by Anna Philpot
Cici shrugged. “He never said.”
“And you never asked?” Sam scoffed. Incredulity dripped from his tone.
“Of course I asked.” Cici huffed. “He’s part of the CIA. Or NSA. Maybe both or neither.” Cici waved her hand, dismissing the ugly shudder up her spine those acronyms caused. “He was definitely a spy. With the United States government. You heard him tell me that. And, honestly, with your new job, you’ll probably know more about him in a couple of weeks than I ever will.”
Sam had a new job. Oh, good gracious. He’d have to move. None of the agencies she’d mentioned had presences here. Her heart stuttered as her stomach tightened with the realization that the closest big city for him to work out of was Denver.
“He got you into trouble,” Sam growled, sounding way too much like Rodolfo when he thought Cici was threatened. And stopping Cici’s tumbling thoughts and rising panic. “And I’m not sure I believe a word from his mouth.”
“He also saved my life, Sam. One of the men said he’d….They would have raped me.”
“He had to save your life after he nearly cost you your life.”
“He’s…he’s a friend, Sam.”
They’d pulled into Cici’s driveway. Sam hopped out of his SUV and stormed up the steps. Cici opened her mouth to call Sam back, but decided against it.
Whatever was going on between Sam and her now—nothing positive—needed a chance to cool off.
She sighed, climbing out of the passenger door gingerly. She winced as her foot brushed the ground. Sam stormed back out of her house—he’d used his key to let himself in and let the dogs out. She grappled with her crutches, finally getting them out of the back seat. She started toward the house, hating how her cut and chafed hands looked on the padded handles.
Sam went to the trunk and grabbed the black backpack he’d purchased for her. The meager items she’d retained from her jaunt through Chaco barely filled the bottom of the pack. At least she was wearing clean underwear and brand-new jeans and a T-shirt. Her new socks felt like heaven against her battered feet.
“I have to contact Jeannette and see what she wants me to do now.”
Cici swallowed down the newest burst of panic and the words hovering on her lips. How could she ask Sam to stay? This move would be good for his career. She hung her head as she made her way up the steps to her front door. Her ankle throbbed the entire way.
Sam opened her door and set her bags inside. He situated her on her couch with pillows under her ankle. He brought her water and handed her a pain pill from her prescription.
“I’ll come back by later.”
Cici wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Sam’s anger upset her, partially because she didn’t know what caused it. Instead of arguing with him, she nodded.
After another hour of much-needed sleep, Cici woke with her heart thumping and her body slicked in sweat from staring into the eyes of the man in the Jeep. So many deaths on her conscience.
Cici rubbed her palms over her cheeks and stared up at the wooden vigas in her ceiling. She’d never forget these past three days.
After a long period of time, she rose and hobbled to the shower. She needed to clean up and write a letter to the search committee in Portland.
30
Sam
And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.― Confucius
Sam was the first to arrive at the police headquarters. Jenny, the receptionist, said his team would be in conference room two. After speaking with her for a moment and then spending another ten minutes with the police chief, Sam slid into his seat two down from the head of the table. Thankfully, his former chief was gracious about Sam’s sudden move.
“We’ll always have a spot for you, Chastain,” he said. “Helluva detective. Heard you pinpointed our reverend and her companion based on some Google Earth images.”
“Got lucky,” Sam said.
And he had, because Cici was alive. He was angry with her, sure, but the relief still tingled through his muscles, along with the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—the one that told him Cici had latched on to the spy she spent so much time with over the last few days. Much as Sam wanted to ask Cici about him, tell her how he felt, her comments about needing therapy gave him pause. Much as he hated to admit it, she was in no condition to make life-altering choices.
Some of the former soldiers Sam worked with, both here in Santa Fe and back when he was part of the Denver task force, had said their time in combat changed them, left them less able to cope with day-to-day living in the civilian world. The last thing Sam wanted to do was add to Cici’s struggles as she worked through the harrowing events of her time in Chaco.
She needed to heal mentally and emotionally, which meant he had to calm down and give her that time.
The chief came around his desk and shook Sam’s hand. “Hate to lose you, but you sure took a step up. They’re down in the conference room.” He glanced at the clock. “You have a couple of minutes. Thanks for stopping in. Give us a shout before you head off to your next assignment.”
Next assignment. Shit. Sam had only worried about this assignment—making sure Cici was safe. Now, he better find out what he’d signed on for, long-term. And where he’d be located.
He swallowed down the bitter flavor of concern in his throat and opened the blue folder with his name. Inside were more aerial pictures of the destruction up in Chaco Canyon.
He blew out a long, slow breath.
Jeannette settled in the chair next to him, closer to the head of the table. Her blond hair was pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail and her suit was dark and conservative, perfect for an ambitious government employee, which made Sam glad he’d gone home to shower, shave, and change into a suit himself.
“Pretty amazing, huh?” Jeannette said, leaning closer to the photos in Sam’s file. “We’ve recovered ten bodies.”
Sam’s muscles clenched. “Ten?”
“Yeah. But we’re missing two. Cici said there was a mudslide following a flash flood.” She met his gaze. “We found the site.” She touched Sam’s picture with her forefinger. “Seems like they got lucky out there.”
Sam touched the picture of the mudslide. “It wasn’t luck,” he murmured.
“Well, whatever it was, our guy was smart and did a damn good job of keeping the destruction away from the Chacoan ruins. The park staff thinks they’ll be able to reopen as soon as we give the go-ahead.”
Sam flipped through the photos. “The closest issue was Cici’s car. The debris field hit some of the adobe structure, huh?”
“Nothing too bad, and our guy had Cici pull in at the least trafficked site.” Jeannette shook her head, admiration in her eyes.
The door opened before she could speak again. A tall, thin man with silver-tipped hair walked into the conference room. His suit was dark, his tie a light blue that seemed to scream power.
“Detective Chastain, Special Agent. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Sam stood and shook his hand. “Since we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Phil Bresdeen, NSA, and the man in charge of our diverse group helping to keep domestic threats from turning into actual problems.”
He set down his black leather folio on the desk. “Our asset has spoken quite highly of your friend, the reverend, Detective Chastain.”
Sam settled back in his chair. “Cici continues to surprise me, too, sir.”
Bresdeen chuckled. “Good to know.” He steepled his fingers in front of his lips, his gaze firm on Sam. “Do you know why I wanted you on this task force, Detective?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
Jeannette stirred beside him before resettling in her chair.
“Well, it wasn’t because of your work on the opioid ring, though that was impressive. So is your long list of collars with the Denver task force.” Bresdeen opened his folio and pulled out some papers. “You have a master’s in criminal justice, domestic terror certifications, bilingual. All very impressive.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam said, though he was waiting for the real reason he was in the room.
“But you’re here because of your connection to the reverend Cecilia Gurule. More specifically, we’re interested in her father, Franklin Ricardo Gurule. You know the man?”
Sam swallowed, trying to get enough moisture back into his mouth to speak. “I do.”
“Well, we’ve been aware of activities at his firm for months now. We can’t tell if he is involved or if another is using the firm as a convenient base. I want you to look into the connections.”
Bresdeen tipped his head to Jeannette. “We’ll be working together to infiltrate the firm and get a better read on the situation,” she said.
Sam flipped to the back of the folder in front of him, which held information about Frank Gurule and his law firm in Scottsdale.
“Drugs?” Sam asked. “Since you’re involved with the case, I’m guessing it has something to do with manufacturing or trafficking.”
Bresdeen smiled, clearly liking Sam’s line of thinking. He looked like a proud parent. “Both. You’ll leave next week. All pertinent information is in the folder.” He pulled out a sleek new cell phone and some other papers. “For you, Detective. While you’re technically more than that, we’d like to continue using your police title, if we may.” It wasn’t a request, so Sam didn’t answer. Bresdeen smiled before dipping his head toward the phone. “Contact me if and when you have more information.”
“You’re taking the lead on this one,” Jeannette said. Her voice was neutral, not betraying any emotion about her thoughts on the matter.
“Be in touch,” Bresdeen said, standing. “Oh, and Detective?”
Sam met his gaze. “Our asset asked me to tell you the reverend kept her faith in you.” He raised an eyebrow. “High praise. He’s not been much for positivity since his wife died. Changed him.”
Bresdeen knocked his fist on the table twice and walked out of the room.
Sam turned to Jeannette, who stared back at him, eyes wide. She shook her head, eyes never leaving Sam’s face.
“This could go so badly for you,” she breathed.
“Couldn’t have mentioned the Gurule connection before you dragged me into this?” Sam snapped. He gathered the folder, snugging it against his side. Guess he was going to need a folio like Bresdeen’s.
Shit.
What would he tell Cici?
“I didn’t know that’s why he was recruiting you. And as for Cici, my best advice is to tell her nothing. We don’t know what her father’s mixed up in yet, so no reason to upset her.”
Sam dipped his head to let Jeannette know he’d heard her, but he was already worried about where this investigation would lead him. And how it would change his relationship with Cici.
Jeannette fell into step beside him as they walked out the door of the station in the soft, late evening air. “I’ll see you Monday, Sam. Enjoy the time off between now and then.”
Yeah, like that was possible.
31
Cici
If one should desire to know whether a kingdom is well governed, if its morals are good or bad, the quality of its music will furnish the answer.― Confucius
* * *
Cici sat on her small front porch early the next morning. A light rain shower misted the ground, bringing cooler temperatures and much-needed moisture. A soft breeze scented with lilies drifted up, tickling Cici’s nose.
She made a deep humming sound in her throat as she took in her tidy neighborhood. Many of her congregants had come by over the course of the day to see her, and Cici was grateful for the escape from talking to Sam, who’d been quiet and on edge ever since he’d helped her into the helicopter. Last night, he’d texted her to let her know that he would stop by, but Cici had put him off, unable to deal with another round of sniping.
She must have dozed in the chair because she woke to Sam taking hold of her hand in his, gently. She blinked up at him, her mind foggy.
“Hi,” she murmured.
“Hey,” he said, brushing the hair back from her cheek. His eyes landed on one of the nicks marring her skin and his smile turned to a scowl. He pulled the blanket Mrs. Sanchez had brought out to her earlier higher around her shoulders. All his movements were gentle, but Cici sensed his barely controlled fury.
Her own anger rose, straining to free itself in a loud shouting match, but she didn’t understand what, if anything, she was angry with Sam about. Just that she was—on a visceral level beyond logic.
Sam brought her some of the lavender lemonade she liked. She drained the glass within moments, still feeling dehydrated from her time on the mesa. Her head throbbed in that vague, unhappy beat of too little sleep and too much tension.
“When do you start working with Jeannette’s task force full time?”
Sam’s lips all but disappeared as his eyes slid into slits. “Soon. Were you ever going to tell me about the job offer in Portland?” he ground out.
Cici sighed. “I planned to. The night I came over and Jeannette was there.”
“So, that’s my fault, too? You going to Chaco in the first place?”
“What?” Cici startled. “I didn’t say that—”
Sam’s eyes shuttered. “You implied it with your words.”
Cici shuddered, trying to throw off the hostility that had been building between them since Sam had stormed out of her hospital room.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.
His brows lowered and his eyes turned stormy. “Maybe I don’t like to see you almost die every other week.”
“Can’t say I enjoy almost dying,” Cici snapped back.
Sam shoved both hands into his hair. He stood in a rush and headed down the two steps of Cici’s porch.
“I’m leaving Monday on a new case. I wanted you to know,” he mumbled.
“Will I see you before you go?” she asked, her voice catching.
Sam stopped, his entire body quivering.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his posture stiff.
“You like to walk away from me when there’s something you don’t want to talk about. Like in Manhattan. On Aspen Vista. Now.”
Instead of another bout of anger, Sam’s shoulders folded inward and he stared at the crack in the sidewalk.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Cee.” The words seemed to rip from his chest.
She rose from the chair, wincing and unsteady on her broken leg. She grappled with her crutches. Once stable, she moved toward him.
“Then don’t,” she said, her voice pleading. She didn’t care. “Please don’t.”
The tears she’d held back throughout the ordeal began to spill over her lashes. Sam’s face contorted to one of pain as he watched her face crumple. Sobs shook her body.
“Don’t leave me,” Cici managed to gasp. “Not alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Ah, Cee.”
Sam bounded back up the steps and wrapped her in his arms. He pressed his lips to her temple, cleaned now, thank goodness.
“I was so scared,” Cici sobbed.
Sam rubbed her back, his large hand making soothing swipes. He rested his cheek on the crown of her head, encompassing her body in his warmth. He held her, rocking her, until she calmed.
She began to pull back, embarrassed by the excessiveness of her outburst, but Sam tightened his hold.
“I’ve got you. Get it out. You need to get it all out.”
Cici pulled back, wiping her eyes. “I’m not sure this is something you ‘get out’ all at once,” she said, her voice sheepish. “But I would feel better knowing we’re okay.” She searched the gunmetal blue of his eyes. “Are we?”
Sam blew out a breath, his eyes still too dark. “Yeah. Yeah. We’re good.”
Cici frowned. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes shuttering. “I will. Soon. When you’re feeling better. Stable.”
&
nbsp; Cici opened her mouth but then snapped it closed again. Sam’s facial muscles went lax. Cici followed Sam’s gaze, which landed on the elderly gentleman. Mr. Pritchett lifted his water hose, the limp stream of water dribbling across his white orthopedic shoes.
Sam cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go inside.”
He’d started to turn her toward the door, away from Mr. Pritchett’s argyle sweater vest and keen hearing, when a UPS truck pulled into her driveway. The driver’s music blared as he did something on his handheld device. He turned off the ignition, waved, and then hopped from the large brown van.
32
Sam
Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.― Confucius
* * *
“How’s it going, Rev?”
Sam stiffened. The man seemed awfully friendly.
“Been better,” Cici said. “Who are you?”
“I needed to bring you a special delivery.”
“Okay,” Cici said.
Sam stepped forward so he was in front of Cici, the need to protect her buzzing through his brain.
“Looks like your trip ended in some misery.” The guy clucked.
Cici looked affronted while Sam placed his hand on his holstered firearm. The driver saw Sam’s hand and tilted his head.
“Heard you were protective of her.”
“I am,” Sam growled.
The driver chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Heard you should be. Sign here,” he said, holding out a device toward Cici.
Cici signed. The man held up a padded envelope. Sam held out his hand. The driver stared at it for a long moment before placing the package in Sam’s hand.
“That’s for her,” the driver warned.
“I’m aware of the legalities of opening someone else’s mail,” Sam said, his voice dry and tough as a piece of jerky.
