Under Cover Of Darkness

by Elizabeth White

  Hurt slammed into Meg, injuring pride she hadn’t even known she possessed. “For your information, I am not your responsibility.” She heaved in a breath. She was not going to cry in front of him. “You know, since you seem to be out of the woods, I think I’d better go make a couple of phone calls. Sam will want to know how you are.”

  Jack’s gaze flickered. “Tell him to call me here, okay? You’d probably better go by the border patrol office first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “But I’m not going back until—”

  “Yes. You are.” Jack’s tone was implacable. “You’re a valuable witness, so you have to go back to Fort Worth today. Right now.”

  “Who’s going to take care of you?”

  “There are plenty of nurses around here who’ll be happy to wait on me hand and foot.”

  “But I wanted to—”

  “Meg.” Jack glanced away, looking gray. “Please.”

  Meg shut her eyes. Clearly Jack wanted her to leave him alone. “Okay, then. I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  She backed toward the door, felt it hit her shoulder blades, and searched Jack’s unsmiling face once more before sliding into the hall.

  Jack knew he should never have asked for Meg, but he’d done it while his common sense was drowned in anesthesia.

  Seeing Meg stand there with that thick, red-brown mane flaming around her shoulders had created an image in Jack’s brain that nothing short of a lobotomy would remove. Right now he could close his eyes and imagine holding that sweet-smelling mass to his face, drawing her near so that he could kiss her—

  Idiot. Thank the Lord he had retained at least that much self-control. Because once he kissed her again he’d be bound beyond redemption.

  That he couldn’t afford.

  He didn’t even know who he was. Carmichael’s hateful words rang in Jack’s mind over and over. “I fished the two of you out of the river.”

  He’d known about his mother, of course, but hearing it flung in his face that way had exploded an essential part of his self-image. Who was his father?

  Meg wouldn’t marry a man like me.

  He didn’t know where his career was going, either. This part of his job had ended in a mess. Maybe a conviction for Sunset, maybe not. The reputation of the agency in question.

  Carmichael dead.

  I let everybody down. Meg shouldn’t marry a man like me.

  She’d never be satisfied, staying alone while her husband worked weeks on end away from home. And, dear Lord, some of the grim places I have to work. What if some other creep decided to take Meg hostage, like Carmichael did?

  I could always quit.

  But he couldn’t quit. He didn’t know how to do anything else. He didn’t want to do anything else. And the Lord knew Jack didn’t fit into Meg’s family.

  Besides, she’d never said she loved him in so many words, and she’d had plenty of opportunity. A woman with as much fondness for speaking her mind as Meg could surely have uttered those three words if she wanted to. He’d showed her how he felt.

  Thinking about it made his head ache, so he turned on the television. A Little Rascals short was playing on a classic movie station. “Come on, Algebra, this ain’t no place for you!” said Stymie, dragging a braying, lop-eared mule out the front door of somebody’s mansion.

  Well, that was confirmation. Jack didn’t feel like laughing.

  Meg drove up to find Bernadette sitting on the front step. When Meg crawled out of the car in her wrinkled, smelly and bloodstained clothes, hair in a tangled ponytail, the usually undemonstrative Bernadette let out a shriek and came running.

  “Meg! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Meg returned Bernadette’s hug. “I just need a bath.”

  Benny had homemade tortilla soup in the crockpot; she served it while Meg showered and dressed in her Woodstock sleep-shirt. With Gilligan snoozing contentedly on her lap in the Papasan chair, she ate her soup and filled her roommate in on the details of her adventure.

  “You could have been killed.” Benny’s dark eyes were wide. “And Jack—will he be okay?”

  Meg set her bowl and spoon on the floor and scratched the dog under his collar. “Physically, yes. But with his boss turning out to be the bad guy…” She swallowed. “That’s going to take some time to heal. I don’t know if he’ll ever be the same.”

  “In the Lord’s plan, maybe that’s a good thing,” Benny suggested. “Trauma can make you more dependent on God.”

  But Meg was too tired and sad to be optimistic. She met her friend’s compassionate eyes. “Or it can drive you away from Him.”

  The next morning, the fat hit the fire.

  Still in her pajamas, Meg was finishing a bowl of Captain Crunch when Benny came in the kitchen door.

  “Take a look at this.” Bernadette tossed the morning paper on the table.

  A two-inch front-page headline screamed “Business Manager of Fort Worth Company Indicted For Smuggling and Accessory to Homicide.”

  “Oh, my word.” Meg’s spoon clattered onto the table. “Boy, that was fast.”

  The article went on to detail how Kenneth Warner, in collusion with deceased Border Patrol Agent Dennis Carmichael, had conspired to smuggle illegal aliens across the border. Further, they were charged in connection with the murder of Agent Rico Valenzuela, as well as aggravated assault on Agents Jack Torres and Vernon Rook. Manuel and Tomás Herrera, currently being questioned, would be given immunity from prosecution in exchange for information regarding the case. Named as witnesses were Sam Thornton and Meg St. John of Sunset Landscaping.

  “Well,” said Meg through dry lips, “there goes my promotion.”

  The phone rang, and Bernadette reached for it.

  Meg scrambled to her feet. “If it’s my mother I’m in the shower.” She was not up to exhaustive explanations.

  Benny handed the receiver to Meg with a smile. “It’s Sam.”

  “Seen the paper, little girl?” Sam drawled.

  “Sam!” Meg plopped back into the chair, drawing her feet up under her nightshirt. “Did you know about this smuggling stuff?”

  “I guess you could say that. Come on into the office. Mr. Crowley wants to talk to you.”

  “Uh-oh, I knew it.” Meg’s stomach suddenly hurt. “I’ll be there in an hour, Sam.” She hit the cancel button and poked Captain Crunch in his silly pink cardboard nose. “Benny, pray for me today.”

  “I will.” Bernadette frowned. “But I think you deserve the day off.”

  “Me, too, but they want me there.” Meg hesitated. “If Jack happens to call, give him my cell number, okay?”

  Benny’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I will. Call me when you know what’s going on.”

  Meg had only been in Ted Crowley’s office half a dozen times. A stocky, well-preserved man with a bad comb-over and a penchant for double-breasted suits, he stood as Meg entered. Indicating that she should take the chair next to Sam, Crowley perched on the edge of his desk and swung one alligator-booted foot.

  Sam glowered at Meg as if she’d been the one besmirching the company name.

  “What’d I do?” Meg muttered.

  Mr. Crowley cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Meg, I want to express my regret for the disturbing things you’ve had to go through this summer. I’m just—” He spread his hands. “I’m just horrified that your life was endangered. Sam tells me you’ve handled yourself with courage and grace.” He paused. “We’re both very proud of you.”

  Meg looked at Sam with surprise. His scowl had lightened to a mild frown. That might even be a twinkle in his eyes.

  She swallowed. “Thank you. Sir.”

  Mr. Crowley smiled. “Warner’s arrest will naturally give us some bad publicity, which makes your project with the Historical Commission that much more critical. Mary Frances has given me nothing but rave reviews on your work at Silver Hill. Media coverage of the wedding will go a long way toward reestabli
shing us as the premier landscape firm in the area.”

  Meg blinked. “That’s great, Mr. Crowley.”

  “It is indeed. Which is why you’ll be moving into the office as a design consultant effective Monday.”

  Meg bolted out of her chair. “Really?” She grinned like an idiot at Sam, whose broad smile now lit his dark face. “Sam!” she shouted. “Did you hear that?”

  Sam winced. “Yeah, me and half the population of Tarrant County.”

  Mr. Crowley chuckled. “It’s just too bad your boy Torres wasn’t a real construction foreman. I’d like to have kept him on.”

  Guilt burst Meg’s excitement like a pin in a balloon. How could she have forgotten about Jack? “I’ll miss him, too, but…he’s a really great undercover agent.”

  “Which reminds me,” Sam said, “Border patrol called this morning after you left your house, and they want you over at their office for questioning. You’re to ask for—” He consulted a paper he pulled from his shirt pocket. “Agent Gil Watson. Somebody in from the Dallas regional office.”

  Meg looked uncertainly at Mr. Crowley. “Would it be okay if I take the rest of the day off?”

  “Certainly,” Crowley replied, “take all the time you need to get things straightened out. We want our future dealings with INS to be on the up-and-up.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to Sam. “Can I have next week to finish up the details out at Silver Hill? I hate to leave it—”

  “All right, all right,” Sam sighed, shaking his large head. “It’s your baby, you might as well see it to the end.”

  On her way out of the office, Meg dredged up a smile for Sharon Inge, who sat at her desk flipping through a fashion magazine as if her boss were arrested every day. “I hear you’re moving into Mr. Warner’s office next week,” Sharon chirped. “If you don’t want that plant stand by the window, I’d like to have it.”

  Meg paused, taken aback. “Um, I’ll let you know.” She continued on her way, wondering why the knowledge that she’d attained her dream job left her feeling so sad.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jack gritted his teeth and somehow got through the nightmare of wrapping up Dennis Carmichael’s involvement in the smuggling cartel. Quietly buried without the usual ceremony attending the funeral of an agent killed in the line of duty, Carmichael left behind a stunned wife and two sons—both of whom were border patrol agents stationed in Del Rio.

  Then there was Warner’s indictment. Conducted in an Eagle Pass courtroom by a Mexican-American judge who showed every sign of throwing the book at the sneering, buttoned-down Anglo executive, the tension could have been cut and spread on toast.

  Jack was left with a crushing two-day headache and a throbbing shoulder and arm.

  A week later, he was back in Dallas at INS Headquarters, meeting with his temporary OIC. Vernon Rook had been awarded a promotion, but was still on leave recovering from his head wound. Supervisory Agent Gil Watson had been charged with debriefing and reassigning Jack.

  Jack checked his watch, impatient for Watson to get off the phone and release him to go back to El Paso sector.

  Is that what you really want, Torres? To go back to the same-old-same-old?

  “No, Linda, I’m not smoking. Goodbye. I love you, too.” Watson’s phone clattered into its cradle as he looked with longing at a cigar box on his desk. “All right, Torres. Let’s have us a little powwow.” He picked up a cup of coffee and slurped it, eyeing Jack across the top of the mug. “You’re not lookin’ so hot, kid. General consensus is you need to take a few weeks off and reevaluate your career.”

  “Reevaluate—” Jack sat up. “Am I being fired?”

  Watson choked on his coffee. “Fired? Are you crazy, boy? You just brought down one of the most influential smuggling rings in Texas border patrol history. Besides the illegals, these guys have been runnin’ guns and coke and more stuff than you can imagine across the border. That’s why they were so upset when you crashed their little party. The big dogs want you in Washington to spearhead a task force for smokin’ out conglomerate smugglers and eliminating ’em at the root.”

  Speechless, Jack stared at Watson. “Huh. Washington,” he finally muttered. His long-term career goal was being handed to him about twenty years earlier than expected. Dressing in a suit every day, regular hours, probably a nice apartment and educated co-workers.

  A place to settle down with the love of your life.

  Who just happened to be a Texas bluebonnet with a family so tight she couldn’t go a week without having dinner with them.

  Watson set down his coffee and picked up a cigar. “Now keep in mind, Torres, you’re due for some serious trauma counseling and evaluation. And your testimony is gonna be critical in wrapping up this thing here in Dallas. Plan on sticking around awhile, get your head together and be available to testify.” Watson looked at the cigar and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. “You got a wife, Torres? No? Well, look for one who won’t try to run your life for you.”

  With little fanfare, a bus marked “Immigration Detention and Deportation” pulled out of the Euless border patrol station on the first Friday in August.

  “They’ll be home by tomorrow morning.” Jack touched Benny’s shoulder. The two of them stood in the middle of the parking lot after putting the Herrera family on the bus. After testifying, Manny had decided to quietly accompany his wife and children back to Mexico. Tomás and Diego were gone as well.

  Benny blinked a couple of times before looking at Jack. “You should have let me tell Meg they were leaving,” she said. “She’ll be really upset that she didn’t get to say goodbye to Tomás.”

  Jack looked away. “She’ll get over it.”

  Benny gave him a pensive look. “You are such a pollo,” she said conversationally.

  Jack laughed. “How do you figure?”

  “You’re going to ride off in the sunset and let her think she wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “It’s the other way around, and you know it.” He shrugged, easing the ache in his shoulder by supporting the weight of his cast with his good hand. “If she asks, you can tell her I said so.”

  Benny gave Jack an annoyed look. “I’m not telling her any such thing, you big baby.” She sighed. “I admit, at first I thought you were the last thing Meg needed. But I’ve watched you grow this summer, and come through some terrible things like a champion. When you showed up here today, I knew the Lord had gotten a serious hold on your life.” She paused, then demanded, “Hasn’t He?”

  Jack grinned at Meg’s drill sergeant/beauty queen roommate. “Yes, ma’am. He has.”

  “Well, then, if you can trust Him with Your life, don’t you think you can trust Him with Meg’s? What exactly are you afraid of?”

  Jack’s grin faded. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Benny snorted.

  Jack looked away, squirming. “Okay, well, I’m having a hard time picturing her choosing me over her family. And she just got that promotion she’s been working for all summer.”

  He stood there with the sun beating down on his head, feet sticking to the melting asphalt, and Meg’s genius roommate parsing him like a badly constructed sentence. Man, it was time to get out of this city.

  “Jack, look at me.”

  He did and found warm compassion in Benny’s dark eyes. “If anybody understands feeling unworthy, it’s me. I grew up in foster care just like you did, and I was a prostitute by the time I was fourteen.”

  Jack could only stare at her with his mouth ajar. “No way.”

  “Uh-huh. It took me a long time to be able to believe it when somebody said they loved me.”

  “Meg never said she loves me,” he muttered.

  “Oh, she’s said it all right, in everything she’s done since she met you. I’m telling you, if you want to be a man, you better give her a chance to say it in words.”

  On the morning of the “Wedding of the Century,” as the Fort Worth Star-Te
legram termed the impending nuptials of Miss Rosalee Ashton Grover-Niles, Meg was on the way home from picking up her formal from the dry cleaners when she decided to take a detour. Still dressed in cut-offs and T-shirt, she drove out to Silver Hill and parked in the center of the carriageway, then got out and climbed into the bed of the pickup for a survey of her handiwork.

  Silver Hill was exquisite in its late summer finery. Her new crew wasn’t as efficient as the old one, but they’d still managed to finish most of the details to her satisfaction.

  If she couldn’t have her own wedding, she was determined to make Rosalee’s as close to perfect as possible.

  The sprinklers were still going, one on either side of the drive, sending a soothing, undulating shooshing sound into the quiet morning. Meg frowned. The one on the left looked like it was hitting the side of the carriage house instead of the lacy blossoms of the oak leaf hydrangea on the corner.

  She was about to jump to the ground and move the sprinkler when the raucous sound of a motorcycle from a nearby side street cut into the peaceful scene. She paused with one foot on the side of the truck bed.

  Motorcycles were an oddity in this part of town. Heart thumping, she moved to the tailgate of the truck, watching the curve around which the motorcycle would appear. She hadn’t heard a word from Jack in nearly three weeks. It seemed inconceivable that he would have left town without saying goodbye, but she wasn’t going to throw herself at him. He’d hurt her enough already.

  The motorcycle roared around the street corner. It was a Harley the same color as Jack’s, and it turned into the carriageway.

  But its rider wore light-gray dress slacks, a short-sleeved silky black shirt and a tie. And there was no thick black ponytail at the back of his neck. Disappointed, Meg put her hands in her pockets and waited.

  The helmet came off, and a bunch of startled butterflies took flight in Meg’s stomach. This guy looked like Jack, but in an alternate universe sort of way. His dark hair was cut short around the ears, textured and slightly wavy at the top. Not one earring or whisker in sight.