“Jake, it’s Joe Camacho.”
“Hi, Joe.” Jake silently swore. In all the chaos with Macy and Jordan, he’d forgotten their appointment. He glanced at the clock. “Sorry, I’m running a little late. I’m on my way, though.”
“It’s okay. Change of plans,” the agent said. “We’ve had a bit of a situation.”
“What kind of a situation?” Jake asked.
“You know I told you about people setting up water barrels to try to help illegals cross?”
“Yeah?” Jake still had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea. It was so different from the world he was used to.
“We caught a whole group tonight,” Camacho said. “We’re bringing them in for questioning. I can’t take you out in the field, but if you want to come down and observe what we do, you might learn something from that.”
Jake didn’t hesitate. “Sure. That sounds great.” Anything to get away from Macy.
“I’ll meet you at the station,” Camacho said before hanging up.
Jake set the phone down and buttoned his shirt. “I have to leave,” he told Macy. “I expect you to be gone by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” He tucked his shirt in and picked up the phone again. “Just in case you don’t believe me, I have the district attorney on speed dial.”
***
Jordan wiped at her eyes as she sped out of the hotel parking lot. She didn’t expect Jake to follow her—he had his fiancée to get back to, after all—but she still watched in the rearview mirror for any sign of his car. After a few miles, she knew he hadn’t followed her and slowed her pace.
Humiliation. Complete, abject humiliation. Thanks, Tracey, for the brilliant advice. What was she doing taking relationship advice from Tracey, anyway? Good friend, yes. Relationship expert, not so much.
Then there was the AA meeting, which Jordan went to in order to draw strength. So much for that. A bitter laugh escaped Jordan’s throat as she recalled the serenity prayer they recited at every meeting. “Thank for you for giving me the courage to make a complete ass of myself, is more like it.”
She spotted a convenience store on the corner and turned into the parking lot. There was only one thing that could help a day like this, and it wasn’t the higher power they spoke of in meetings.
“Can I help you find something, miss?” The young man behind the counter asked when she went inside.
“Yeah. Vodka, please.”
The salesclerk shook his head. “Sorry. You’d have to go to a liquor store for that, and they all closed at nine.” It was now five minutes past. “We can only carry beer and wine.” He pointed down the aisle Jordan was already walking toward.
Of course. She’d forgotten about Texas’s restrictions on where and when alcoholic beverages were sold. With limited options, Jordan reached for the jug wine and carried it to the counter. “I guess this will have to do.” At least it had a twist-off cap.
“Rough day?” The clerk asked as he rang it up.
“Something like that.” Jordan swiped her debit card.
“Hope this makes you feel better, then, but remember not to drink and drive.”
What the hell was he, a public service announcement? Jordan pressed the button on the machine to complete the debit transaction and grabbed the bag. “Don’t worry. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.”
***
Jake signed the confidentiality agreement and clipped a visitor’s pass to his shirt, then paced the hallway while he waited for Agent Camacho and the other field agents to return. Hopefully they’d actually let him observe the questioning. Maybe it wasn’t any of his business, but he wanted to know what went on in the mind of someone who’d willingly offer aid to people trying to illegally cross the border.
“Good, you’re here,” Camacho said, coming up beside him in the hallway.
“Yes, thank you.” Jake studied the agent’s weary face. “Sounds like you’ve had an interesting night.”
“Definitely,” Camacho agreed. “Let me take you down to the viewing room. We’re treating you as an official agency intern, so you can watch through the two-way mirror.” He led the way to a room at the end of the hallway and flipped on the light as they went inside.
It didn’t look much different than the standard interrogation rooms Jake was used to seeing in cop shows on TV. He sat down in a folding metal chair and watched through the mirror as the detainees were led into the room on the other side. As the third one filed in, Jake froze. No. It couldn’t be. No way. “There must be some mistake.” At least Jake hoped there was, but already a dull ache formed in his gut. This would absolutely devastate Jordan.
“Excuse me?” Camacho said.
“I know that kid.”
Chapter 21
“Know him or not, we caught him engaging in illegal activity.” Agent Camacho was apparently not inclined to cut anyone slack.
Jake wondered what happened to the concept of innocent until proven guilty, but didn’t ask. Heck, a few minutes before, he’d held his own preconceived notions about the detainees and their alleged activity. Then he looked through the two-way mirror and saw Trey Lozano walk into the interrogation room, fear palpable on his face. And no wonder. He probably figured he’d be on the next bus to the state prison. Jake knew some people thought that was where he belonged even before this. Were they right, and Jordan had been wrong all this time?
Jordan. She had to know, even if it would devastate her. Would hearing it from Jake help soften the blow? Yeah, right. He might make it worse. Still, Jake figured it was a risk he had to take. “Can he have a lawyer?” Jake asked.
Camacho shrugged. “If you can get one here for him. Right now he’s not under arrest, just being held for questioning. We can hold him overnight.” He walked to the door. “That’s what we intend to do.” He left the room where Jake was and a moment later appeared with his fellow agents in the interrogation room.
Jake looked through the mirror again, where Trey sat with three others. He wished he could somehow send a signal through the mirror, perhaps to reassure Trey, but of course the kid couldn’t see him. He knew of only one person that could help, and right now she wasn’t taking Jake’s calls.
He tried Jordan’s cell again, but it went straight to voice mail, just as it had every time he tried to call. Instead of leaving another message, Jake ended that call and tried her land line. Even if she didn’t answer, if he left a message on her answering machine, maybe she’d pick up then. Hopefully. He paced the room as he listened to the rings and waited for the machine to click on. Where the hell was she? It was almost ten o’clock at night.
***
Jordan sat at the kitchen counter, staring at the bottle. She wondered if the clerk at the convenience store would be pleased that she made it home without opening it. The temptation had certainly been there, but the potential consequences too severe. She’d worked far too hard building up her practice to throw it all away with a DWI arrest. Hell, even an open container citation would be embarrassing enough. Jordan wouldn’t take that risk, no matter how awful the day had been.
But in the privacy of her own home, what was the big deal if she had a glass of wine? No one ever had to know. It’d be her little secret. One glass, maybe two. She wouldn’t get drunk, just have a little to make herself feel better. Take some of the horribleness away from the day in a way that nothing else could.
Who are you fooling, Jordan? When have you ever stopped at one glass or even two? Would it be different now, after going through treatment and AA? It had to be. She’d been sober for seven years. Surely she could handle one little drink without falling apart.
Jordan’s hand shook as she twisted the cap off the bottle. She put it to her nose, trying to take in the aroma, but detected nothing. Was it because it was cheap wine and still in the bottle, or had it been so long her nose didn’t even work anymore? Not that it mattered. Wine wasn’t for smelling. It was for drinking.
Jordan tilted
the bottle to pour some into a glass, but stopped halfway and set it down. She couldn’t stop shaking. What the hell was wrong with her? Jordan took a deep breath. I should call someone, she thought. But who? Carl? He’d probably just want to get in her pants. Jake? No, he’d be too busy with his fiancée, and he didn’t understand. Neither did Beth, and besides, she already thought Jordan was a screw-up.
The house phone rang, but Jordan made no move to answer it. After four rings, the answering machine clicked on. “It’s Jake.” Jordan’s heart rate increased, be it from her nerves or something else she didn’t know. Damn it. Why did he keep calling?
“I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but if you’re there, please pick up.” He sounded a little desperate, but Jordan didn’t reach for the phone. “I’m calling about Trey. He just got picked up by Border Patrol and he needs your help...”
A pause followed before the machine finally clicked off and Jordan exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She tried to make sense of the words. Trey. Border Patrol. Jordan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. No. Trey was her success story. She’d helped him, done right by him, gotten him another chance. And for what? For him to make her look like a fool for believing in him?
Jordan picked up the wine bottle again, and this time her hand didn’t shake as she poured it into the juice glass. She set the bottle down and lifted the glass to her lips. The first sip was bitter, and she grimaced as she swallowed. Did she actually once like this stuff? Then again, wasn’t wine an acquired taste? Jordan took another drink, finding the taste more palatable. By the third swallow, it tasted pretty good. Definitely an acquired taste, she decided. Either that or she was out of practice. There was only one way to change that. Jordan poured more wine in the glass.
***
Jake stared at his silent phone while he paced the room, not paying any attention to what was happening on the other side of the mirror. Why hadn’t Jordan called him back? Even if she was ticked off at him, would she really let her anger get in the way of helping her client, especially one she cared about as much as Trey?
No. Not unless something else was wrong.
Jake made one last glance through the mirror. Trey needed help, yes, but Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that Jordan did, too. He left the visitation room and returned to the security desk, where he surrendered the visitor’s badge. “Tell Agent Camacho thank you, but an emergency came up.” Hopefully he wasn’t too late.
He kept his speed to within five miles over the limit, knowing an encounter with the local police department would delay him more, and got to Jordan’s gated community in fifteen minutes. Jake punched in the security code, hoping it wasn’t a number that changed often, if ever. Fortunately, the electronic gates opened right away and he sped down the private road to Jordan’s condo.
Her car wasn’t in the driveway. Jake hoped that meant it was in the garage. He knocked on the door and rang the bell simultaneously. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe she was fine and would yank the door open, give him that beautiful smile and ask him if he was trying to annoy the neighbors.
When that didn’t happen, Jake raced back down the front steps and peered into the garage window. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he saw a car in there. Whether that made him feel better or worse, he didn’t know. If it turned out Jordan was fine and just went to sleep early, Jake would look an idiot, but he wasn’t leaving until he knew for sure she was okay.
He ran around to the back, carefully paying attention so he didn’t go to the wrong patio. If he had to break into someone’s condo, Jake at least wanted to pick the right one. Thankfully, he recognized the pot he’d bought for Jordan at the street market.
There was light shining through the French doors as he approached. Jake knocked before reaching for the knob. Before he could turn it, the door opened.
“I almost waited to see if you’d try to break the door down or pry it open, but I paid for the upgrade over sliding glass because I really like these doors,” Jordan said. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
Relief washed over Jake as he stared at her. He didn’t care if he looked like an idiot. At least she was okay. Then he saw the wine bottle she held in her hand. Oh, God, Jordan. No.
She must have noticed his eyes gravitate to it, because she held it up. “Want to join me? We can drink a toast to your engagement.”
“There is no engagement, and we’re not drinking a toast.” Jake reached for the bottle, which she surrendered without protest. He took that as a good sign. He held the bottle up to the light and noticed it was still mostly full. Another good sign. He walked to the kitchen sink and poured the remaining contents down the drain.
“Since you busted up my pity party, you might well toss this, too.” Jordan handed him a juice glass containing a small amount of wine. “Thank you,” she said softly once it, too, disappeared down the drain.
He didn’t know whether the thanks were for tossing the contents of the glass or for showing up at her house in time to stop her from drinking it all. “Anytime.” Jake turned around and saw the fear reflected in her eyes. He may not have done much else right today, but at least he’d gotten there when he did. “Are you all right, Jordan?’
There was a slight hesitation before she answered. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you mean. It’d take a lot more than a glass and a half of convenience-store wine to achieve that. I’ve had better days, though,” she said. “What happened to Trey? And how are you involved?”
Of course she would ask about him almost right away. It gave Jake some reassurance that Jordan was okay, or at least would be. Still, he was wary. “Trey’s gonna need your help, but there’s nothing you can do tonight.” You have to take care of yourself before you can save the world. “Where’s your phone?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your phone.” Jake saw it on the counter and reached for it. He tapped the screen to wake it up. Seventeen missed calls. He wasn’t surprised. “Boy, when you decide to go incommunicado, you don’t mess around.” He took a few steps away as he scrolled through her contacts to find the number. As much as Jake’s ego hated the idea of calling another man over there, he wasn’t sure he knew what to do on his own.
Carl answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe.”
Babe. He called her babe. It was enough to make Jake’s blood boil, but he forced himself to regain some semblance of composure. “Carl? It’s Jake Morrison. I’m over at Jordan’s right now, and she just drank a glass of wine. I think she might need your help.” And boy did he hate to admit that.
“I don’t need his help, or yours,” Jordan said when he set the phone back on the counter.
“If I really thought you believed that, I’d leave right now.” Instead, Jake walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of club soda. He poured a glass for Jordan, then himself. “I know you’re angry with me, and I’d like a chance to explain, but not until I know you’re okay.”
Jake waited a beat for her protest, but instead Jordan simply took the glass from him and went to sit on the couch. He took that to mean she knew they needed to talk, too, but also recognized this wasn’t the time. At least that’s what he wanted to believe.
Less than ten minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Jake went to answer it. Carl stood there, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, a scowl on his face. “Thank you for coming,” Jake said.
“You son of a bitch.” Carl stepped through the doorway and slammed Jake against the wall before he had a chance to react. “Seven years. She had seven years sober, then you come to town, and all it takes is a month.” He leaned closer, pinning Jake in. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“I...” Jake swallowed hard. What was he supposed to say? Carl was right. It was his fault. Okay, maybe it was Macy’s, but he was the reason she was here, so it all went back to him. “Fine. Beat the shit out of me if you really think that’ll help Jordan.”
�
��It won’t,” Jordan said, joining them in the foyer. “And I’d rather not have blood on my good carpet. Let go of him, Carl.”
After a slight hesitation, Carl loosened his grip and stepped away. “Only because she asked.”
“Thank you.” Jake wasn’t sure who he was thanking. Carl, for not messing up his face so bad he’d have an awful lot of explaining to do on the set tomorrow, or Jordan for apparently still caring enough to intervene before blood was shed.
“Don’t thank me,” Jordan said. “I only did it to spare the carpet.” She looked from one to the other. “I appreciate you both trying to save me from myself, but I’ll be fine now. I’m going to bed.”
Jake watched her disappear down the hall and close the door. It took everything he had not to not to follow her, but he sensed it was a dignity-saving move more than anything. She didn’t want to face either one of them right now. Jake could live with that, as the alternatives were worse. At least she hadn’t kicked him out and asked Carl to stay. He turned around to find the other man staring him down.
“You can leave now,” Carl said. “I’ve got this under control.”
It was a nice try, but Jake was fairly certain Carl had shared Jordan’s bed before and would like to again. No way was he leaving. Jake returned the stare. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay.”
After a few seconds, Carl ended the standoff with a shrug. “Suit yourself.” He walked to the coffee table and pulled a deck of cards from the drawer. “You play rummy?” he asked, holding the deck up.
Jake tried to ignore how comfortable Carl seemed to be in Jordan’s house, even knowing where she kept a deck of cards. “Sure do,” he said. “I’m pretty good, too.”
Chapter 22
Jake didn’t know whether it was a pissing contest that kept them there, or a shared concern for the woman that slept down the hall, or both. It didn’t much matter. Sometime past midnight, during the fourth game of rummy, he and Carl found some common ground. Since neither one would surrender, and they wanted to spare Jordan’s carpeting, they settled in for the night. Jake eventually nodded off on the couch, causing him to wake with a sore neck and back. He let out a frantic curse word when he saw the time.
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