Undercover Vows

by Judi Lind

  She flung out an arm, indicating the exotic locale surrounding them. “Just look at this beauty, Noah. People like us are never able to appreciate beauty. We keep plodding through the slime looking for more slime.”

  He whistled for a taxi and hustled her inside. When the door shut and he told the driver their destination, he leaned back against the tattered leather seat. “So you never have time to smell the roses? Why don’t you give it up, move to Mexico and spend your days sipping margaritas and dancing with mariachis?”

  Sullen silence was her only response.

  Noah not only understood, he identified with her mood. He, too, got fed up with arresting sleazeballs who were usually out on bail before he finished the paperwork. But the job was its own reward in a way.

  She didn’t move to Mexico or Barbados for the same reasons he didn’t. A cop was a cop, and there was nothing they could do to change their way of thinking. Besides, running away to an idyllic life would only be idyllic if there was someone to share it with.

  The cab turned onto a side street near the center of town, and immediately a loud, raucous cacophony filled the air. The driver pulled over in front of a rundown-looking bar, which was the obvious source of the blaring music and hoots of laughter filtering outside.

  “Lively little bistro,” Noah commented.

  “Mmm,” she agreed. “With so much commotion going on, it’s the perfect place for a clandestine meeting. Unless one of us dances naked on the tabletop, I doubt anyone will notice us.”

  He glanced at her slender legs peeking out of her white shorts. “If either of us has to dance naked, you have my vote.”

  “Here you are, señor, Viva Zapata’s Cantina. A very famous place.”

  Noah paid the driver and added a generous tip. He stuffed the Mexican blanket into Keely’s new straw bag, but there was no room for the ridiculous paper parrot. Rolling his eyes, he tucked the bag and the bird under his arm and they headed for the door.

  Standing outside the saloon-style doors, Noah suddenly regretted having left his revolver on board. He’d made the decision for two reasons: first, of course, was the well-known antipathy of the Mexican authorities for foreigners who brought firearms into their country; second, he thought it probable that the courier might frisk him before completing the transaction. It would be dicey explaining why the husband of a gambling housewife would be carrying.

  Now, those reasons felt like weak substitutes for the security of his gun.

  Still, it was the middle of the day. The streets were teeming with tourists and locals, and if the sound level was any indication, Zapata’s was packed. He was being overly cautious, probably because Keely was along and they were in a foreign country. Everything would be fine.

  His hand was on the swinging door when Keely screamed.

  Chapter Ten

  “My purse!” Keely shouted as she tore past him. “That man grabbed my purse.”

  Momentarily stunned, her words finally registered and Noah raced after her. A half block away he glimpsed a young boy darting between startled onlookers, Keely’s black leather purse dangling from his hand.

  “Stop, thief!” she shouted as she ran in pursuit. The thief didn’t stop, nor did any of the swarm of people attempt to hinder his getaway.

  “Keely, wait up!” Noah called over the street noise, but if she heard him she ignored his directive.

  At any other time, Noah thought, he would have overtaken her in a few strides. But with her straw bag smacking his thighs with each step and the damned parrot obstructing his vision with its molting paper feathers, it was all he could do to keep her in sight.

  In the distance, he saw the purse snatcher disappear around a corner. By the time Noah reached the intersection, Keely was waiting, doubled over and hands on her knees, her breath heaving.

  “Wh-where is he?” Noah puffed up beside her.

  She shook her head. “I think he went into one of these stores, but I didn’t see which one.”

  Plucking a purple “feather” out of his mouth, Noah handed her the scraggly bird and straw bag. “Go back to Zapata’s and wait for me while I check out a few of these storefronts.”

  Keely’s backbone visibly stiffened. “I’m not a wilting female you have to coddle. I’m perfectly capable of helping you conduct a search.”

  “Oh, good, Keely. Let’s stand here and play games while the thief gets away with your credit cards, money and passport. Did you forget we were supposed to meet someone at Zapata’s in—” he pointed to his watch, “—exactly three minutes?”

  To her credit, she didn’t argue further, but simply nodded and started trotting back toward the cantina.

  “Don’t leave Zapata’s for any reason before I return,” Noah called to her retreating back.

  He watched Keely till she disappeared around the corner, then he glanced over the small crowd still huddled around him. The knowledge that Keely was preparing to meet the courier alone prodded him with a sense of urgency.

  Fighting a growing sense of impending trouble, Noah ducked into the first shop.

  BY THE TIME Keely made it back to Viva Zapata’s, she was overheated and winded. The unaccustomed lack of physical activity over the past few days, combined with her ordeal in the steam booth, had taken a toll on her stamina. She leaned against the dingy adobe building to catch her breath and swipe her hair back into place before she went inside.

  Feeling a moment’s apprehension because she had no idea who or what would be waiting for her, Keely took a deep breath and pushed open the swinging saloon doors. The noise level in the dim, smoke-filled bar was almost overwhelming.

  As she stepped into the murky interior, she was startled when a shadowy figure materialized behind her. “Señora Bannister?” he asked in a husky, mildly accented Latino voice.

  “Yes.” She started to turn around when he jerked her shoulders.

  “Don’t look back. I have a delivery for you. It is better for everyone if you don’t see me. Now, keep your eyes in front, sí? Now walk toward the ladies’ facility to the left of the bar.”

  It was going down, and she was all alone. Keely did as she was told, starting at the bold catcalls and whistles that followed her progress.

  “Do not pay attention to those men. No one will harm you,” the unseen man behind her said. “Continue walking, señora.”

  It wasn’t the rowdies at the bar who worried her. It was the cold, indifferent tone of the courier’s voice, as if it made no difference to him whether he delivered the package or slipped a switchblade into her back.

  “Are you Roberto?” she asked.

  “If that is who you want me to be, chica.”

  She stopped. “I was supposed to meet Roberto here.”

  He nudged her sharply. “I’m the man you were supposed to meet. Keep moving.”

  To distract herself and to look for possible allies should she need help, she glanced at her fellow patrons as she slowly tramped past. The men who took notice of her were drunk and leering, and there weren’t many women in Zapata’s. The few she passed were evidently bar girls, judging from their garish makeup and cheap, too-tight clothing. This was certainly no place for a woman alone.

  With each step she grew increasingly grateful for the martial arts training provided by the department. With no authority and no weapon, Keely felt very much at a disadvantage as she slowly walked to the rear of the building. Despite herself, she hoped Noah would return soon.

  She stopped at the end of the bar, but her escort nudged her forward. “A little farther, chica. Around the corner.”

  Keely turned into the narrow corridor that led to the rest rooms. The hallway was even gloomier than the main bar and completely deserted. “Listen, mister,” she said, halting and twisting toward her chaperon.

  She felt the sharp prick of a knifepoint on her neck. “I said do not turn around, sefiora. You must listen to my orders.”

  The blade bit deeper into the tender skin at the side of her throat. She had no reason
to believe the unseen man wouldn’t kill her where she stood if she ignored his orders. Still, every instinct warned her against letting him know how thoroughly he controlled the situation. Pretending a bravado she didn’t feel, Keely forced a core of steel into her voice. “All right! Now get that knife away from me or I’ll call the whole thing off right now.”

  “Mi jefe would not like that, señora.”

  “That’s just too bad. Either get that knife away from my throat or you’ll have to explain to your boss why your courier turned down the job.”

  There was a long, ominous pause before he moved the blade away from her flesh. “You win—this time. Now I’m going to place a package at your feet. Take it back to the ship. In three days you will dock again at Long Beach. Exactly one hour later, take the package to the Woodside Grill, directly across the street from the pier. ¿Comprende?”

  “Yes, the Woodside Grill. One hour after docking.”

  “You are to sit at the last booth in the rear by the telephone. It will be empty. Have a nice lunch. When the telephone rings three times, leave the package under the seat and depart. Is this clear?”

  She nodded.

  “Answer, please.”

  “I understand! Can I leave now?”

  “Soon, chica. Now I want you to count to one hundred before you pick up the package. Then go back into the bar and have a drink. The bartender will watch out for you until Señor Bannister returns. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, her skin still prickly with gooseflesh from the remembered feel of the knife point. “Yes. Count to a hundred. Have a drink. Take the package back to the ship.”

  “Bueno. My friend north of the border told me you were a very fast learner. I am glad to see he was correct. Start counting now.”

  “One…two…three…” Keely didn’t hear his footsteps recede, but after a moment she peeked over her shoulder; he was gone.

  Her knees wobbled with relief and she leaned against the wall for support.

  The parcel was lying at her feet. Approximately the size of a large shoe box, the paper-wrapped package seemed too small, too insignificant to have caused all this trouble. As she picked it up, a strange mixture of exultation and grief filled her.

  She and Noah had pulled it off! The counterfeiters had obviously accepted their cover story.

  Almost immediately, however, she was crestfallen. The completed transfer of the engraving plates was compelling evidence of Rosie’s involvement. Ignoring her own aching heart, Keely wondered how she would ever keep this information from their father.

  HUDDLED IN A DARK CORNER, Keely sipped her third watered-down cola and did her best to ignore the chanting crowd at the bar. A half-dozen intoxicated patrons were doing tequila shooters with increasing regularity and had long since passed the point of rowdiness. She’d already been propositioned three times in as many minutes and wanted nothing more than to escape. What could be keeping Noah?

  She gave the saloon-style doors another hopeful glance. As if he’d sensed her growing concern, Noah pushed the cantina doors open and stepped into the bar. He paused just inside the door, spotlighted by a burst of sunlight shimmering across the murky interior.

  He looked like a gunfighter hero in a Western movie. All he needed was a gun belt slung low across his hips to complete the fantasy.

  Keely lifted her arm to wave a greeting. She stopped, hand still raised, when she saw he wasn’t alone. He was flanked by a pair of khaki-uniformed police.

  His face was grim as he threaded through the crowded bar to her table. Although he held her handbag above his head like a trophy, he was glowering like a kid who’d caught his first fish but was told to throw it back because it was undersize.

  He dropped the purse on the scarred tabletop. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  Keely scooped up her handbag and hastily checked the contents. To her relief, nothing appeared to be missing. Giving Noah her attention once more, she cast a doubtful glance at his uniformed retinue and asked, “What’s the good news?”

  A white-shirted waiter bustled up and waited expectantly.

  “Cerveza, por favor,” Noah said as he hooked a chair with his foot and plopped down. He glanced at the policemen who were standing nearby. “Join me for a beer, my friends?” he asked in rudimentary Spanish. The men nodded and took the table beside Keely’s. “Make that tres cervezas,” Noah shouted over the din to the waiter.

  When the icy bottles were served with their slices of lime, Noah took a deep draft. Nodding to the wrapped parcel on the table, he said, “Can I take it the contact was successful?”

  “Mmm.” Reflexively rubbing her throat where the knife point nicked her flesh, she said, “The courier was a little rougher than I’d expected, but he eventually handed over the package.”

  “Rougher?” Noah’s eyebrows shot up and his voice took on an angry, defensive tone. “What do you mean? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, not really. Just tried to intimidate me.” She went on to sketch out the high notes of her encounter with the messenger.

  “And you didn’t recognize him?”

  She shook her head, dislodging a stubborn lock of hair that kept falling over her forehead. She shoved it back and was surprised by the gritty texture of her skin. Although she’d taken a shower that morning, chasing the purse snatcher through the hot, dusty streets had left her feeling grubby and exhausted.

  What she really wanted was a long, luxurious bath and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, but there was the nagging complication of Noah’s uniformed escorts. Tossing her head in their direction, she asked, “So what happened with you?”

  “For one thing, that kid almost killed me, leading me on a wild-goose chase. I’m getting too old to run in hot pursuit after teenagers,” he grumbled. But from the pleased expression on his face, she knew he didn’t mean a word of it.

  Noah rubbed the lime around the lip of the beer bottle. “The good news, of course, is that I finally caught him.”

  “And got my purse back,” Keely added. “Thanks. The bad news?”

  He pursed his lips and pointed the beer bottle to the adjoining table. “The bad news is that these fellas saw me chasing the boy and grabbed me. Now they’re insisting we go with them to headquarters and file a report.”

  “What about the boy?”

  Noah grunted. “Little bugger got away while I was arguing with the local fuzz.”

  She pushed aside her lukewarm soda and stuffed the parcel into her straw purse. “Then we’d better get going. I don’t know how much time we’ve already wasted, but the Empress is scheduled to set sail at four this afternoon.”

  He emptied his beer and stood up. “Plenty of time. We’ve got almost two hours to get back to the ship. The formalities at the police station shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. As they say south of the border—no problema.”

  ACTUALLY, he noted a very long time later, there did seem to be a problema.

  First, for a resort town rife with American tourists, it seemed to take an excessive amount of time to locate a bilingual officer who could translate. Jorge, a young uniformed patrolman who spoke a broken border lingo, was doing his best, but the communications appeared stalled.

  Noah had no idea how long they had been holed up in the sweltering office. Apparently he was the person under suspicion, since the police hadn’t bothered to search Keely or commandeer her purse. They’d wasted no time, however, frisking Noah and relieving him of his personal belongings, including his watch, as soon as they’d arrived at the police station.

  Then he and Keely had been left cooling their heels in the hallway for an inordinate amount of time before finally being ushered into Captain Suarez’s office. And how long they’d been here having this nonconversation, Noah couldn’t begin to guess. He hadn’t seen a clock since their arrival but it had to be getting close to four o’clock. If they didn’t return soon, the Empress would be getting under way without them.

  In an effort to speed t
he proceedings, Noah had told the captain he was a US. government official and that his identification was in his wallet. Rather than speed up the process, this information slowed their interrogation to a snail’s pace.

  The Mexican police captain jumped to the immediate conclusion they were in his country on an undercover operation for the CIA. Noah had denied the charge time and again, to no avail.

  Suarez stood up and beckoned his assistant to follow him. They stood in the far corner and conferred in mumbled Spanish, casting occasional glances first at Noah, then a long, studied gaze at Keely.

  As if aware of their scrutiny, she dropped her gaze to the large straw purse in her lap. Without loosening her death hold on the handle, she let it slide over the edge of the chair to dangle out of sight. Noah knew if they subjected her to even a cursory search, they would surely find those engraving plates and all hell would break loose.

  He didn’t relish the notion of being subjected to hours of questioning—south-of-the-border style. And the thought of Keely at their mercy was more than he could bear.

  Hoping to distract them, he called out, “Say, Captain, can we get this show on the road? Our ship will be sailing soon, and I’d hate to miss it.”

  Suarez swaggered back to his desk and clutched his hand to his chest in mock distress. “Señor, does this mean you are not enjoying our hospitality?”

  “More than I can say.” Noah smiled agreeably. “But the little woman has been a bit under the weather lately and—”

  Once again Captain Suarez spoke in rapid-fire Spanish to Jorge, who translated. “He says he will talk to your wife in a moment. First he wants to know why you are doing American police business in his city and did not pay him the courtesy of checking in with his office?”

  Noah ran his fingers through his already-jumbled hair and exhaled, a long sigh of frustration. “No, no, no. We’ve been over this at least a dozen times. Mrs. Bannister and I are on a holiday—not police business. We were sight-seeing when that kid grabbed her purse.”