He slips past me and hooks my hand through his belt. After sliding one foot then another slowly forward for a few steps, he stops.
“There’s definitely cooler air coming from ahead. Could be from an underground river. Stay put. I’ll backtrack to see how far inside the cave we’ve come.”
He has just edged past me and the horse, when the helicopter’s deafening roar invades my ears as a glaring strobe momentarily blazes the cave.
Startled by the noise and the light, the horse lunges, pushing me forward into the returning darkness.
Knees crash into hard rock and hands fly into nothingness as I pitch forward, crushing my stomach and knocking the air from my lungs. As I haplessly search for breath, I realize my arms are dangling downward and the weight of my upper body is slowly slipping in that direction.
The pain in my lungs is unbearable. I try to cry out but there’s no breath to give birth to my horror.
“Are you all right?” Bill’s words are thin with alarm. “Allie. Answer me.”
The horse whinnys and begins to move frantically about, hooves striking one side of the cave, then the other.
By the time Bill settles his horse, the vise around my chest has eased a bit, allowing some air into my lungs.
After what seems like forever, his hands circle my ankles and he pulls me away from the edge of the abyss.
He leans down beside me. “You okay?”
I manage a strangled, “Great.”
When the racket of the helicopter fades in the distance he pats my shoulder. “Guess they checked out the lean-to and didn’t find anything. I’m getting the horse out of here. He’ll be safe tethered in the scrub oaks for tonight.”
I choose a spot near the entrance of the cave and relax—relieved to be safe. I don’t even feel the pain from the crimson scratches above my waist where my shirt pulled away from my jeans.
When Bill returns, he gathers me to him and softly kisses my temple.
I savor the feel of his arms for just a second, then murmur, “What happens next?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Then his voice floats above me. “Tomorrow morning is Sunday, and I can guarantee you that Lawyer Gibbs will be spending most of the morning on his knees.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He chuckles. “In spite of Gibbs’s protestations of innocence, the DEA has been following his movements for the last several months. To let you know just how thorough we’ve been, we have his bathroom schedule down to the minute.”
“So, every Sunday morning?”
“A short stroll around the block upon rising.” He plants another kiss on my temple. “A long shower followed by a nice hearty breakfast with Elvira. Then off to Unity Methodist Church, where, as Senior Warden, he’ll greet the nine-thirty and eleven o’clock parishioners and run the noon bring-your-own buffet in the parish hall. The effing sonovabitch.”
“I trusted that man. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve been raised to believe guys who have snow-white hair have to be good.”
“How much longer do you think it will be?”
“Before we bring them down? I don’t know. We don’t have a connection between Gibbs and Ramón—yet. Not much point in tagging Gibbs without that.”
I cuddle against him. “It really doesn’t matter what happens to them—just as long as we’re together.”
He stiffens. “Hold on a minute. We need to regroup.”
“Later.” I circle his neck, pull him to me for another searching kiss and feel his responses quicken.
The passion grows between us until he whispers, “Don’t get me wrong, Allie, I want you so bad I can taste it, but not now.”
“Why not now?”
“I’m deep in the middle of this mess.” “It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m operating as a double agent.” “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does. If I’m caught by the wrong people, I could be convicted and end up in prison.”
“But you’re DEA.”
“They ‘lose’ double agents all the time. They tell you that right up front. It’s part of the job risk. Oh, God, I didn’t count on meeting you.”
“But you did.” I clutch him to me with all the strength I have. “And I don’t give a damn what happens.”
“But I do.” He unlocks my grip. “I’ve never owned a home. Never owned a car. Dammit. Don’t you know how I feel? Knowing I can’t offer you anything?”
I want to cover my ears. Shut out his dismissal. “Don’t say that. I know you feel the same way I do.”
“Yes.” He pulls me close. “But I don’t know how long this will take. Or even if I’ll make it.”
Hours later I open my eyes. The moon is high in the sky, and I’m cradled in Bill’s arms.
I stir and he kisses my forehead. “Sleep now. You’re safe.”
Chapter 39
MORNING FINDS ME CURLED on my side—alone. The ache in my joints feels like I’m a hundred. I must look at least that old. To make matters worse, my hair is a mess and I hate that.
When I hear footsteps, I smile to myself. “It’s about time.”
I roll to look into a gun barrel pointed directly at me.
A metallic taste invades my mouth. I blink my eyes to clear my vision, but there’s no mistake, Bill Cotton is on the other end.
“Good job, Bill. This is one petty annoyance I’m delighted to attend to—personally.”
Gibbs steps into view wearing boots, jeans, and a pale-yellow short-sleeve shirt. Hardly church-wear. “Good morning, Miss Armington.”
He waves at someone to the side. “Do come see what our boy Bill caught.”
Luke Hansen sidles forward and doffs his Stetson. “Now, ain’t this a nice surprise?”
I turn away from the man who vowed to kill me. Bill’s face offers nothing but cool appraisal.
My brain must be dead. I can’t seem to put together the most basic thoughts. Worse still, there’s not a hint of the adrenalin surge I need for action.
I seek Bill’s face again, hoping for a wink, a knowing look, something.
He looks at the two men and smiles. “It’s about time. What took you so long?”
“Luke was late—as usual.”
“I had hell getting the fucking four-wheel in gear,” he whines. “That fucking piece of junk has had it.”
Luke’s last words are drowned by approaching hoof beats.
Gibbs draws his weapon and steps out of the cave entrance. “Expecting company, Bill?”
“Hardly.”
When Gibbs disappears, Luke pulls an automatic from his belt and crouches facing outward just inside the cave entrance.
A shot is fired, then several more. Luke yells, “Cover me,” and inches forward.
Bill shoves the rifle in my hand and draws his weapon as Gibbs staggers into view, three scarlet blossoms on his shirt. He utters a plaintive, “Jesus,” then collapses against Luke.
Bill crouches to better his aim. “Drop it.”
“I fuckin’-A don’t think so, you bastard.” Luke rolls away from beneath Gibbs’s limp body, weapon aimed at Bill.
Bill rises, then steps forward—too late. Luke fires and he spins to the ground.
Luke turns in my direction, sees the shotgun I have pointed at him, and grins. “You won’t shoot. You ain’t got the guts. You’re nothing but a weak-ass pussy.”
I don’t think he got to the end of “pussy” when the shot peppered a wide hole in his throat. At least the surprise on his face before he lunged forward and hit the ground seemed real.
I crawl the few feet to Bill. “Are you all right?”
He nods. “It’s the shoulder.” He pulls his hand away to reveal a gaping hole throbbing a rivulet of blood.
I take off my jean jacket and fold it. “It’s not the most sanitary piece of goods, but it should stanch the bleeding until we can get you to town.”
Jed, followed by several uniforms
, appears in the opening. “Allie? Bill? Are you all right?”
I start to answer, but he looks past me and says, “Hey, Chief, I brought the white hats like you requested. Sorry, we were late.”
Chapter 40
HOUSTON IS EXPERIENCING one of its dazzling fall days. The cloudless sky is that wonderful Colorado blue, signaling crisp mornings and bright afternoons.
Appropriately, this glorious day marks a major milestone in my life. I am now full partner of Perkins, Travis, Attorneys-at-Law, with all the attendant benefits including a corner office with my name on the door. Sadly, my personal life is still stuck in limbo, but much of what happened last April has faded from stark horror to an occasional nightmare.
I don’t know how Duncan found out I was back, but I have to admit, the smile on his face and his enthusiastic hug were more than welcome. Over wine, I gave him the gory details of my abduction. He refrained from the usual “I-told-you-sos,” then delivered a piece of interesting news. He was leaving the DA to open his own practice in criminal defense. After a few toasts, he invited me upstairs for dinner the following evening. I said no.
That “no” must have sounded pretty final because, since then, we’ve been nothing more than friendly neighbors, often meeting in the laundry, where we exchange small talk and discuss our latest cases.
To my surprise, Perkins, Travis was pretty understanding about my absence even though I couldn’t tell them much more than I was abducted by an old flame. I waited for them to grill me. After all, the story, or what little I could tell them was too weird. Instead, they proposed I take a week vacation in Cozumel at their expense.
I took it. Lolled on the beach. Slept for hours on end and tried to figure out why Bill Cotton hadn’t contacted me since he put me on the plane in San Antonio.
It’s past seven by the time I arrive at the mid-rise on Bammel and enter the lobby.
Elton the doorman, who also handles the reception desk, waves me over. “Package for you, Miss Armington.”
He disappears below the counter, then comes up holding a small, flat box wrapped in plain brown paper. “Is it your birthday?”
“Not today.” I take the box, which is not very heavy, and jiggle. There’s a succession of soft clicks as its contents slide back and forth.
He leans toward me, face filled with anticipation. “Sounds interesting.”
I give him a rueful smile. “Yes, doesn’t it? Goodnight.”
Once in my apartment, I lay the box on the kitchen counter, pour a large glass of water and pop a couple of aspirin. I rummage through a drawer for a paring knife and carefully open the paper to reveal a thin, highly polished, dark mahogany box with slightly rounded edges. A golden clasp holds the top to the bottom. I turn the box and whatever is inside again sighs with a series of clicks to rest at the lower end.
I don’t want to open that box. I can’t open that box. But I do and tears come.
The strand of black pearls is curled to one side of a note that reads, “If you value Paul’s life, stay away from the trial.”
Now there’s no doubt the cartel plans to use Paul as a weapon to prevent me from testifying.
I grab the phone and punch out a number. After three rings, Duncan’s gruff, “Yeah,” startles me out of my panic. What’s worse, I didn’t even realize it was his number I dialed.
“Oh, Duncan, I’m so sorry to bother you this late, but I need help. May I come up?”
Minutes later, a barefooted Duncan wearing a sweat suit opens his door.
I restrain the urge to throw my arms around his neck. Instead, I give my most grateful smile. “Thanks.”
He closes the door behind us and points me toward the couch. “What’s up?”
I show him the pearls and hand him the note. “These came this evening.”
Duncan reads the note, jumps up and starts to pace, his left hand gingerly rubbing the back of his head. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen him do this when he’s under stress over a case. This does not make me comfortable.
After a few minutes he sits. “Okay. Okay. Remember when you told me they let you go and I didn’t buy it? Remember I said they were too smart for that? Well, I think they had a plan in mind for you all along.”
When I start to reply, he holds up his hand. “And there may be two scenarios. First, they’re holding Paul hostage, hoping you won’t testify.”
“I can see that.”
Up goes the hand again. “Or they want you to testify against Ramón to get him out of the way without implicating the cartel.” “That’s a little far-fetched, since as far as I can tell, Ramón is the head of the cartel.”
“Maybe he is or maybe he isn’t. I think this is just the first communication. They’ll wait to see how you react.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Sit tight. Don’t say anything to anybody. I’ll have your apartment swept. My guess is you’re bugged so they can monitor you.”
“But if we remove the bug won’t that tip them?”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me think this through a bit.” He stares away for a few minutes. “Look. Why don’t you stay up here tonight? I’ll take the couch. Then tomorrow we can make a plan when our heads are clearer.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I have an early meeting. I really appreciate your help on this.”
Duncan lets out a long breath and rises. “Whatever. Just don’t do or say anything incriminating.”
He walks me to the door, opens it, then in a surprising move turns me toward him and pulls me close. “Dammit, Allie, why can’t you stay out of trouble?”
His voice is soft, almost a whisper. It’s obvious he cares. Maybe not like he once did, but his tenderness is touching.
Instead of my usual bristle, I relax and let him draw me to him. This feels good.
I’m pretty sure Duncan is just as surprised as I am and probably wonders whether he should make another move.
As for me, I’m more than content to enjoy the warmth of his body against mine.
We stand together for several minutes, not speaking, not moving. Then I pull away, step into the hall, and give his hand a final squeeze before I head for the elevator.
The hot shower should have put me under hours ago but it’s three o’clock in the morning and I’m wide awake.
It’s one thing to be intimidated, threatened, and brutalized in another town or country, but the appearance of those pearls makes it crystal clear that Ramón’s arm is long and powerful. I shiver, knowing now I’ve been under their surveillance since my return to Houston.
If that isn’t enough to keep me awake, there’s the encounter with Duncan. I liked being in his arms. It’s been six months since Bill and I clung together in that cave. Six months since I was so sure he was the “one.” It saddens me that I have trouble remembering his face, though a whiff of that heady Kryptonite aftershave makes me yearn for what I’m finally beginning to realize can never be.
Chapter 41
IT’S BEEN A BUSY MORNING, mainly because my latest deal in California is on very shaky ground and needs immediate resuscitation.
When the phone bleats its seventh complaint, I realize my secretary has left her post, slam down the California contract, and grab the receiver. “Alice Armington.”
“Guess you’re busy.” It’s Duncan and he doesn’t wait for a reply. “No bugs. What do you make of that? Could it be you’re being surveilled some other way?”
His voice fades as a small, nondescript man in a rumpled suit materializes out of nowhere.
“May I help you?”
He doesn’t crack a smile. “You Alice Armington?”
Duncan intrudes before I can answer. “Earth to Allie? Earth to Allie?”
I reply sotto voce behind my hand, “Hold on,” then cover the mouthpiece. “Yes, I am Alice...”
Mr. Nondescript whips a folded document out of the inside pocket of his coat and slaps it on the desk in front of me.
I stare open-mouthed as the man shoves th
e paper across my desk until it touches my hand, then he disappears through the door.
I almost hang up the phone, then remember who’s on the other end. “Sorry about the hold, but I’ve just been served.”
I scan the document, gathering the pertinent facts, then read them aloud. “Two weeks from next Monday I’m to appear as a witness for the United States Government versus Raymond Talavera Gibbs. My God, Gibbs lived. Federal District Judge Marshall Good will preside. Seven hundred East San Antonio Street, El Paso, Texas.”
Duncan says, “Damn. They must have known you were being served today. This is serious. We need a strategy. Meet me for dinner at The Capitol Grill.”
My answer is to hang up. The initial thrill at finally being subpoenaed is sullied by a jumble of emotions—fear, front and center.
Duncan pops up from a far table, waves me over, and pulls out my chair. “I took the liberty of ordering our usual.”
It feels good to hear “our usual” again, nice to share time with Duncan. I take a sip of the martini and run my tongue across my upper lip. “Pure heaven.”
Duncan gives me an especially endearing smile before he raises his glass to his mouth. “It is good. In fact I’d forgotten just how good it is to be with you.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
Warmed by the martini and the feel of his touch, I amuse Duncan with the description of the summons server.
He sobers. “I want to come with you.”
At that, one antenna rises. Duncan is climbing into his protective mode. My lungs tighten as I watch him pull his date book from inside his coat and search the pages.
His face clouds. “Damn the luck. I’m scheduled for trial then.”
I look toward the ceiling. Thank you, Lord. He’s tied up. I can breathe again. “Oh, Duncan, please don’t bother yourself over this. It’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”
He doesn’t seem to get my drift because he wags a finger in my face. “No way, José. This time you definitely need someone to go with you.”
Air turns to lead. I’m smothering. I try to keep the anger out of my voice and fail. My words strain through clenched teeth. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need a nanny. I can take care of myself.”
Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery Page 23
