Reluctant Smuggler

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “No trouble.” Mama Gina beamed. “We’re just happy to see you, mio figlio.”

  “You could have fooled me.” Tony yawned. “Fell asleep reading e-mail. You three all right? You look like you’ve been—”

  “Run hard and put up wet?” A laugh trickled between Max’s lips.

  “Exactly. Des, I know Mom got carried away on that dress thing, but—”

  “Mama Gina is a brilliant dress buyer.” Desi finally found her voice.

  Tony frowned. “So where’s the crisis?”

  Desi collapsed onto the sofa. “We saw Preston Standish in a car coming from the direction of this house.”

  Tony flipped a lever on the chair. His feet popped down, and he sat forward, expression cop flat. “Details, ladies. Make, model, tag number.”

  “Dark blue.”

  “Four-door sedan.”

  Desi’s color description overlapped Mama Gina’s contribution. “Thats the best we’ve got.” Her heart sank. Some eyewitnesses they were. “We weren’t paying attention at first, and then there was too much adrenaline pumping during the car chase.”

  Tony went fire red. “Car chase!”

  Desi winced. Yep, he was his mothers son in lung power. Great going. Des, you needed to mention your harebrained road race.

  Tony struggled to his feet. “We’ve been through this before, Des. You can’t take off after a criminal like you’re playing tag with a ten-year-old.

  We have no idea how dangerous this Standish might be, especially if hes involved with some south-of-the-border gang.”

  “I’m not stupid, Tony.” She stood, hands on hips. Here she’d been scared out of her wits for him, and now he had the gall to scold her.

  “But you are impulsive and impatient and—”

  “Dense as a doorknob, obviously.” If her blood pressure rose any higher, it would blow the top off her head. “We have no proof Standish is anything more than a sneak thief. And not a clever one, since a foolish female like me caught on to his method of stealing my medallion.”

  Tony’s jaw jutted. “And what did you plan to do when you caught this harmless crook?”

  A shrill whistle cut the air. Desi’s scathing retort stuck in her throat.

  Max lowered two fingers from her mouth.

  “Grazie.” Mama Gina nodded to the redhead, then turned toward Desi. “It was very silly of you to give chase, cara, but no one was hurt.” She raised a brow at Tony. “And you, giovanotto, are wasting time when you should be reporting that this man is loose in Boston.”

  Tony snatched the phone from the side table. “A blue sedan isn’t much to go on.”

  Desi crossed her arms, still steamed enough to bake clams with her breath. “If we had gotten closer to Standish, we could have seen the license number.”

  Tony scowled, phone to his ear.

  Grinning, Max waved both hands. “I got it when the vehicle passed us.”

  Everyone stared at her like she’d grown a third eye.

  She shrugged. “Numbers stick in my head.”

  “Haj,” Tony said into the receiver, “more information on Standish. You won’t believe it, but he’s in Boston.” Tony rattled off the description of the car, and then the license number as Max fed it to him. He cradled the phone. “Haj was already checking into Standish, but that lit a fire under him. There’ll be an APB out within minutes.”

  “Now we have progress.” Mama Gina nodded. “All this excitement has made me hungry.” She headed for the kitchen.

  Max glanced at Desi under her lashes. “Urn, I’ll lend a hand with lunch.” She hustled out.

  Desi’s stomach churned. Sweat trickled beneath her blouse, and not just because she still was wearing her coat. Why was she fighting with Tony when she’d almost lost him days ago? Besides, he was right. She was impulsive and impatient, always charging ahead in the heat of the moment.

  “Des.” Tony’s fingers swept one side of her hair behind an ear. “You’ve got guts, but honestly, you give me gray hair sometimes.” He offered a lopsided smile. “On the other hand, not many guys have a woman who’d ride a snowplow into the teeth of a blizzard to get to him, so don’t turn wimp on me, just—”

  “Grow some good sense with my guts?” A small laugh spilled out.

  “You’ve got sense, but it flies out the window when you feel the need to save the world. Now me—” he jabbed a thumb at himself— “I’d like to quit acting compulsively overprotective.”

  Desi shook her head. “You’re not overprotective exactly. You just love me a lot.”

  “Guilty.” He reached for her.

  She sighed as Tony’s arms encircled her. They’d probably always have a tug of war over safety versus necessary risk, but God had answered her prayer today. Tony was safe. Standish could drop off the end of the earth, medallion and all, as long as he left them alone.

  A picture formed before her mind’s eye—a box on the porch. A chill trickled down Desi’s spine. She’d known something wasn’t right, but she hadn’t realized what she saw—or hadn’t seen. Desi pulled from Tony’s embrace.

  “What?”

  “No labels!” She gripped his arms. “There’s a package on the porch about the size and shape of a toaster. It’s wrapped in brown paper, and there’s nothing written on the outside, which means no delivery person left the box. It had to be—”

  “Standish!” Tony’s face turned to granite. “We need to get Mom and Max and walk out the back door. We’ll go to the neighbor’s house to call this in.”

  “The back walk isn’t shoveled. You could tear your stitches.”

  “No matter. We’ll have to wade through the drifts, because none of us is going near that package until it’s been examined by trained experts.”

  “That’s extreme, isn’t it? I mean, the guy never threatened me. Why would he—?”

  Tony’s forefinger pressed her lips. “Standish was in Mérida when that explosion and fire happened. And now he was here in your neighborhood.”

  Desi nodded, suddenly without breath to answer.

  “We’re going to err on the side of caution.”

  She turned toward the hall.

  “Where are you going?”

  She halted. “To get your jacket from the foyer closet.”

  His long-suffering sigh spoke a volume of exasperation. “We’re leaving. Now! I won’t die from a chilly walk to the neighbor’s house.”

  Desi clamped her teeth together. She could remind him the cold had nearly killed him once, but she wouldn’t, because he was right. Again. She snatched her purse from the sofa and headed for the kitchen, Tony on her heels with his laptop under his arm.

  “Get your coats on, ladies, and grab your lives.” She pointed to the purses and outerwear deposited on kitchen chairs. “We’re outta here pronto.”

  Max quit shredding lettuce into a bowl and gaped. Mama Gina stopped stirring hamburger in a skillet and stared like Desi was from another planet.

  “Don’t argue, and don’t ask questions.” Tony grabbed the coats and held them out. “There’s a mystery package on the porch, and we’re not going to open it to see what’s inside.”

  Max dropped the lettuce. “I noticed a box but assumed it was a normal delivery.”

  “Not without routing labels. Shut off the stove, Mom, and let’s move.”

  “All right.” Face a mask of calm, Gina flicked the knob on the stove and took her wrap.

  Max whipped her coat on and opened the door, freckles standing out on pale cheeks. A gust of arctic air laden with snow particles swirled through the room.

  “Go, Max. Go, Mama Gina.” Desi waved them on. “We’ll be right behind. You can help break the wind for Tony, and I’ll share as much warmth with him as I can.”

  In a cluster, the group moved through the door and down ice-patched steps into a knee-high drift. Desi wrapped her arms around Tony, and his shiver flowed into her body. Max and Mama Gina blazed a path toward the side gate in the privacy fence. Tony’s shivers increa
sed.

  Enough of the noble, self-sacrificing male malarkey Desi’s tripped off her coat and wrapped it around Tony, ignoring the icy wind that sliced through her blouse. “Don’t argue.”

  Tony’s mute nod spoke volumes.

  Max undid the gate latch and rammed against the panel until the drift on the other side gave way enough to let a body slip through. At everyone’s urging, Mama Gina went first, followed by Max. Desi pressed Tony ahead of her, and Max and his mom helped steady him as he waded into the drift. Desi winced at the sound of his pained grunts.

  Standing in the open gateway, she looked back at her house. So peaceful. So normal. This was silly. Standish, that jalapeño-sweating scarecrow, a bomber? The only bombs that guy had set off were his jokes, and those were fizzles. Tony should be snoozing in the recliner, not straining his incision slogging through ice and snow.

  “C’mon, girl,” Max said.

  Desi turned. “I’m all for getting out of this icebox.”

  A fist of heat slammed her in the back as a roar blasted her eardrums.

  Eighteen

  Desi lay on the ground, staring up at the overcast sky. Nice to have snow against her smarting back. Where was she? Why did the world smell of smoke? Somebody better turn those sirens off before she screamed. The shrill wails faded. About time. What was that crackling noise? And why did the snow reflect pink shadows? Impressions kaleidoscoped.

  Flames licking toward a bulbous moon.

  Cries of “¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!”

  A woman wailing for her baby.

  “This is the work of the Fraternidad…”

  A man with an insignia on his cap bent over her. Not an impression. Real. He reached for her, and she swung her fist. He dodged the blow and pressed her flat.

  “Easy, miss. Were going to help you.”

  Her head swam. Help her. Should she believe him? “No!” She lunged upward, but firm hands held her down. Her breath came in pants. “Tony! Where is he? I have to—”

  “I’m right here, darlin.” His face swam into her vision. “Let the paramedic do his job. I’ll be with you.” His hand found hers and latched on.

  “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He smiled, but the edges of his mouth showed white.

  Or maybe not. If only his features would stop squiggling around.

  Another paramedic knelt beside her. She carried some kind of harness thingy, and they started strapping it around her head and neck.

  “Tony-y-y-y!”

  “Relax, honey.” He squeezed her hand.

  If Tony said relax, she could. She would. Take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just as she had practiced for the Museo de Arte Mejicana job.

  They slipped a board under her and picked her up. Tony never released her hand. Then she was in the ambulance—Tony too. How did that happen so fast? She must have blacked out.

  Tony hovered close, just as he promised. Good man. Reliable. “Max? Mama Gina?”

  “They’re fine too,” he mouthed, or maybe she couldn’t hear him above the siren that started as the vehicle moved out. Why couldn’t they turn the stupid thing off? Her head pounded as if she had a crew of carpenters in there.

  Jabbering medical lingo, the paramedics worked over her, putting an IV needle in her hand, hanging a bag, yada yada.

  She kept her eyes on Tony. “Why are you wearing my coat?”

  He leaned close. “What?”

  “My coat. You’re going to pop the seams, and you look ridiculous in lavender.”

  He smoothed hair from her brow. “Some stubborn dame insisted I keep warm. Take it easy now, hon. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Desi’s eyes drifted shut. Then a jolt of comprehension shot through her, and her lids popped open. “Did my home blow up?”

  Tony didn’t answer, but his face told the truth. Desi closed her eyes again. Tony had lied to her. Nothing was going to be all right.

  Tony eased through the teeming bull pen in the FBI office. He didn’t exactly blend in, wearing a sweat suit and an old army pea jacket from his condo closet. Showing up here in Desi’s lavender coat hadn’t been an option. Plus, he’d had to insist over his mother’s protests to get her to put socks and tennis shoes on him and let him take off for downtown in a taxi.

  Grins and smart remarks greeted him, along with too many back pats that weren’t exactly the remedy for sore muscles and a tender incision. But a guy didn’t ignore his co-workers when they wanted to let off steam after almost losing one of their own. Not even if he was in a hurry and hot to take a chunk out of the scum that tried to kill his fiancée.

  The door to his office stood open, and Polanski was seated behind his desk, dark head bent over a sheaf of papers. He tapped on the jamb. Odd, knocking on his own door.

  Polanski’s head lifted, her eyes widened, and she jumped up and strode toward him. “What’s the latest on Desiree?”

  “Concussion. Minor burns. She’s sedated, and they’re keeping her overnight, but she’s going to be fine. That’s more than I can say for her home.”

  “We’re on it, you know. No stone unturned. Are you sure you should be out and about?”

  “I couldn’t just take it easy after an attack like this.”

  Polanski offered a grim smile. “I hear you.”

  “Hey, it’s the boss-man!”

  Haj’s voice brought Tony’s head around. “Progress?”

  The agent shook his head, frowning.

  “We’ll get him, though.” Dell came to stand beside Haj.

  “I found something you should see.” Bergstrom’s head popped over a partition.

  Tony took a deep breath and snail-shuffled around the corner of the work station. He stuck out his hand. Bergstrom stared at it, blinked, and then shook it.

  “You’ve got the makings of a good agent, Berg.” Tony squeezed the man’s hand and released it. “But don’t let it go to your head. And thanks. A lot.”

  The younger agent beamed back at Tony’s half grin. “No problem, sir.”

  “That’s boss-man to you.”

  “Gotcha. And Bergs good. Yep.”

  “I second all that,” Haj said.

  “Me too.” Polanski joined them, Dell nodding beside her.

  Tony looked from one smile to the next. “Enough old-home week. What’ve you got, Berg?”

  The younger agent pointed to words on his computer screen written in short lines like poetry. “I think that changes our perspective on the bombers target.”

  “Not Des?” Tony bent toward the screen, ignoring a protest from his incision. “It’s in Spanish. I take it you read the language. Whats it say?” He straightened, hand on his stomach.

  “It’s a narcocorrido—a song Mexican bandidos write to taunt enemies or celebrate victories. These days, smugglers splash them all over the Internet. This one’s a vow by a gang leader, El Jaguar, to take revenge on the man who killed his ladylove.”

  “But that would be you.” Tony nodded toward Berg.

  “Nuh-uh, boss-man,” Polanski said. “Yours was the only agents name reported in connection with the shipboard bust that ended in the demise of Angelina, and that was only because of your oceanic acrobatics. El Jaguar would have no idea who else was involved.”

  “Exactly.” Dells head bobbed. “And it wouldn’t have been hard to find out where you went after your hospital discharge.”

  Tony let out a long groan. His fault Des almost died. Her childhood home and heritage gone, and he was to blame. His knees wobbled.

  “Hey!” Haj’s cry sounded distant.

  Several pairs of hands helped Tony into a chair.

  “You need to go home and rest.” Polanski leaned close. “Every law enforcement agency in the city is on the case. We’ll find the creep. Trust us.”

  Tony scrubbed at his face. “Apparently, I don’t have much choice. I’m just holding you up, hanging out here.” Frustration twisted his insides.

  “We got him, Des.” Tony l
ooked down at her lying on her side in bed. A night in the hospital hadn’t put color in her skin or driven the shadows from her eyes. If only he could scoop her into his arms, but her back was sore. Besides, he’d probably drop her.

  “Got who?” Her voice was a thread.

  “Standish. He’s in custody.” Her expression remained dull. Too bad his Christian faith and his oath as a lawman wouldn’t allow him to blow up the louse’s condo on the Riviera—with him in it. “He’s an ex-MI5 demolitions expert turned mercenary and making a mint at it. His name’s not Standish. It’s Myles—Heyden Myles. He chose Standish for his American travels as a play on—”

  “Miles Standish. I get it, Tony. I have a concussion, but I haven’t lost all my marbles.”

  Tony cheered mentally over the cranky rebuke. Irritation rated as emotional reaction. “Boston law enforcement blew a gasket tracking him down. Nobody’s comfortable having a bomber in the area. He must’ve ditched his rental car right after you gave up the chase. They found the vehicle fast, then nothing all night long. But a couple of uniforms spotted him coming out of a sleazy motel around dawn. He was unarmed and didn’t resist arrest.”

  Desi snorted. “Can’t shoot his way out of a paper bag, just blows up other people’s lives.”

  Tony squeezed her hand. Losing her childhood home and personal belongings—the mementos of her parents—was like losing a life. Later, she’d figure out how blessed they were to be breathing. But how much later? Her gaze stayed empty.

  She tugged at her sheet. “The doc says I can leave if this morning’s CT scan comes back negative for brain hemorrhage. Max wants me to move in with her. Mama Gina says I can rattle around in her house while she bunks with you at your town house.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Turn back time and throttle a jolly Brit with my medallion chain. Or better yet, refuse President Montoya’s assignment and race back to Boston. This whole mess started because I grasped at straws to fight the Greybecks.” She sat up on one elbow. “But why my home? What did anybody have to gain?”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Des. This probably would have happened even if you had turned down the assignment in Mexico. You weren’t the target.”