“Peripheral might be more like it.” Maddie poked the air with her forefinger. “Your investigation concluded our ranger scout was to blame. You don’t care who you hurt unjustly.”
“Our report merely suggested carelessness of the scout as a possible scenario. Again, the media pounced on an aspect that offered a ready explanation to the public.”
Chris snorted. “Don’t blame the media for your deliberate misdirection of the American people.” No wonder Maddie couldn’t stand this guy.
“Regardless of whether you approve of our methods, we do get the job done, and at the moment, our goals are mutually compatible.” A feral gleam entered the man’s eyes. “Show me what you’ve got.”
SIXTEEN
A lonesome wind—bitter with the tang of sand, mesquite and chola—moaned faintly through the maze of draws and washes in this lonely stretch along the Texas side of the Rio Grande River. Representative Jess’s land.
It was the Fourth of July at 11:55 p.m. Maddie waited beside Chris in an open-air, two-seater ATV a little back from the mixed band of DEA and FBI personnel lying in wait for whatever might occur in the next few minutes.
If anything.
She glanced at Chris’s profile outlined in the shimmer of light from a three-quarter moon. He stared stoically ahead. She turned her face forward as well, ears straining for the jingle of a bridle bit or the hum of ATVs similar to their own transportation or the swish-swish of oars from boats—anything to indicate the approach of smugglers. Nothing but that lonesome wail and the rustle of flowing water. Her stomach roiled.
What if they were wrong? Maybe they’d misinterpreted what they heard at that meeting in the paper mill. A lot was riding on them being right. Not least of which was the immunity deal for themselves plus David and even Bonita, if her assistance to wanted fugitives ever became known. Not that Maddie and Chris would ever tell. Without solid results from this bust, she had no doubt the feds would find something to pin on them, maybe even that murder charge Blunt had tried to tell them was bogus. Unfortunately, there was enough circumstantial evidence to make a case if an ambitious D.A. wanted to take it on.
Maybe Jess and his bunch had rescheduled the shipment. Had they grown paranoid of their plans despite the care taken to alleviate their concerns? Attention to Agent Jackson’s murder investigation and the disappearance of the main suspects had died down in the media. Blunt said the case was still open on agents’ desks but pretty much considered cold until the next lead came as to Chris’s and her whereabouts. Surely, all of these factors would have reassured Jess and his right-hand man, Richard Glick—that disgrace to a ranger uniform.
During their enforced hiding in a safe house that was nothing like David Greene’s lovely home, Blunt had accommodated them with information about Glick. The man had achieved the rank of sergeant, but resigned in a deal to forestall charges of unusual cruelty to new recruits. Considering the grueling nature of ranger training, the issue must have been pretty severe. Glick had been a bad apple within the army, and he was worse outside of the uniform.
Chris hissed in a breath, and Maddie hauled her mind back into the moment. When she was on active duty, she would never have been so easily distracted. Was she growing more civilian? She couldn’t afford to relax that much until she took down Jess, and Glick, and all who cost her comrades in arms their lives.
Sure enough, Chris had heard what she’d been slow to pick out—the soft clip-clop of hooves, approaching from the U.S. side. And then there came the other half expected, half-hoped-for sound, the shush of oars moving in from the Mexico side. The shipment was on!
Maddie’s heart rate spurred into a gallop. Chris gripped her hand and squeezed.
Minutes trickled past. One minute. Two. Five minutes. Eight. Ten minutes. The sound but not the sense of voices drifted to them—some Hispanic-accented, others American. Someone among them barked a laugh.
Then a spotlight suddenly glared. Maddie winced at the brilliance, but gnashed her teeth that she could not see what it illuminated. Agent Blunt’s voice rang out, commanding the smugglers to instant surrender. Pandemonium erupted, shouts and gunshots and running feet, but she and Chris were situated in such a place they couldn’t see anything that was happening. They were too far away and on the other side of a hump of ground.
Unacceptable.
“I’m going in,” she told Chris.
He gripped her hand tighter. “We were ordered to stay out of this. It was amazing they granted our presence at all. Besides, how are you going to get past our watchdog driver in the seat ahead of us?”
“He’s fully engaged in what’s happening ahead. He won’t even notice when I slip away.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Trust me.” She disengaged her hand from his.
“I don’t like it.”
A fresh spate of gunfire and shouts rang out, and Chris leaned forward. Maddie slid from the seat of the ATV. His voice followed her, still talking as if she was there beside him. The driver’s head didn’t so much as turn as she melted into the night.
Faint trails of moonlit phosphorescence in the sand guided her feet. She climbed a gentle rise. At the top she found a perch that let her see the action illuminated by the spotlight. She hunkered down onto her belly and took in the scene.
Little pockets of smugglers were already rounded up and being herded away. She didn’t see Glick among them. Disappointing. They had expected he would be the man on the ground for Representative Jess. The sound and flash of gunfire in one of the draws betrayed at least one pocket of resistance. Maybe he was pinned down there.
A flicker of movement in the shadows to her right caught Maddie’s attention. She focused on the spot and little by little made out the form of a large man moving with the fluid grace of a puma. He was slinking away from the conflict. Glick?
Thank you, God, for this opportunity to deal with a snake.
She’d give a lot for a sidearm right now, but gun or no gun, she was going to stop this reptile. He had to pay. She moved from her hillock and began to imitate the movement of the enemy on a trajectory to intercept. He seemed to be heading for a small cut in the earth about twenty yards distant. If she cried out she would alert him that his escape was noticed, and he could disappear in any of a dozen directions. No, she needed to maintain stealth and keep her eyes upon him.
Maddie risked quickening her pace. She climbed upward, aiming for the lip of the wash. If she was to have any chance against an armed man, she needed to drop down on him unexpectedly from above. She reached the top edge of the slit in the ground as her quarry entered the cut. His head was only a few feet below her. There wouldn’t be a better moment. She launched herself downward and struck a human tank.
Her attack startled a yelp and a stagger from him, but he threw her off as if she were a rabbit pouncing on a panther. She hit the ground, rolled and came up, foot swinging for the gleam that was her adversary’s gun. The pistol flew and hit the wall of the wash with a dull clatter.
Cursing, the man whirled and struck out at her with a giant paw. The wind of his swing fanned her face as she lurched backward, more from poor footing than intentional avoidance. If he’d connected, she’d already be down for the count. Engaging this sort of enemy in close quarters was a bad move. At least it would be, if she were truly alone. Now that he was aware of her presence, she had nothing to lose by calling for help.
Maddie opened her mouth to let out a scream, but a kick to her solar plexus landed her breathless on her back, pain screeching through her body. Her adversary’s foot had landed only a glancing blow, yet she was immobilized and speechless. If the hit had landed as intended, it could have killed her. Struggling for air, mind hazy with pain, she gazed up at the moon, and then a face hove into view. A face she knew.
The familiar dread swallowed her mind, but this was no nightmar
e of memory. This was real. This was now. And Glick had recovered his gun. He pointed it down at her, thick lips drawn back in a sneer. A fresh spate of gunfire erupted from a draw many yards away. He smiled.
“No one will hear and come running,” he said. “This time I’m going to take the shot.”
The muzzle flashed even as a rush of movement turned his head. Fresh pain seared through Maddie, spreading flaming tentacles through her chest, but she didn’t miss a moment as a thick branch of driftwood slashed out of the dark and thudded into Glick’s head. The man dropped like a stone.
That’s all she needed to see. Satisfaction flooded in as consciousness winked out.
* * *
Chris gaped in horror at the wetness spreading across Maddie’s chest. He fell to his knees and pressed his hands over the hemorrhage even as he cried out for help.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” he barked to her limp form, then hollered again for someone—anyone—to bring the paramedics. He leaned down close toward her ear. “Hear me, woman! I love you, and I’m not going to lose you now!”
The crunch of multiple feet running in the sand brought his head up. Within minutes, the paramedics that had been standing by were swarming over Maddie. He stood helplessly to the side, fists clenching and unclenching, as they labored over her. Then they loaded her on a stretcher and headed away. Shrugging off restraining hands, whose they were he didn’t know or care, he hobbled after the medical personnel.
His ankle had improved dramatically between this night and when he’d injured it, but it still slowed him too much to keep up with the paramedics’ brisk pace. Thank God, he hadn’t allowed the weakness and twinges of discomfort to prevent him from following Maddie and decking Glick when he did. But had he been quick enough?
The last words Chris overheard before the paramedics outstripped him turned his legs to jelly and his heart to stone.
“...don’t know if she’ll make it...”
SEVENTEEN
An annoying, steady beep nagged Maddie to consciousness. The accompanying mix of biological and antiseptic smells betrayed her location. A hospital room.
So that dirty dog Glick didn’t do her in after all. She hadn’t expected to awaken on this planet, much less in full possession of her most recent memory—Chris wielding a big stick like a major league home-run hitter.
Chris!
Her heart rate jumped, and the timing of the beeps followed suit. Where was he? What happened after she passed out? Was Chris all right? She wrenched her eyes open. The lids parted with a sting as if they’d been glued together. How long had she been out of it?
“Hey, there! Take it easy, beautiful.”
The scolding fondness of the words meant little compared to the treasure of hearing the voice that spoke them. A familiar face obstructed her view of the white ceiling.
“Chri-i-i-s.” The word escaped her dry throat in a drawled croak.
“I’m here, darlin’. Never left your side.”
A strong hand gripped one of hers and squeezed. His appearance testified to a vigil of some length. She’d never seen his famous face scruffy with unshaved whiskers, but he’d never looked more adorable. She could hardly talk with this bothersome tube down her throat, but maybe her eyes were telling him how she felt. His baby blues were a bit bloodshot and puffy, like someone sleep-deprived, but his grin beamed white and strong and did its usual number on her insides. The infernal beeping machine echoed the jig of her pulse.
“Thank God, you’re on the mend. I almost lost you, and I couldn’t bear the thought.” The corners of Chris’s eyes twitched and a suspicious sheen coated them. He took a quick swipe at his face without losing his grin. “I’ll let someone know you’re awake, and you’d probably like to be let loose of the wires and tubing.”
Maddie answered with a vigorous nod. Chris backed away from the bed as if he couldn’t take his gaze off her. Hers followed him—devoured him—until the door shushed closed behind him. He’d come to her rescue in the crucial instant when death would have taken her, then stayed by her side while she found her toehold on life again, but would they soon say goodbye and part ways?
She didn’t want that—oh, how she didn’t! But how did she halt the inevitable? The entire time they’d striven together for a single-minded goal of justice they’d told themselves and each other that there could be no future together. But why not? What kept them apart now?
Only the condition of their hearts. Or his, rather. She knew the condition of hers. She loved Christopher Mason—had done so for a lot longer than she’d been willing to admit. But did she dare hope his concern for her hinted that he returned the sentiment? Why would he want a stubborn, tough-girl like her when he could have—and surely deserved—any dainty, sophisticated beauty of his choice?
Her chest ached with far more than a healing bullet wound.
* * *
Chris settled Maddie in a chair in the small hospital solarium, then stood back and watched her tilt her face up to the sun’s rays bathing her through the windows. It had been a full day since she awakened from her forty-eight-hour coma, and already she was restless and up walking around. However, the amount of weight she leaned on his arm during their jaunt up the hallway betrayed lingering weakness from loss of blood.
She’d been quiet—too quiet for his peace of mind. What was she thinking in that nimble brain of hers? More important, what did she feel for him? Gratitude, for sure. She’d made that abundantly clear, but he owed her just as much, if not more. He ground his teeth together. A friendly relationship based on mutual admiration was the last thing he wanted.
Chris hauled in a deep breath. What was that old saying? No guts, no glory? Well, he was about to put the theory to the ultimate test where his heart was concerned. Either he’d find hope of winning a prize worth far more than any sports trophy or spoils of war, or he would leave empty—but at least he’d know. This not knowing was driving him nuts.
Clearing his throat, Chris settled into a chair beside her, and her tawny gaze met his. Wariness crept into her expression. Chris hooded his gaze, and kneaded his knees with his hands. If he looked half as petrified as he felt, no wonder she was puzzled. But he hadn’t made a declaration of this sort to any woman since Robin, and look how that had turned out. Not that he feared Maddie turning on him and shooting him. At least not literally.
“If you don’t spit it out, Mason, you’re going to bust. Don’t treat me with kid gloves. What? Something went wrong with the bust, and the bad guys are going to get off?”
Chris chuckled. “That’s the worst thing you can think of?”
“No, but it’s pretty bad.”
“Roger that, but there’s every indication that the bad guys are in the bag to stay.”
“Then what?” The vestige of color in her cheeks leaked away. “You’re looking for a graceful way to say goodbye? Don’t worry about it, Mason. I’ll be fine.”
Maddie turned her head away, but not before Chris glimpsed the tremble of her lips. The too-strong-for-her-own-good woman didn’t want him to leave. His heart leaped.
She lifted a dismissive hand. “I know you’ve got important reporting business to take care of. I—”
“Will you hush long enough for me to keep a promise I made to myself and God while you lay hovering between here and heaven?”
“What promise was that?” Her head turned slightly toward him, though her gaze remained lowered and her fingers picked at the terry cloth of her robe. “Has to be pretty serious if it’s a deathbed vow—even though it wasn’t your deathbed.”
Pulse throbbing in his temples, Chris lifted her chin and looked square into her shadowed gaze. “I promised that if only I had the chance to speak to you again, I would confess the truth, no matter the risk.”
“The truth?” Her eyes widened and she pulled away. “You d
on’t have to convince me about the Rio anymore, Chris. I know you didn’t betray our forces, but maybe you think you made some kind of mistake that night—”
“The only mistake I made on the Rio is not stepping out of the shadows and kissing you like I longed to do. And I would make the mistake worse by not being honest with you now. I love you, Madeleine Jerrard. I love you with a ferocity that scares me silly. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but was too bullheaded to face up to feelings I had convinced myself I shouldn’t have.”
An odd sound escaped the woman to whom he was confessing his love, something between a snort and a squeak, and her face puckered. A tear spilled out one eye.
Chris tentatively wiped wetness from her cheek with the ball of his forefinger. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m not making any demands. I don’t even have any expectations—just a hope that you might be willing to go on seeing me. Or, more like, for me to go on seeing you. I—”
“Mason, you talk too much.” She leaned toward him, and another tear escaped. “Never tell a woman not to cry when her dreams have just come true.”
The breath hung up in Chris’s throat. He swallowed. “Then there’s a chance I could win your heart?”
She shook her head. “Too late. It’s already long gone. You’ll find it in your pocket.”
His jaw gaped and then a laugh burst out. “I’ve been a bundle of nerves for nothing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing.” She poked a finger against his breastbone. “Just because I already love you doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you court me.”
“That’s one challenge I plan to relish.” Courting this fiery, headstrong woman would be the biggest headache, but the most fun he’d ever had.
He opened his arms, and she melted into them where she belonged. Their laughter mingled, and then their lips.
EIGHTEEN
Five Months Later
“You were delusional, Mason, if you thought a little bullet nick was going to keep me from marrying you.”
Betrayal on the Border Page 18
