by Tarah Scott
“What the hell have you let your head of the Reconnaissance Rangers get involved in?” Sheila demanded.
“Catching Carlos Sanchez,” Medina answered in an even tone.
“What does Ms. Monahan have to do with this?”
“I told you the night of the gala, this is a federal investigation,” Ben said. “This is a need-to-know, and you don’t need to know.”
She shrugged. “Guess what, sweetheart, I’m involved. Chuck sent me himself. We’re supposed to handle handing you over to the Juarez DA. I get the whole story.”
Ben started to reply, but Medina cut him off. “You know we’re hunting Sanchez. He walked into our investigation at the party the other night, and things got twisted around when Ms. Monahan was kidnapped by his men and taken to Mexico.”
Sheila stared. “You’re joking?”
“Nope,” Medina said. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hunter saved her life.”
She looked at Ben. “And somewhere along the way, the Juarez PD says you killed one of their men, and you have the misguided idea that you can somehow catch Sanchez by going back to Mexico?”
“We’ll catch him,” Ben said.
Her expression turned grim. “Even if it means killing him.”
Sheila’s insight startled Ben. “There’s always the chance a criminal will get killed, but our aim is to bring him to justice—and we almost always succeed.”
“You’d better succeed this time. Our relationship with the Juarez district attorney isn’t so good that we can get you back if you kill one of their influential citizens.” She shook her head. “You have to wonder about a woman who gets involved with not one mob boss, but two. That’s just too much of a coincidence to be coincidental.”
“What are you talking about?” Medina asked.
Sheila looked at Ben. “You didn’t tell him?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Ben said, and realized he’d been so absorbed in getting Liz and Christina back safely that he hadn’t checked with Barney to see if he’d come up with any information on Liz’s past arrest.
“If you call racketeering and money laundering nothing,” Sheila said. “Not to mention illegal gambling. She’s stepping things up, though. Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova is a lightweight compared to Carlos Sanchez.”
“You just answered your own question, Sheila,” Ben said.
She looked at him, brows arched in that condescending, quizzical expression she had perfected.
“Why there never can be anything more substantial between us.”
Her mouth parted in surprise—a rare look for her—but Ben turned his back and said to the Captain, “I’m going to see to Ms. Monahan’s accommodations. I’ll be here at ten sharp.” He turned and left.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It’s not what you think,” was all Ben had said to Liz when they reached the SUV.
His phone rang. It was R.W. calling with the address of Liz’s accommodations, and to share the lowdown on the place she’d be staying. Then his father called—R.W. had filled him in on their plans to watch over Liz, and his father offered additional manpower. Lastly, as Ben merged onto the highway, he listened to his only voicemail. Barney had discovered what Liz’s involvement had been with Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova.
“This has got to be one of the funniest cases I’ve come across, Hunter.” Barney’s laughed his nasally laugh. “Your lady friend was writing a thesis paper on Crime in Middle America. She decided she had to get a firsthand look at the crime underworld, so she went to an illegal gaming house, which was owned by Sammy. He noticed her and spent some time with her. The local police raided the joint one night and she was there. My guess is they wanted her to testify against Sammy and she wouldn’t, so they brought charges against her to try and make her cooperate. The charges were dropped by the DA. I hope this helps. Oh, and by the way, you owe me big for this one.” The message ended.
Ben flipped his phone closed and had to force his gaze to remain straight ahead. If he looked at Liz he would break into laughter. Leave it to Liz Monahan to take her research straight to a crime boss. One of these days, years down the road after she’d married him and she couldn’t leave, Ben would ask her if she got an A on that paper. He bet she did.
They arrived at the address R.W. had given him, and Liz left the truck before Ben could turned off the engine. She headed for the door and went inside without knocking and without looking back.
At eight-thirty, Ben slipped through the patio doors and joined Liz at the railing of the borrowed house nestled in the Franklin Mountains twenty minutes from downtown El Paso. The Spanish-style home belonged to one of R.W.’s friends who wintered in El Paso. The view across the rocky, brush-covered hills into the desert was shadowy beneath dark clouds. Under any other circumstances, this would be the romantic getaway of any man’s dream. Ben would take Liz in his arms and make love to her until they were too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep, tangled in each other’s bodies. Instead, he was leaving her behind and going after a man who intended to kill him, then find Liz and end her life.
“How long do you think I’ll be here?” Liz asked, and Ben hoped like hell that translated to how long will you be gone?
“I can’t say for sure. The plan is to put me in the hospital after Sanchez’s man takes his shot. That way, the Feds have a second chance at finding Sanchez if the shooter doesn’t lead them to him. I wouldn’t think more than a day or two at most. Sanchez isn’t going to chance that I’ll talk to someone in Mexico who might listen to me.”
She nodded.
“Liz, it’s not what it looked like.”
She didn’t hesitate. “My feelings aren’t hurt. I had no expectations.”
“Well, I damn well have expectations, and we’re going to talk about them—at length—when I get back.”
“You worry about getting back. Nothing else.”
He gave her his best grin and hoped it appeared natural. “I’ll be loaded for bear. Anyone who shouldn’t be in my hospital room will be sorry they crossed me.”
She nodded again and his chest tightened. Ben grasped her arm.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “I’m not asking you to prove anything. I’m a big girl. I know—”
He tugged her close and slid his fingers into her silky, dark hair. “I plan to finish what we started last night.”
Her cheeks colored and the blood rushed to his groin so fast he feared he would embarrass himself. He’d better get his head in the game or he would find himself distracted at the wrong time. The admonition didn’t stop him from brushing his lips against hers. She released a sigh and he slid his hands down the curve of her backside and hugged her intimately against his erection.
When her tongue brushed his lips, he could have died and gone to heaven. Ben opened for her and let her explore him to her heart’s content. At last, she drew back and he broke the kiss, breathing hard.
“I want you to do that to the rest of my body,” he said.
Her head snapped up. He read the uncertainty in her eyes.
“It’s all right to be confused, honey,” he said. “God knows, you’ve kept me off balance.”
“Ben—”
“Whoops.”
Ben turned his head toward the door. R.W. and Hal stood on the patio near the door.
“Are we interrupting something?” R.W. said.
“Yeah,” Ben said, “but I’d better get going.” He studied Liz’s face as he released her. “You do what they say without question. Understand?”
“I promised,” she replied.
He nodded, then strode toward the door. Ben didn’t miss the look R.W. gave him as he brushed past, and wasn’t surprised when R.W. followed him from the house to his SUV.
“You’re getting awful friendly with a witness,” R.W. said as Ben got into the vehicle.
“It’s none of your business,” Ben said.
R.W. shrugged. “If you get kicked off the Rangers, you can al
ways come back home.”
“Then what would you do?” Ben asked.
“Does that mean you’d fire me?”
“I’d fire you now, if I could.”
“You’d be sorry if I went to another ranch and made them richer than you.”
“Money isn’t everything.” Ben slammed the door and rolled down the window. “If you run into trouble, you know what to do.”
“Yeah, after we kill the man making the trouble,” R.W. said.
“If it’s Sanchez, you’ll get a medal, and I’ll pin it on you myself.”
“I think I’d like that,” R.W. said. “Just be sure you make it back to do the honors.”
“I have plenty of reason to come home,” Ben replied.
More reason than he’d ever had in his life.
* * *
Few Americans turned themselves in to face murder charges in Mexico. There was no extradition, no warrant for Ben’s arrest in the US. He was just a good citizen willing to return to Mexico and prove himself innocent of the crimes for which he was charged. As it turned out, that was big news. Neither the Rangers nor the Feds had leaked the story. But by two p.m., reporters swarmed the parking lot outside the field Headquarters of El Paso’s Company ‘E’ building.
Aside from Agents Masters and Braxton, only Captain Medina, the two Lieutenants, the Staff Lieutenant, and eleven of the fifteen Rangers in their office knew Ben planned to return to Mexico—and no one in the DA’s office knew about the sting operation. Ben figured the leak came from Assistant DA Charles Mandles’ office.
Ben knew enough to be afraid when fear was called for. Nothing in the material world could stop him from going after Sanchez. Still, being handcuffed by the FBI unsettled him. It wasn’t the handcuffs. He’d learned long ago how to get out of them. It was the idea that for the two hours he would be in their custody he would, for all practical purposes, be a criminal, and under Agents Masters and Braxton’s control.
“It’s a damn circus,” Masters said as he and Braxton herded Ben through the horde of reporters outside Headquarters.
Ben wondered what the chances were that Sanchez’s man might try to shoot him in the US instead of Mexico when the crack of a gunshot fired. A second shot followed and something slammed into his chest. Ben was thrown back into the crowd. He hit the ground, his head slamming the asphalt.
Screams erupted and reporters raced in different directions, a mass of frenzied terror. An ache radiated through Ben’s chest. Sharp pain stabbed bone deep in his shoulder and his head radiated a dull throb that blurred his vision. Steel fingers grabbed under his armpits and he was being dragged across the parking lot. He commanded a hand to swing a fist, but as his muscles tensed, he realized his hands were cuffed behind his back. He twisted in an effort to break free.
“Goddamit, Pretty Boy,” the man cursed.
Ben recognized Masters’ voice and relaxed his muscles, which screamed with the effort of trying to break free. The agent dragged him behind a car, then released him. Ben gave his head a hard shake to clear his vision, but spots raced across his eyes. Masters rolled him onto his side and removed the handcuffs. He again lay flat, and felt pressure against his shoulder. Pain shot from his shoulder clean through to his back.
“Hold onto that.” Masters grabbed his hand and pressed it against Ben’s shoulder.
Ben looked down. Master’s folded jacket lay atop his shoulder, under his hand.
“Keep it tight,” Masters ordered. “Unless you want to bleed to death.” He forced Ben’s hand down hard on the coat.
Ben drew a sharp breath in pain.
“Hurts, don’t it?” Masters said, then turned away and peered around the car. “Did you get a visual on the shooter?”
“What?” Ben said, then realized the agent must be speaking into the mike hidden in his collar.
“Officer down. Wounds in shoulder and head.”
The head? He’d heard only two shots. One got him in the shoulder, and the way his chest hurt, one struck the body armor. Where had the headshot come from? Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone abruptly came into view crouching over him. He recognized Medina.
“You just couldn’t wait until you reached Mexico, could you, Hunter?” the captain said. He looked up before Ben could think of a reply, and called, “Over here.” Medina pressed down on the coat. Sharp pain stabbed through him and he couldn’t breathe for a long moment. “One of our boys saw a man take off,” Medina addressed Masters. “Looked like he had some kind of AR. You might want to get word to your men.” He looked at Ben. “Good thing for you it was small caliber. They were aiming for a headshot. I called it in like that.”
The sirens grew louder.
Ben’s vision cleared, but he had a splitting headache and the ache in his chest throbbed in unison with his heartbeat. His head must have hit the pavement.
The siren blared. Masters stood up and waved. Seconds later, an ambulance pulled up beside them. An EMT knelt by his side. He fitted a neck brace, then inspected the head wound.
The man keyed his mike. “Subject officer down, impact laceration to the head. Bullet wound to the shoulder.” The man called for his companion to bring the gurney.
Ben tried to push into a sitting position.
“Stay down, Hunter,” Medina ordered. “You’re supposed to be nearly dead, remember?” He tapped his noggin. “Head wound. I think we can play this up.”
Ben grunted. He felt half dead. The medic bent over him with a syringe. Ben swiped at the man’s arm. “No pain killers. I need to stay alert.” Ben almost regretted saying that an instant later when the medic started cutting away Ben’s shirt. The scissors felt like a red-hot branding iron against his shoulder.
Five minutes later, they slid his gurney into the ambulance. Medina and Masters joined him, then the vehicle left the parking lot and screamed toward the hospital.
“Looks like Sanchez got anxious,” Ben rasped.
“Sure does,” Medina said.
“Did we get the shooter?”
“Randal took off after a guy who might be him. Similar description to the guy your informant told you about.”
“Pauly?” Ben rasped.
Medina nodded. “That’s all I know.” He looked at Masters. “What about your guys?”
“I haven’t heard anything from Braxton yet. I’m in the dark.”
That’s when the lights went out.
* * *
Texas Ranger gunned down outside of Ranger Headquarters…the broadcast words stopped Liz’s heart then blanked her mind. For twenty minutes she sat on the couch, leaning toward the TV, watching the crawler and praying for updates.
“Goddammit,” R.W. swore beside her.
Liz shifted her gaze to him. “We need to call the hospital.”
“They won’t tell us anything about him over the phone, even if we are family,” Hal said. “R.W., why don’t you try Medina again.”
Liz swiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks.
R.W. picked up the cordless and punched in a number. “Yeah, Captain, this is R.W. Hunter, Ben’s cousin. We just saw the news report. How’s Ben?”
A moment of silence passed, then R.W. looked at her and mouthed, He’s okay.
Liz waited, insides trembling until R.W. hung up the phone.
“He’ll be okay. Took a bullet in his shoulder that went clean through, so no major surgery. His vest stopped a second round. He’ll be out of the hospital in a couple days.”
“Did they catch the man who shot him?” Liz demanded. “Is it over?”
R.W. glanced at Hal.
“I’m the one who asked, R.W.,” Liz said, “not Hal. What did Captain Medina say?”
R.W. shook his head. “No, it’s not over.”
Liz shot to her feet. “What does that mean? Do they know who it was? Did they catch him? What—”
He held up both hands, palms out. “Hold on, darlin’. Medina didn’t tell me anything. He won’t. The Rangers are closed-mouthed. Even what little b
it of time you spent with Ben must have told you that.”
He was right. Ben wasn’t forthcoming with information about work-related operations. “So we just wait it out?” Liz asked.
“That was the plan from the get go.”
“He wasn’t really supposed to get shot,” she said.
R.W. laughed. “No, but he was prepared for it.”
Liz cast him a withering look. “Are you saying you knew he would get shot?”
“No. Just logic. A bulletproof vest leaves a lot of exposed body parts. But, he knows what he’s doing.”
Liz studied R.W. “I thought you didn’t like the fact he’s a cop.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t good at it. He’s a Hunter. We’re good, no matter what.”
* * *
A blur of faces passed before Ben’s eyes. The doctor patched up his shoulder, then orderlies wheeled him from one room to another, one test to another, to ensure the impact of the bullet to his chest hadn’t caused internal damage.
The anesthetic made him sluggish, but left plenty of pain. Ben ached all over. His gurney moved again and they pushed through a door and into a hallway. Harsh overhead lights caused him to jam his eyes shut until, moments later, the glide of the gurney stopped and light no longer bored through his closed lids.
Ben cracked open one eye. He lay in a dimly lit room with what looked like some kind of ex-ray machine. He closed the eye and allowed himself to relax for the first time since the roar of gunfire had split the air and a bullet had ripped through muscle. This was the last test he was going to let them give. He wanted to be put in a room. He needed to call Liz, to hear for himself that she was all right. Then he would wait for Sanchez’s man to come for him. If their luck held, Sanchez would think he lay in a coma.
After he got Sanchez, he would take Liz far away, put this nightmare behind them, and get to know her like no other man had even known her. He released a heavy sigh. He was going to end this once and for all.
A waft of air jarred Ben to consciousness. A muffled oof sounded behind him, then a thud. Confusion clouded his mind for an instant before he realized he’d woken from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d taken. How long had he been asleep? Couldn’t be very long. His muscles hadn’t stiffened from lying motionless on the hard gurney. He considered telling the technician to forget the damn tests—he’d had enough and he—
