Fearless

by Diana Palmer

  “Remember why I hired you,” Rodrigo had told the other man. “Don’t make waves.”

  “Hell, she’s pretty to look at,” the man replied curtly. “Any man would try his luck.”

  Rodrigo’s eyes had blazed at that remark. “Any man who tries his luck with Glory will end badly.”

  The way he said it sent chills down Castillo’s spine. He held up both hands. “Hey, I understand. She’s yours. I won’t poach on your preserve again, I swear. I was just passing the time until we can do our job.”

  Rodrigo nodded. “Remember how Fuentes deals with people who mess up.”

  The other man swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  “Back to work. I’ll meet you at five to go to the warehouse.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  RODRIGO GLANCED AT Glory as he left the kitchen. He saw her eyelids flicker, but she wouldn’t look at him. It was just as well, he told himself. He was grieving. He didn’t want to rush headlong into a relationship with a glorified cook. She had a pretty figure and he’d enjoyed her in bed. But there was more to life than sex. There was no room in his life for a simple country woman with cooking skills. He wanted a woman like Sarina, who had brains and courage. If only Colby Lane had never shown up!

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. A deep voice answered.

  “We’re on our way,” he said.

  “We’ll be waiting,” came the reply.

  He cut off the connection and dialed another number, this one local. There were two rings before it answered.

  “Culebra,” he said in Spanish. “Snake.”

  “You’re on.”

  He pocketed the phone with a smile that Castillo didn’t see.

  8

  WHAT RODRIGO WAS EXPECTING didn’t arrive on schedule. He was cursing a blue streak when the sun went down. They were in a deserted manufacturing building in Comanche Wells, a small town ten miles west of Jacobsville. The little town only had six hundred citizens. It didn’t even have a policeman or a fireman, depending on the county for those services. A clothes manufacturer had tried to set up shop here and failed miserably. But the deserted building was a blessing to drug dealers. It provided a safe, defensible, private place for deals to go down.

  Comanche Wells was in the center of the ranching industry of Jacobs County. Several cattle barons occupied the surrounding area and only came to town because of the feed and mill store. There was a bar, not as notorious as Shea’s Roadhouse out on the Victoria highway, but it made money. There was also a small company that manufactured computer chips. A Mexican restaurant was the only eatery and there was a single doctor and one drugstore. If there was an emergency, the ambulance had to take Comanche Wells citizens to Jacobsville General Hospital. They pulled the sidewalks in at dusk.

  So now it was dark and the street that ran beside the deserted manufacturing building was bare of cars and people.

  Castillo was pacing. “Where are they?” he asked furiously.

  “I wish I knew,” Rodrigo said tautly. “I was promised that they’d be here on schedule.”

  Castillo turned to him. “Yeah? Well, maybe they double-crossed you and leaked the buy to the feds.”

  “Not this guy,” Rodrigo defended him. “He hates the feds.”

  “He’s not alone.”

  “I know what you mean,” Rodrigo agreed.

  Castillo checked his watch. “They’re fifteen minutes late!”

  “They’re coming a long way,” Rodrigo replied calmly. He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced at his companion. “You need to learn patience.”

  “The last time I was patient, two cops threw me in the back of a squad car and took me to jail,” the other man said icily. He glared at Rodrigo. “How sure are you that these guys aren’t going to double-cross us? That—” he indicated a briefcase sitting on an empty oil drum “—would set a petty thief up for life.”

  “Cross these guys and you won’t have a life,” he returned. “The last dealer who weaseled on them was found in several counties.”

  The statement was chilling. The younger man fidgeted and stared at his watch again. “If they don’t show pretty quick, we should take the stuff and get out of here. You sure they aren’t cops?”

  “Positive,” Rodrigo assured him. “One of them is my cousin. He worked for Lopez, and then for Dominguez. If he was a cheat, he wouldn’t still be in the game, would he?”

  “Not with bosses like those, I guess. But Fuentes is a different sort,” he added uncomfortably. “He’s quick-tempered and he’s left a trail of bodies across the border.”

  “What he pays makes it worth the risk.”

  Castillo glanced at him and grimaced. “Yeah. I guess so. But, still—”

  He broke off as the sound of an approaching car echoed against the walls of the building. Rodrigo pulled his .45 automatic out of his belt and eased to the nearest window. He looked out covertly, and then relaxed.

  “It’s them,” he said, putting the pistol up.

  MARQUEZ WAS DRIVING HIS pickup truck when he picked Glory up at the farmhouse. He was dressed like a cowboy, in jeans and boots and wide-brimmed hat.

  She got in beside him, smiling to herself. “You do blend in, don’t you?” she teased.

  “You have to when you’re tracking people,” he assured her. He grinned as he glanced at her. She was wearing the same gear he had on, except that her long hair was in a bun under a beret. “You’ll blend in pretty good yourself.”

  “Thanks,” she replied as she fastened her seat belt. “You did say nothing flamboyant.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  He pulled out onto the farm road that led to the highway. She noticed that he had his portable police radio along. “I thought it might be a good idea,” he said when he saw her looking at it on the seat between them. “Just in case any eager beaver thinks he spots illegal traffic and tries to muscle in on my bust.”

  “You aren’t going to arrest them?” she exclaimed, frightened for Rodrigo. “We aren’t even sure that they’re involved with Fuentes. Not yet, at least.”

  He gave her a pointed look. “I’m not working for the local law. I have no jurisdiction here.”

  “Oh,” she said sheepishly.

  “But if there’s a genuine drug deal going down here, we’re calling in Hayes Carson,” he added, referring to Jacobs County’s sheriff. “I won’t let them walk.”

  “You may have to,” she said, trying to reason with him. “It’s Fuentes we want.”

  “We’ve already got Fuentes, as long as you’re alive,” he reminded her.

  “We have him for one count of conspiracy to commit murder,” she replied. “He could walk on that charge, even with my testimony. He’s already walked on one drug dealing charge, but if we can link him to the drug network in this area, we can get him on an ironclad charge of conspiracy to distribute controlled substances as well. That’s a federal charge and he’ll do hard time.”

  He glared at her. “You don’t have any jurisdiction here, either,” he reminded her. “And your life is already on the line. If we can spook Fuentes by cutting in on his drug deal, he might back off on trying to cap you.”

  “Nice thought, but he doesn’t have a reputation for backing off,” she said. “Let him send his hired killer. Cash Grier said he’s got a guy watching me.”

  Marquez looked worried.

  “Now what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Grier had a low-level thief working for him as a farm laborer for Ramirez,” he said, “to get reduced time on his sentence. He talked to the D.A. about it.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And the guy skipped town yesterday.”

  Her heart jumped. There wasn’t anybody watching her. She was in more danger than ever.

  “There’s still the undercover fed,” he said, trying to reassure her. “It’s just that nobody knows exactly who or where he is.”

  She’d done some thinking about that. “I wonder if the undercov
er agent could be a woman,” she said aloud.

  He glanced at her. “Consuelo, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Not a chance,” he replied curtly.

  His tone was worrying. “What do you mean, no chance?”

  He started to speak when the radio blared between them.

  It gave two “ten-codes” in rapid succession. Marquez, who knew all the police in the area by their frequencies and call signs, picked it up and looked at the glowing screen.

  “Damn!” he muttered.

  “What is it?”

  “DEA,” he murmured.

  “What’s the Drug Enforcement Administration doing down here?” she asked, puzzled. “Do you think they’re watching the farm?”

  “Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?” he asked, frowning. “I mean, they had an agent killed down here—Lisa Parks’s first husband, Walt Monroe. Another of their agents was shot, but not killed, when a huge cocaine bust went down in Houston, followed by a shootout in Jacobsville with Cara Dominguez and her gang not too long ago. They have good reason to be involved with trying to put Fuentes away.”

  She grimaced. “The right hand never knows what the left hand’s doing,” she muttered. “They play their cards too close to the chest, Rick.”

  “They’ve had to. They had a mole,” he added, noting her surprise. “A very high level mole, so they had to have out-of-state DEA agents come in and handle the Houston investigation undercover. That’s how they nabbed Dominguez, who kidnapped a child and was apprehended down here after the gun battle. But in this racket, there’s always somebody to step into a drug lord’s shoes.”

  “Like Fuentes,” she agreed. She stared at the radio, which had gone silent. “What do you think they’re doing, monitoring or getting ready to close in?”

  He thought for a minute. “I don’t think they’d rush in unless there was a sizable amount of product to confiscate. You can bet that Fuentes isn’t conducting a sale personally.”

  “Lovely thought, though, isn’t it?” she sighed.

  The radio crackled again. “Back off,” came a low voice, a new one. “Everything’s on schedule. I repeat, back off.”

  “Like hell!” came the terse reply in a deep, slow voice.

  She and Marquez exchanged looks.

  The radio went dead.

  They were parked on a slight rise, behind a building, out of sight of the warehouse. A truck and a long, dark car were parked on the side street that ran alongside the structure. As they watched, two men in suits, one with a briefcase, got into the dark car and drove off. A minute later, two other men came out, also with a briefcase and dived into the pickup truck.

  The two vehicles peeled out in a noisy manner, just as a third vehicle—this one an unmarked car but with blue lights going—pulled onto the street where the warehouse was located.

  In seconds, all three vehicles were gone. The car with the blue lights was in hot pursuit.

  “Now that was instructive,” Marquez said thoughtfully.

  “A drug deal went down,” she said, “and if those were agents on the radio, they let it go down. Or most of them did. Somebody didn’t follow orders and gave chase.”

  “Which indicates to me that they’ve got somebody on the inside,” he agreed. “The law enforcement vehicle is a puzzle, though. It came in silently and with only two words of radio traffic.”

  “I noticed that,” she said.

  “I wonder who it was—local, state or federal officers.” He drew in a breath. “Well, we’re not going to do any good out here. I’ll take you home.”

  “Thanks.” She tried to appear normal, but she was faking it. She’d recognized one of the two men who got into the pickup truck. It was Rodrigo.

  MARQUEZ WALKED HER TO the front porch, going slowly to allow for her slower progress with the cane. He’d driven around for a few minutes so that if Consuelo came home early, it would look as though Glory and Marquez were out on a date. It wouldn’t do to come home too early.

  “Consuelo’s car isn’t here,” she noted.

  “Probably still at church,” he said, but there was something he wasn’t saying out loud.

  She turned to him on the porch. “What do you know about Consuelo that you aren’t sharing with me?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing dire,” he replied. “She has a cousin who works for a trucking business in San Antonio, and he’s occasionally helped with illegal drug transport. We keep him under surveillance.”

  “You don’t think Consuelo is mixed up in this business?” she asked worriedly, because she liked the older woman.

  “Of course not,” he said at once. He didn’t let her see his eyes.

  “Thank goodness. I like her. She’s been good to me,” she said, smiling.

  He smiled back. Good thing, he thought, that she couldn’t see his eyes. “Nevertheless, watch your step here. I’m having second thoughts about pressuring you to work at the farm. I’ve landed you in a nest of vipers.”

  “Only one or two,” she replied. “Thanks for looking out for me,” she added. “I can take care of myself most of the time, but this isn’t a normal circumstance.” She sighed. “I miss my job.”

  “I’m sure you do. It will still be waiting when you get back there. Alive,” he emphasized.

  She grimaced. “Okay, I’ll do what I have to.” She looked up at him. “I never thought it was possible to hate fruit so much. I think I’ll gag for the rest of my life every time I see a peach!”

  He chuckled. “I often feel the same way, when I have to help my mother put up preserves.”

  “I like your mother.”

  “Me, too. Watch yourself.”

  “I will. You do the same.”

  He only smiled. She watched him as he got into his truck, threw up a hand and pulled out of the driveway.

  She opened the door and went inside. It was dark in the hall, but she knew the layout of the house too well to worry. But as she turned toward the kitchen to get a small glass of milk to take to bed, she collided with a tall, muscular body.

  She cried out, frightened. She hadn’t seen or heard anything.

  “Relax,” Rodrigo said. He flipped the light switch and stared down at her intently. “Where have you been?”

  She was still getting her breath. She felt sick, too, which would never do to let him see. She gripped her cane firmly. “I went for a ride with Rick.”

  He frowned. “Rick?”

  “Marquez,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “We went steady in high school. I ran into him at the grocery story recently when Consuelo and I went shopping.”

  There was a long, tense hesitation. His black eyes were narrow and intent on her face.

  “I don’t have a curfew, do I?” she asked sarcastically, to hide her anxiety. It was painful to know for sure that he was mixed up in Fuentes’s drug operations. Especially in light of the possibility that she was carrying his child.

  “No,” he replied curtly. “No curfew. How serious is it?”

  She frowned. “Is what?”

  “You and Marquez.”

  She blinked, searching for an answer. She didn’t want to put Rick in a situation where he might become a target. On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to have Rodrigo think she had allies in law enforcement.

  “We’re friends,” she said finally.

  “Where did you go, for this…drive?” he asked slowly. And he smiled. It was the most dangerous smile she’d ever seen.

  She wasn’t good at pretense. She averted her eyes. “Just into town.”

  He knew she was lying. He’d seen Marquez’s vehicle near the drop point, with two people in the cab. He couldn’t figure out what Marquez was up to, unless he was dating Glory so that he had some information about Rodrigo’s movements. That was disquieting. Things were at a crucial point.

  “See anything interesting?” he persisted.

  She looked up. “Not really.”

  His eyes were cold and quiet. “You don’t want
to put yourself into the middle of something you don’t understand.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Marquez has enemies,” he said. “He’s making more by the day. You put yourself at risk just by being near him.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re jealous,” she said pertly, trying to throw him off the track. It wouldn’t do for her to blurt out anything about that warehouse or the drug deal she and Rick had witnessed.

  That disconcerted him. He blinked, then scowled. “Jealous of a cop?” he scoffed.

  “Hurts your ego, doesn’t it?” she persisted, “that I went from you to him. Would you like to know how he compares as a lover? Ooh!”

  Even in their brief intimacy, he’d never kissed her like this. He enveloped her against his tall, muscular body so that she could feel it against every inch of her own soft one. His mouth devoured hers, probing, insistent, hungry for a response. She gave him one because she couldn’t help herself. He was the only man she’d ever wanted.

  Her arms went under his and around him. She moaned huskily as the kiss escalated into areas of sensuality she’d never experienced.

  Groaning, he backed her into the wall and pushed down against her, so that she could feel the growing evidence of his desire for her.

  Her soft hands tugged at his shirt and eased their way under it, up against the warm, strong muscles of his back. She felt them ripple at her touch. Without lifting his mouth, he coaxed them to the front, to the thickness of hair on his chest while he, too, worked at fastenings. Seconds later, she felt her breasts bury themselves in that thick hair, enjoying the exquisite feel of skin on skin. In the silence of the house, the only sounds were those of ragged breathing and faint moans.

  She didn’t hear her cane fall. She hardly noticed when he swung her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to her room.

  He locked the door behind him and fell with her onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and clothing that soon merged into an urgent, hard rhythm.