country in D.C. with Zane.
The man had a long reach.
“We’re going to need you to cross the border back into the US.”
“With the—um—boxes intact?” Zach asked, not relishing the idea of driving through border control with a bunch of drugs.
Maybe that was the plan? Border control would make a big show of seizing the drugs, which
would hopefully be witnessed by the dealers. They’d know Gabby was no longer in possession and she’d be off the hook.
“We’ve arranged it so you’ll be cleared through,” Silas said.
And there went that theory.
“And then what?” Zach asked.
“Then you go home.”
“With the drugs?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Zach mouthed a silent curse.
“What?” Gabby whispered.
Eyes narrowed in anger, he answered, “They’re using you as bait.”
“That’s correct,” Silas confirmed matter-of-factly, as if it were okay.
It wasn’t okay in Zach’s book. “I’m not onboard with this plan.”
“Miss Lee’s house will be under surveillance the entire time.”
“Yeah, see that’s part of the problem. Miss Lee is currently living with my sister in her home with her husband and there’s no fucking way I’m letting you put my family on some drug cartel’s radar.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and Zach didn’t know if they’d muted the call to discuss him or if they were just speechless that he wasn’t going to roll over and do as ordered.
This was not a Navy mission and he didn’t have to be a good little SEAL.
“A hotel is an option,” Zane suggested.
“I’d rather someplace with less civilian traffic, if possible. A quiet neighborhood,” Silas said.
For less collateral damage when things went south, no doubt. Zach shook his head at the thought.
“We’ll never be able to locate a rental house in that area on an hour’s notice,” Zane said.
Rental. At Zane’s words, an idea struck Zach and he liked it.
Compass’s old place.
Jace Hawkins wasn’t the only one leaving the team. Rio North was already moved out of his place.
The landlord wouldn’t be thrilled to know Zach and the DHS were about to use the vacant apartment as bait for a drug runner’s thugs, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The man rented to sailors. No doubt he had good homeowner’s insurance.
“I might know of a place,” Zach said.
“Go on,” Silas prompted.
“My teammate recently put in his papers. His rental is empty but he’s paid up until the first of next month.” Zach didn’t have a key but that wasn’t a problem. A SEAL could pick a lock quicker than a thief any day.
