Under Cover Of Darkness

by Elizabeth White

  Meg gripped his wrist, and felt the powerful muscles of his forearm bunch as he clenched his fist. “Jack, I know I’ve said it before, but there’s nothing in your life—or in Dottie and Vernon’s—that God doesn’t have under control. I’ll pray with you and we’ll wait to see what God leads you to do.”

  Jack turned his hand to clasp hers, and his expression as he looked at her made the breath back up in her chest. After a long moment, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  “Lord, thank You for being close when we need You. We don’t know how to help Jack’s friends, but we pray for Your guidance. Please, if it’s Your will, let a kidney be found, and I pray You’ll help Vernon see You working in his life. Thank You…” She took a sharp breath when Jack squeezed her wrist. She could feel every scratch and callus on his palm and fingers.

  “I agree. Amen,” he murmured. Meg looked up to find Jack staring at her. “I guess telling you was the right thing to do.”

  But Meg wasn’t so sure. Somehow Jack had her hand in both of his, tracing the lines in her palm with his thumbs. She couldn’t remember a prayer ever before reducing her to such a mass of quivering emotion.

  Suddenly the greenhouse door opened, and Sam stuck his head in. “Hey, you two, I’m outta here. Meg, don’t forget to lock—What’s the matter?”

  Meg had snatched her hand from Jack’s and jumped to her feet. “Nothing.” She hopped across two rows of plants, putting a safe distance between herself and Jack. “We’re finished. I mean, everything’s ready for in the morning. We were just leaving, right, Torres?”

  Jack pushed to his feet and gave Meg a small, sad smile. “Oh yeah. We’re done.”

  Sam watched the door shut behind Jack, then turned a frown on Meg. “What was that all about? And don’t tell me it’s none of my business.”

  Meg grimaced. “If I knew, I’d be happy to elaborate.”

  “I know what it looked like.”

  “It wasn’t, Sam. I promise.”

  Sam just looked at her. “Meg, be careful.”

  “I am.” She avoided his eyes. “Are you and Grace coming to the baptism on Sunday?”

  “We’ll be there.” He opened the greenhouse door. “Go on home. I’ll lock up behind you.”

  “Thanks.” Meg mustered a smile for Sam as she headed for the parking lot.

  What she needed was a nice long bubble bath and a Max Brand Western. Wait, scratch that. Too many handsome Latino cowboys in Max Brand’s stuff.

  She unlocked the Mustang with a sigh.

  Too many handsome Latino cowboys everywhere.

  “I’m not much of a water person.” Jack kicked a rock into the muddy Trinity River, the site of the church’s monthly baptismal service.

  Meg, standing beside him, nudged him with her elbow. “You want a life jacket?”

  Jack was seriously considering it.

  Winding through the Metroplex like a lasso, the Trinity River snaked among cemeteries and residential areas, freeways and railroads, wooded parks and botanical gardens, and even the occasional golf course. On the less appealing side, the Trinity also hosted several industrial complexes and a gigantic sewage treatment plant.

  Jack had wondered if he and Tomás were doomed to baptism in pollution, but he needn’t have worried. Clearly Ramón Santos had connections.

  This section of the river looked like a photograph from Southern Living. Lush shrubbery, cottonwoods and water oaks lined the opposite bank, casting their reflections onto the water and veiling residential developments miles in the distance. Cottony clouds scudded along in the blue sky overhead, and birds intermittently interrupted the quiet. Church members and guests who had come to observe the baptism stood at the water’s edge, marveling at the beauty of the place.

  Besides Meg and Benny, Jack’s only personal guests were Sam Thornton and his wife. He’d wanted to invite Dennis Carmichael and Mrs. Rook, but under the circumstances…not a good idea. Tomás had talked Manny, Diego and even Efrin into attending.

  Jack came out of his reverie as Ramón, dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt, walked up and whacked him on the shoulder. “Showtime, brother. You ready?”

  Though large amounts of water made him queasy, over the past few days Jack had spent a good bit of time thinking about this baptism thing. Undercover or not, he knew it was time to publicly declare his identification with the Lord.

  “Yeah.” Jack took a breath. “I’m ready.”

  Following the baptism, everyone moved to Professor Anderson’s deck for a celebratory hamburger cookout. After they’d both gone through the buffet line, Jack pulled Manny aside. “If we’re gonna talk, now’s the time.”

  Holding plates piled high with burgers, baked beans and potato salad, the men found seats on a wooden bench looking out on the river. The wife of Ramón’s seminary professor, who had hosted the after-baptism party, proved to be a world-class cook and a generous hostess. “Eating on the dirt,” as Tomás insisted on calling it, seemed to be a favored activity for these people.

  Manny leaned close and lowered his voice. “I’ve got to know if this religion thing is gonna throw a kink in our plans.”

  Taken aback, Jack took an unhurried look around the grounds before answering. Meg and Tomás had gone inside to use the professor’s computer to look at the pictures she’d taken, and the rest of the company had scattered in all directions to enjoy the food, scenery and conversation.

  Jack crinkled the soda can in his hand. “This is business. Why?” He had changed to dry clothes, but still felt the peace that accompanied his act of obedience. He had to force himself to think like an outlaw.

  Manny stroked his mustache. “I can’t trust anybody completely. But you’ve kept your mouth shut about Tomás.”

  “I always keep my word.”

  “Good.” Manny’s dark, scarred face took on a pinched expression. “Because if we don’t do the run by the middle of the month, they’re gonna send my wife and kids back.”

  Jack choked on a mouthful of soda. “Your what?”

  “You think I’m gonna leave my family in Mexico while I’m living the good life here?”

  A mental image of the bug-infested hotel they both lived in flashed across Jack’s brain. “Where are they?”

  “Nearby. It’s not your problem. But can you move that fast?”

  “I think so. Herrera, who’s your boss?” Jack had never come right out and asked.

  Manny shook his head. “He’d kill me.” He continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’ll need a couple of trucks, and places to wait if you have to go under. Guns for protection.”

  “No problem.” Jack would call Carmichael tonight, put in a request for money and arms. It was a relief to have a target date at last.

  “One more thing,” Manny said. “The meeting place is el puente negro in Eagle Pass. They’ve paid off la migra to look the other way.”

  Jack had suspected as much, but the confirmation made him ill. He nodded. “How does the nineteenth sound?”

  Sickened, Meg stared at the computer screen, while conversation in the kitchen behind her buzzed in and out like a bad cell phone connection.

  This couldn’t be what she thought it was.

  After going through the lunch line, she and Tomás had come inside to view his picture disk, a series of playful and remarkably clever amateur shots of his family and friends. At first, Tomás had looked over her shoulder, pointing people out and providing a running commentary. Eventually, though, he’d bounced outside to play Frisbee with the Andersons’ black Lab puppy.

  Meg had been about to put the computer to sleep when she’d noticed a video file at the end of the still photos. Curious, she’d opened it up.

  And now would give anything if she hadn’t.

  What she had here was a three-minute video clip of a party. As shaky as her Spanish was, Meg recognized vulgar language when she heard it. A couple of brown bottles were being passed around and, judging from gestures, ribald jokes as well.

 
; Before she could react, the clip was over and had looped back to begin again. Stung, Meg closed the window and ejected the disk. Stuffing it into her pocket, she jumped up from the computer.

  She’d seen worse things on the six o’clock news, and Jack had been in the room only briefly. But it hurt to see him there, along with Manny, Efrin, Diego and a couple of other men she didn’t recognize.

  Stumbling outside to the deck, she saw Jack deep in conversation with Manny. They’d evidently just finished eating; empty paper plates and crumpled soft drink cans lay on the bench. Jack’s hair was still damp, leaving wet patches on his shoulders, but the peaceful expression he’d worn following his baptism had disappeared.

  He looked watchful, dangerous. A lot like the first time she’d met him.

  “Está bien,” Manny was saying as she walked up to them, “voy a pagarte cuando me los entregues.” He looked so grim that Meg would have given anything for her Spanish dictionary right then. Her imagination went wild. There had to be a way to find out what was going on.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said, summoning up a smile. “I just discovered a pinball machine. Anybody want to take me on?”

  Jack stood up with a lazy smile. “Put a bowl of homemade ice cream on the line and I’m your man.”

  Meg gave him a pitying look. “Loser serves the winner, and I like caramel sauce and whipped cream on mine.”

  Jack snorted. “Whatever.” He jerked a thumb toward the lawn, where Tomás was still roughhousing with the puppy. “Manny, you better go rescue that dog before the kid wears him out.”

  One of his rare smiles glimmering, Manny picked up his empty plate. “Okay. And I come rescue you, when Miss Meg squashes your ego like a bug.”

  Mentally stringing together what she was going to say, Meg led the way back into the house. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Manny relax like this,” she began. “You think he’ll forgive Tomás for joining our church?”

  “Manny’s all right,” Jack said. “He just wants the best for his little brother.”

  In the empty game room, Meg turned suddenly, so that Jack bumped into her, steadying her with his hands on her upper arms. She could smell river water on his skin, mixed with the clean-laundry scent of his clothes. “What is he hiding?” she whispered. “I can’t help worrying about him.”

  “I think the old saying ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ applies.” His tone was light, layered over a note of command.

  Staring up at Jack’s firm, humorous mouth, Meg wished desperately that he would tell her what was going on so she didn’t have to ask. It was so tempting to just close her eyes and fall in love with him in spite of all the warning bells.

  Don’t ask, don’t tell. Maybe that was her answer for Tomás’s video clip as well. Her conscience squirmed, but she wrestled it down. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

  Jack released her arms, leaving her feeling cold. “You’re a good person, St. John, but I’m not feeling sorry for you when you lose.” He plucked a token off a stack on the pinball machine. “Hope your dipping arm’s in shape.” He pulled a lever and released a ball.

  Lights, bells and whistles went off.

  Meg moved to watch, very much afraid that she was one of those idiots who, refusing to learn from history, would be doomed to repeat it.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was plenty of activity in the Electric Q tonight, even on a Sunday night. Maybe, Jack thought, because it was Sunday. He looked for Carmichael and found him at their usual table.

  Jack shook hands and sat down.

  “Developments?” Carmichael said without further greeting.

  Jack waved away the waitress, who pouted and turned to Carmichael.

  Jack leaned in. “We’re set to go on the nineteenth.”

  “Fine.” Carmichael surveyed Jack with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Jack chose his words carefully. “I told you somebody was stalking my boss—the woman.” He hoped the depth of his feelings didn’t glow like neon in his face. “I’ve been watching her.”

  “I would expect you to.” Eyes twinkling, Carmichael rubbed his hand over his mouth. The waitress delivered his drink. After he’d paid, he turned back to Jack. “Any other activity?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Apparently they found whatever they needed from her and shifted attention to me.”

  Carmichael frowned. “How do you know?”

  “Somebody searched my room.”

  “Are you sure? When?”

  “Night before last. I leave markers in strategic places. They’ve been moved.”

  “I know you well enough to know you didn’t leave anything damaging lying around. Any ideas who it was, or why?”

  “Maybe just Warner checking me out. Herrera seems to trust me.”

  Carmichael pulled on his lower lip. “I’d be worried if they didn’t check your ID.”

  “Right. But…there’s something else bugging me. Do you know a guy named Vernon Rook?”

  Carmichael thought for a moment, then nodded. “Slug working out of the Euless office.”

  The term for officers close to retirement who spent their days pushing paper and little else just about fit Rook to a T. “Yes, sir. How long’s he been in this region?”

  “I don’t know. Less than a year, I guess. Why?”

  “I knew him down south. Actually I’ve known him since I was a kid.”

  Carmichael sat up straight. “And he’s seen you here?”

  Jack nodded. “The first time I ran into him he challenged me, and I told him I’d gotten out because of…because of Rico, you know. He seemed to believe me. The second time I didn’t let him see me. He was bullying the Mexicans in the laundromat near my hotel, but I wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what was going on.” Jack had regretted that more with every day that passed.

  Carmichael whistled. “Coincidence?”

  “I hope so. Can you check him out to make sure?”

  “Sure. I’ll let you know. What else you worried about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I ain’t been in the agency this long without learning to read people. You’re on edge. There’s something different about you.”

  Jack uttered a short laugh. Not a good sign if he was that transparent. “Just personal stuff. Nothing that’ll interfere with the job.”

  “You’re not falling for that woman, are you?” Carmichael persisted. “You get her involved and you’re both in danger.”

  Jack didn’t try denying it. “I’ve got it under control.” He laughed again. “She thinks I’m scum.”

  Which was probably the most depressing truth of all.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Torres is a cop?” Warner demanded, clutching his cell phone to his ear. Sitting in a golf cart just short of the eighth green, he checked to make sure his buddy had moved onto the green to putt and couldn’t hear. He lowered his voice anyway. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “You didn’t need to know,” said The Wolf, “until I decided what to do with him.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Warner said stubbornly. “He fits in with those lousy wetbacks like a long-lost brother.”

  An impatient snort blasted Warner’s ear. “It’s his job to fit in, Warner.”

  “Well, what are we going to do?” Warner asked. “I’ve got too much invested in this next run to cancel it.”

  “We’re not going to cancel it. You’re going to take Torres out.”

  “Take him out?” Warner yelped. “I didn’t get into this to murder a cop! I’m just making a little side money in the transportation industry.”

  “You don’t have to be anywhere in the vicinity,” The Wolf said reasonably. “Simplest thing to do is arrange for an accident. He works a construction site, right?”

  Warner forced himself to calm down and think that over. He really, really hated being told what to do. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of a better plan.

  After a moment he gritted his
teeth. “All right. But you do know we’ll have to find another driver for the run.”

  El Lobo grunted. “Let me worry about that. This guy’s got to go.”

  Warner clicked off the cell phone and stuffed it into his golf bag. He sat there scowling at his scorecard. Two under par and the game had been ruined.

  Meg stood under the carriageway, watching the rain come down in dense sheets and listening to thunder boom overhead like a celestial bowling party. If this kept up much longer, the entire front entrance was going to wash away—including the mountains of gravel and dirt and landscape timbers positioned for filler.

  “I vote we head for 7-Eleven and take on a Big Gulp,” said Jack, who had just dodged into the downpour to retrieve a couple of shovels. He wrung out his shirttail. “This is a lost cause for today.” He popped the tools into their slots against the side of the truck, then sat down in the open cab with a distinct squish.

  Manny shook his head. “Already missed three days last week because of rain.” He was neatly coiling baling wire around his hand and stuffing it into a burlap bag. Manny never wasted anything. “The men need to work.”

  “Yeah, but if we get out in that mess, somebody’s gonna get electrocuted.” As if to prove Jack’s point, a jag of lightning split the leaden sky. A second later, thunder crashed.

  Meg jumped. “Mrs. G called twice this morning to remind me they’re doing the photo shoot here on Friday.” With fatalistic humor she added, “I’m thinking we put Rosalee in the hole we dug for the oak tree, and call it ‘The Princess Bride Goes Mud Wrestling.’”

  Jack laughed, and even Manny gave an appreciative half smile.

  “You’re the boss, Spanky,” said Jack. “I can’t get any wetter, that’s for sure.”

  Meg surveyed the idle backhoes and box blades stranded outside the carriageway. “Mr. Warner said he’s not paying to rent the heavy equipment after this week, and the budget’s getting pretty skimpy.” She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the sky as another deafening crack of thunder boomed. “So, what am I supposed to do, Lord? This is serious!”