“I don’t blame you. Pretty smart, though, selling Ginger to yourself under an assumed name and changing the license plate numbers.”
“You figured that out from your Department of Motor Vehicles search?” A shiver slithered down her back. Could someone else follow the same trail? Sure, if they dug too deeply into the background of the buyer of record, Joan Tubman, and discovered her to be a phantom. Keeping Ginger might rank among the top stupid choices of her life. So be it. Her hands clenched the steering wheel.
Chris patted the dashboard like a man caresses a beloved pet. “As long as you have Ginger, you have a tangible connection to your brother.”
Maddie awarded him a wide-eyed stare. “Do you have a degree in psychology, too?”
“Comes with the reporter territory.” He smiled with one side of his mouth. “You get to know a thing or two about how the human soul ticks. Your attachment to the vehicle is natural. I respect that.”
The backs of Maddie’s eyes stung, and she glued her gaze to the road. “I suppose your research told you Jason was the last living member of my immediate family. The news of his death reached me while I was in the hospital, recovering from the Rio Grande. My parents and only sibling are gone, my nearest relatives are a few scattered cousins and an aunt who lives on the other side of the country, and the army has divorced me. I’m a free agent. Works well for someone on the run.”
She finished in a glib tone but made the mistake of glancing at him. The compassion in his eyes nearly gave birth to the tears that lurked behind hers. Every once in a while, like now, it was daunting to think there was no one in the world who would miss her if she was gone, but she couldn’t reveal her vulnerability to this man. He’d take full advantage of it to get his story.
Her gaze narrowed. So that was the motive behind his dogged search for her. An Emmy wasn’t enough? She was his one-way ticket to another sensational story. He probably hadn’t figured on joining her in her enemies’ crosshairs.
“You’re slick as a weasel in the weeds. Do you know that?” She sent him a sidelong look. “You thought I’d buy into the idea that you’ve stepped back into this mess for truth, justice, and the American way. But it’s all about the story, isn’t it? Expose the mastermind behind the Rio Grande Massacre, and win another award. A scoop like this ought to be worth at least a Peabody.”
Tenderness evaporated from his face. Maddie’s heart jolted, and she tasted the loss. What was the matter with her? She didn’t want warmth from him, did she? His kindness was dangerous to her peace of mind. When he looked at her like he’d welcome her into his arms, she yearned too badly to go there. Then why did it bother her that she’d hurt him?
His skin darkened. “I thought you considered me in the employ of the mastermind. Why would I dare expose the person or persons who could expose me as a traitor to my country?”
“Good question.” She lifted her chin. “Like you, I’m hoping for answers on this joy ride.”
“Like you said earlier, I know I didn’t betray the coalition team. But unlike you, I don’t assume the other survivor did.”
“Survivor? If you mean I’m alive, yes, but I did a tough stint in the hospital. You? Your hair didn’t even get ruffled in the cartel’s attack. How did that happen?”
An odd look passed across Chris’s face, half earnest, half eager, with a hint of baffled frustration thrown in. He opened his mouth, and Maddie waited for a revelation regarding his survival. Like where he was hiding while her team was being slaughtered.
But he turned his face away and stared out his passenger-side window. “I don’t know how the cartel got word of our location, but I intend to find out.”
Maddie suppressed her irritation. Evidently the information highway didn’t work two directions with a reporter.
She forced a grin and kept her eyes on the road. “At last, we agree on something, Mr. Mason.”
* * *
Rousing a DEA agent at midnight in the privacy of his home would send a tide of reaction up the chain of command. Possibly provoke a rash move by someone who would prefer to remain hidden.
At least, that was the theory, and Chris intended to test it. He gripped the door handle as Maddie pulled the Cutlass to the curb outside Agent Clyde Ramsey’s two-story house in a modest subdivision of Laredo, Texas. She killed the headlights but left the engine running and fixed a steady stare on Chris.
“Wait here,” he said.
“Not going to happen. I want to catch every word either of you speaks.”
“It might be a good idea if our enemies don’t yet realize we’ve joined forces.”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “Here’s the deal. I’ll lurk in the shadows while you knock on his door. Do your best to hold your chat right there. But if you move inside, I’m stepping out and coming in, too.”
Chris frowned. Not the best plan, but he wasn’t likely to get a better concession from someone who didn’t trust him. “Deal.” He held out his hand.
She brushed his palm with her fingertips. An intake of breath hissed between her lips, while a minor earthquake went through him. Did she feel the tremor, too? Or did the tentative touch—uncharacteristic of her usual forthrightness—mean that she found him loathsome? Impossible to tell with Maddie, and he had no time to ponder the answers. She was getting out of the car, her Glock in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
Chris hastily exited the Cutlass onto the sidewalk that led up to the house. Quiet draped the area, except for a soft shush of traffic noise from the Interstate only a mile distant. The scent of verbena drifted on the breeze, the only thing innocent and winsome about this moment.
He remembered Ramsey from the planning phase of the operation. The guy liked to talk tough and throw his weight around, but original thought was pretty negligible. If he was a participant in the tragedy on the Rio Grande, he was an order taker, not a mastermind. Chris’s research told him Ramsey was a family man with a wife and two half-grown kids. Not surprising that his house lay dark...or maybe not completely. As Chris moved up the sidewalk he discerned a faint bluish glow filtering around the edges of heavy blinds on a front right-side window. Was someone up watching television? Insomnia or a guilty conscience? Chris’s steps quickened.
They reached the front stoop, and true to her word, Maddie faded into the shadows against the house. Chris rapped on the door. No response. He hammered, waited and then his finger headed toward the doorbell, but a light flipped on in the foyer before his pointer hit the button. He stood quietly, staring at the peephole, while whoever was on the other side scoped him out.
A lock rattled, the door eased open several inches, and a pair of smoke-colored eyes set deep in a bulldog face peered out. Their gazes locked. The DEA agent wore a pair of lightweight pajamas, and the hand that wasn’t holding the door was hidden behind his back. Chris’s scalp prickled. Was he armed? Maddie’s close presence might be more necessary than he’d thought.
“Surprised to see me?” he said.
“You’re that reporter who’s supposed to be dead. Why aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t in the car when it blew.”
“Yeah, I knew that much. The late news said they found no body in the vehicle. The cops have you listed as a missing person. What do you want here?”
“What does any reporter want? Answers. Only now, getting them is personal.”
“That leads you to me how?” The smoky eyes narrowed.
“The attempt on my life was related to the Rio Grande Massacre. I’ve been searching for Madeleine Jerrard, and I was getting close. Someone didn’t care to have me find her.”
“There you have your answer.” Ramsey let out a piglike grunt. “It was Jerrard. She wasn’t right in the head after the Rio, and she tried to take you out. Those rangers are more dangerous than a nest of rattlers. Better back off, newsman.”
&nb
sp; “Not until I uncover the truth about how the cartel found the encampment.”
“Don’t you listen to your own network’s news? They reported months ago that the investigators concluded the ranger scout got careless and led the cartel forces back to the camp.”
“I don’t buy that story. Never have. I spent weeks observing and cataloguing the preparation phase. I’m not easy to impress, but that ranger team did it for me. As soon as the need for secrecy was past, I expected to share the story of their triumph with the world.” Chris leaned closer to the DEA agent. A faint scent of whiskey teased his nostrils. What kept this guy up nursing booze in the night? “I didn’t like being left with a story of posthumous heroism. My cameraman was killed in the first barrage, and I want to know who’s really responsible.”
Ramsey stiffened and drew back. “What? You think I had something to do with it?” A blue vein pulsed in the man’s forehead. “Don’t forget, my office lost several good agents.”
“Are you saying that no one in the Laredo DEA office could possibly be dirty?”
“I’m not saying they couldn’t. I’m saying they aren’t. Including me. Now get off my property, or I’m calling the cops. Right after I fill your pants with buckshot.” He pulled a shotgun from behind his back and cradled it in the crook of his elbow.
Chris lifted both hands and backed away a step. “I’ll go, but I’m not through digging.”
Ramsey’s gaze took on a mean glint. “You will be if you enjoy breathing.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Naw. A prediction.”
“Fine. Now here’s my prediction. Whatever’s eating you up inside is going to take you down with a stroke or an ulcer, or else it’s going to trash your career with a DUI.”
Ramsey growled and started to raise the shotgun. Chris turned on his heel and hustled down the sidewalk, shoulder blades tingling. He didn’t look back. His life was in Maddie’s hands if the DEA agent decided to try pulling the trigger. He reached the car, which was still running, climbed in the driver’s side and drove off. She was smart enough to slip away and meet him around the corner. He pulled over to the curb and waited. Sure enough, she slid into the passenger seat less than a minute later.
“Good job of rattling the bones in the closet.” She gave that throaty chuckle that turned him to molten putty, only he’d never let her know it. “Now we’ll see what falls out.” Her hand on his stopped him from putting the car into gear. “I had no idea you didn’t buy the official story about our team scout, Don Avery. That guy could sneak up on a mouse, tie a ribbon to its tail and slip away without the critter ever knowing he was close. There’s no way he led the cartel to our bivouac.”
She took her hand away, but the warmth of her touch lingered. He smiled as he headed the Cutlass out of the neighborhood.
“I’m impressed that you didn’t get in his face when he was spouting that stuff about your unit.”
“We do learn a little self-discipline in the army.” Her tone was dry. “It sticks, even when we’re not right in the head anymore.”
“Forget that stupid remark.” Chris chopped the air with his hand. “I think you’ve made a remarkable recovery.”
“Thanks.” The word dripped gratitude.
A lump formed beneath Chris’s breastbone. It had probably been a long time since someone who cared had offered her a vote of confidence. He’d give anything to chase away the shadows in those beautiful, tawny eyes. Maybe uncovering the real traitor would accomplish that, because he couldn’t offer her the comfort of a personal relationship. Last time he’d blurred the lines between his personal and professional lives the wrong person took a bullet.
“Could you stand a snack break?” His question came out a little husky.
“Sure.” The answer echoed his tight-throated tone.
They stopped at an all-night convenience store to use the facilities, put on gas and grab a bite to eat. Then they headed toward their next destination—the home of Edgar Jackson, the other DEA agent who participated in the planning but not the performance of the ill-fated Rio Grande operation.
“He’s divorced. Lives alone,” Chris informed Maddie as they parked in front of a dinky rambler wedged between a colonial and a Southwestern-style stucco home.
He walked up to the front door while Maddie disappeared into the darkness.
Standing on the stoop, Chris’s insides clenched. “Maddie?”
“Yo,” she answered out of the shadows.
“Something’s not right here. The front door is ajar.”
“Don’t touch anything.” She appeared beside him. “Step to the side of the door like you’ve seen in all the cop shows and call the guy’s name.”
He did as he was told while she stood with her back pressed to the wall on the other side of the door. Silence answered Chris’s call. The heavy stillness stole his breath. What was that faint metallic smell?
Maddie sniffed. “Blood,” she murmured, answering his question. “Stay back.” She moved in front of the door, gun at ready angle, then shoved the door wide with her shoulder and clicked on her flashlight.
A man’s body sprawled, faceup, in the foyer. Beside one wide-flung arm lay a paperback novel with a thin scrap of colorful cardstock paper on the floor nearby. The other hand clutched what looked like a matching scrap in its fist. Gunpowder speckled the man’s slack face around a black hole in his forehead. The blood they’d smelled spread in a crimson pool beneath the body’s head.
Bile burned the back of Chris’s throat. Agent Edgar Jackson wouldn’t be answering any questions.
THREE
Death. Maddie’d had her fill of it, but here it lay again, staring with sightless eyes. She suppressed an internal shiver.
A distant sound brought her head up. Sirens.
She grabbed Chris’s arm. He stood mesmerized by the body. She shook him.
“We’ve got to go. Someone has called the cops. Maybe a neighbor heard the shot. That blood’s fresh. The killing couldn’t have happened more than a few minutes ago.”
Chris turned a fierce blue gaze on her. “He was silenced because we were coming for answers.”
“Maybe. Or else he stepped on some dealer’s toes because of his job. We don’t have time for debate right now. And I sure don’t want to discuss the issue with the police if they arrive to find us standing over a dead DEA agent.”
“What’s that in his hand?” He pointed at the scrap Edgar Jackson clutched in his fist.
“What difference does it make?” Chris’s reporter curiosity was going to land them in a cell at the local jail, sitting ducks for their enemies.
He broke free of her grip on his arm and bent over the body.
“Come on!” Those sirens were getting scary close.
“All right. All right.” He waved at her but didn’t move or look up.
She clicked off the flashlight. “Enough sleuthing, Sherlock. We’re out of time.”
He let out a disgusted snort, rose, and charged out the door ahead of her.
“Finally!” she muttered and followed him toward the car. “I’m driving.”
He piled into the passenger seat. She slid on her rear across Ginger’s hood, then took her place at the wheel. Lights off, she skimmed the Cutlass away from the curb. Within seconds the units would be in view of the house. She took the first available turn. No! A cul-de-sac. Wait! What was that? A dirt drive angled off through a vacant lot between a pair of the houses. Maddie turned onto it.
The drive petered out behind the neighborhood at the edge of an open field. Maddie applied the brakes and studied the situation. The full moon revealed a couple of large pieces of machinery hunkered to their left, and directly ahead, a swath of excavation possibly several feet deep and a few car-lengths wide. A new subdivision was about to be born. Multiple
sirens chorused not more than a stone’s throw distant.
She looked toward her passenger and sensed more than saw his return gaze.
“I’m game for the next move. Your call,” he said.
Maddie’s heart expanded. Chris was bold as any ranger, smart enough to know he wasn’t one, and too comfortable in his manhood to be threatened by ranger skills in a female package. A rare combination, as she’d had cause to learn from a few dating fiascos. Not that she had the least interest in romance with a reporter who was playing her for the sake of a story, especially when he might have had a pivotal hand in the deaths of her brothers-in-arms.
Maybe he was tricked into betraying their location.
She batted away the feeble excuse. Either Chris Mason was a full-on traitor or he had phenomenal luck, surviving both the attack at the Rio Grande and the attempt on his life at the hotel.
“Have you ever watched any reruns of that old show Dukes of Hazzard?” she asked.
“One of my dad’s favorites.”
“The General Lee’s got nothing on Ginger.”
“Which am I? Bo or Luke Duke?”
“Take your pick. I’m Daisy. Tighten your seat belt.”
She threw Ginger in Reverse, took her back a few yards and then opened her up. The engine’s purr rose to a growl. The landscape rushed toward them to be gobbled beneath the Oldsmobile’s tires. The rough terrain chattered her teeth together. Then they went airborne, and the bottom fell out of Maddie’s stomach.
“Yeee-haaa!” Her passenger’s rebel yell brought a grin to her face. He looked more like Luke, but evidently he’d decided to be Bo.
The wheels met terra firma, and Maddie’s head grazed the roof. Pressure steady on the accelerator, they zipped across the remainder of the field, bumped over a curb and hit pavement. Maddie cramped the wheel to the right and fishtailed them onto a residential street.
Betrayal on the Border Page 3
