The whole incident wasn’t something she wanted to mention, though, and not just because it made her look incompetent. If Jon knew about it, he’d use it as one more reason to try to shoo her out of town.
She glanced back at him. “How many agents you have working this thing?”
“Three undercover, including Torres and myself. And four guys on electronic surveillance, rotating shifts of two.”
She gaped at him. “Seven agents? In this nothing little town? And you’ve been here four months?”
“Surveillance guys are based out of Fort Stockton,” Torres said.
Andrea looked at him. She didn’t buy this. Seven full-time people staffed to a six-year-old cold case? It would have been unheard of for her cash-strapped police department.
She studied the map again. Also pinned to the wall were some aerial photographs of Lost Creek Ranch. The pictures showed the house, the barn, and the outbuildings, along with the various vehicles scattered about the property.
Jon was leaning back in his chair now, watching her. If he was any kind of detective—which she assumed he was—he’d figured out that one of those five vehicles belonged to her brother. So much for keeping Gavin’s name out of it. She looked at Jon and could tell he’d seen her notice the car. Okay, no more games. They both knew why she was here.
“Your turn,” Jon said. “What’s your beef with Hardin? I gather you’re not a big fan.”
“I don’t like him,” she said.
“Why?”
“He’s a skinhead, for starters. I’m worried my brother’s been hanging around him.”
“Maybe your brother’s a skinhead.”
“He’s not,” she said firmly, but her stomach tensed. She hadn’t seen Gavin since Christmas. He’d seemed perfectly normal then, but normal for Gavin was already outside the mainstream.
“How’d they meet?” Jon asked.
“In Lubbock last spring. Gavin was a junior up at Texas Tech when he met him at a gun show. Hardin later called him up and asked him to be a straw buyer for one of his friends.”
“Your brother’s into guns?”
She shrugged. “We grew up on a farm.”
“In the Valley?” Torres asked.
“Near Victoria. My grandparents are rice farmers. They raised us after our mom died.”
“Pearl Springs, Texas.”
She glanced at Jon. “How’d you know?”
“The plates on your Cherokee are registered to a Robert Miller there.”
“That’s my grandfather. He collects guns, too, by the way—like about half the population. It’s no big deal.”
“So you have no problem with your brother being a straw buyer for some skinhead who’s probably part of a militia group?”
“Of course I had a problem with it. He asked me if what Hardin wanted him to do was illegal, and I told him hell, yeah, and he told me he didn’t do it. But next thing I know, he’s quitting his job and moving to Maverick—”
“I thought you said he was in school,” Jon cut in.
“This was in the summer. He had an internship at a software company. It was a good job, and all of a sudden, he quit so he could come here to shovel cow patties and mend fences. I spent all of last summer convincing him he should go back to school in the fall and get his degree. Then I found out he’d left school again, so I assumed he was out here, and I was right. Only this time, he’s dropped out. So no, I’m not a fan of Hardin.”
Jon glanced across the room. He had this silent-communication thing with Torres that was starting to get on her nerves.
Torres looked at her. “Your brother’s twenty-two.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you think he’s old enough to decide for himself where to live?”
Andrea bit back a retort. He was right. But she’d always been protective when it came to Gavin. She still thought of him as a kid, with his fiery red hair and skinny build. She remembered the stolen lunch money and the playground pranks. She remembered all the days he’d come home angry and sullen because he’d been tormented at school.
Andrea hated bullies. It was one reason she’d become a cop. And although Gavin talked about Hardin as his friend, she thought the guy was just one more bully out to take advantage of him.
Jon was eyeing her lip with disapproval, and she wondered if he knew where she’d been last night. She looked at Torres.
“Yes, he’s old enough,” she said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I want to make sure he’s not being brainwashed. Or talked into throwing his future away. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s being held there against his will.”
“You think he is?” Jon leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Then how do you know he’s there?” Torres asked.
“He’s there. People in town have seen him. He stands out.”
And even if they hadn’t, she’d been out there last night to confirm it for herself. Gavin’s blue Ford Focus had been parked beside the rickety old barn.
“You’re right,” Jon said. “He’s there.”
She scowled. “Why are you asking me questions if you already know the answers?”
“We confirmed it this morning. He and four other people are living there with Hardin: Mark and Olivia Driscoll, along with Ross and Vicky Leeland.” He paused. “Any of those names ring a bell?”
“No.”
“Latest batch of images just came in, and you can see Gavin’s license plate.”
“What kind of images?”
“Homeland Security has drones patrolling the entire border area,” Jon said. “One in particular is programmed to fly over Hardin’s place. It’s ninety acres. They don’t leave often. We think they’re stockpiling food and supplies.”
“And guns.”
Andrea looked at Torres.
“They aren’t using cell phones or landlines that we’ve been able to tell,” Jon said. “And there’s no Internet connection.”
She scoffed.
“What?”
“If Gavin’s living there, there’s Internet. He’s a computer junkie.”
Jon glanced at Torres again and back at Andrea.
“And what’s your plan?” Jon asked. “You can’t stay here forever. Don’t you have a job to get back to?”
She bristled. “My plan is to help Gavin. He needs to get back to Lubbock so he can graduate.”
Jon stood up. He stepped closer, and she got the feeling she was about to hear the real point of this meeting.
“So you refuse to leave.” He folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m not leaving until I talk some sense into my brother.”
“Problem is, Andrea, you’re a cop. Hardin is going to hear about you going around town asking questions about him, if he hasn’t already. That puts him on guard and jeopardizes our investigation.”
“Your investigation has nothing to do with me. Or my brother.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jon said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve been trying to build this case for months, and we could use someone on the inside,” he said. “You could get your brother to help us.”
“What, you mean get him to wear a wire?” She pushed away from the wall and felt her temper rising along with her voice. “That’s what you mean, right? Maybe I can persuade him to walk up to Shay Hardin and casually ask him where he was—oh, I don’t know—July fourth, six summers ago? Great idea. Then my family can sit around for six long years waiting for you to solve the mystery after Gavin turns up in some ditch with a bullet in his brain.”
Jon’s expression hardened. “You should think about it, Andrea.”
Both men stared at her. The only sound in the room was the faint crackling of the police scanner.
“I’d like a ride back to town now.”
She jerked open the door and stepped out into the blinding sunli
ght. The wind whipped against her cheeks as Jon joined her on the steps.
“You get him to talk to us, you’d be doing him a favor,” he said.
“Gavin was in high school when that judge died. He had absolutely nothing to do with it, so don’t act like you have some leverage against him.”
She stalked down the steps and across the dirt. She heard him follow, but she didn’t look at him as she climbed into the truck.
“Think about it, Andrea. Hardin is bad news. You know it as well as I do. That’s why you came all the way out here.” He started the truck. His gaze was on her, but she refused to look. “He’s using your brother for something—and whatever it is can’t be good.”
♦
Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc stared at the portly bank manager and waited for him to get to the point. She’d been listening for ten minutes, and still the man was totally in the weeds. Finally, she interrupted his description of the Italian sub he’d ordered for lunch.
“All right, and when you returned from the sandwich shop, which door did you use?”
“The back, like always,” he said.
“Did you get a look at any of the customers in line?”
“Um, no. Not really.”
Elizabeth jotted it in her notebook. So far, no one had noticed the robber except for the teller who’d received his typewritten note. No one besides the teller had even realized a crime was occurring until the perpetrator was out the door.
The bank manager shifted back and forth on his feet. His gaze flicked to her notepad, and he wiped his palms on the sides of his suit jacket.
She tried to put him at ease with a smile. “Well, it’s too bad you didn’t see him. But those are the breaks, right? I’m sure the lobby footage will be able to tell us more.”
He looked at her blankly.
“The surveillance footage? Your assistant said—”
“Oh, yes, of course. Let me check on that.”
He scurried into the back room, and Elizabeth sighed. This was going to be a long day. She’d been in Del Rio an hour already and had made virtually no progress. First, there had been a glitch with the security camera. Next, the traumatized teller had jumped up in the middle of the interview to rush into the bathroom and get sick. And then for an added challenge, the evidence response team had arrived late. They’d gone right to work, though. Both technicians were now crouched beside the bank’s glass doors, dusting for fingerprints.
Elizabeth watched in surprise as a man ducked under the yellow tape and strode into the lobby.
Jon North.
She almost didn’t recognize him in the border-agent gear. But there was no mistaking his face as he peeled off his shades and looked around. His gaze found her, and he moved in like a guided missile.
“How’d you get here?” she blurted.
“CBP guys gave me a ride to Laughlin.”
She blinked at him. Laughlin Air Force Base was just a few miles away, which meant his “ride” had been a helicopter.
Of course. Because plenty of agents could just snap their fingers and conjure up a chopper on short notice.
“What do we have?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a pretty straightforward robbery. A low take, too. Frankly, I’m surprised you heard about it.”
He glanced at his watch, and she noticed his bare ring finger. It wasn’t the first time. Jon North was single, smart, and impressively ripped. There wasn’t a woman in the San Antonio field office who hadn’t noticed him—Elizabeth probably more than most. She had an annoying weakness for alpha types.
She cleared her throat. “So . . . did someone call you or . . . ?”
“Jane called Jimmy Torres,” he said, as if that explained what he was doing here. “I assume since they sent you out that it’s connected to the one from November?”
She was getting the picture now. Maybe. The three similar bank robberies had occurred back in the fall, right before North and Torres were sent out to West Texas on some undercover assignment. The case was pretty hush-hush, but she’d heard through the grapevine that they were reopening the investigation of a judge who had died under suspicious circumstances.
Although what that had to do with this bank heist, she didn’t have a clue.
But what did she know? She’d been on the job barely two years. She hadn’t had time to achieve rising-superstar status like Jon North had.
He was staring at her now, waiting.
“Looks like a connection to the other ones, yeah,” she said. “Maxwell wanted us to check it out. I’m waiting on the surveillance footage.”
She motioned toward the back of the bank, where her colleague from San Antonio was trying to get access to the security video.
“Based on what we’ve got so far, it seems like the same MO,” she said. “Man walks in during the early afternoon, totally nondescript, draws no attention to himself. He waits in line for a female teller, passes her a typed note, and then stands there quietly as she counts out a few thousand dollars and hands it over.”
“Where’s the note?”
“The evidence tech already packed it up, but I’ve got a copy.” She reached for the file she had spread out on someone’s desk.
North read the note, which instructed the teller not to alert anyone, not to sound any alarms, but simply to hand over the specified amount of money. In all the cases, the tellers had complied, because that was what they’d been trained to do. Banks were insured. No sense in employees risking their safety over money that wasn’t even theirs.
“Six thousand dollars.” North handed back the note. “Same as last time.”
“I know.”
“What about the video?”
She led him into the back room and was relieved to see that her partner had managed to get something up on the computer screen. He glanced up when they walked in.
“Security firm finally sent this over,” he said.
She and North leaned in to get a view of the screen. The time stamp at the bottom showed 12:56. They watched the grainy black-and-white image as a man entered the bank. Baseball cap pulled low, zipped jacket. Nothing remarkable given the weather.
“Gloves,” Elizabeth said. She wasn’t surprised.
He waited patiently in line, keeping his head down, as if reading the slip of paper in his hand. When his turn came, he approached the teller.
“Hit pause.” North leaned closer. “Damn it.”
“Damn it, what?”
He glanced at her. “He’s too short.”
“Too short for what?”
“Shay Hardin.”
Okay, now she understood. Shay Hardin was a person of interest in North’s resurrected murder case. Several of the agents in her office had been helping out with the background checks.
“I’m going to need a copy of this tape,” North told her.
“Sure.”
He returned to the counter in the lobby and picked up the file she’d been compiling. “Vehicle?” he asked.
“We don’t know yet. Last three robberies in San Antonio all involved different vehicles, and the plates were conveniently obscured by mud. Want me to send the outdoor footage, too?”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’d wait for it, but I need to get back.”
“Air taxi’s leaving?”
He smiled slightly.
“How are things going out in Maverick?” she asked.
“So-so.”
“You know, I’m not really up to speed on your case, but . . . I should probably give you a heads-up.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Word is they’re planning to yank you guys out soon.”
He didn’t look surprised.
“It’s just something I heard,” she said. “Think they need all hands on deck for the Saledo case.”
North’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head.
“Can you blame them? The cartels are out of control,” she said. “They executed five people in Brownsville last weekend. And then there�
�s Al Qaeda. Every office is stepping it up after the university bombing.”
“I thought that was just a theory.”
“Not anymore.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You haven’t heard? They traced the minivan used in the bombing through the number stamped on the axle,” she said. “Vehicle comes back to a cleric at a mosque in Philly. He was pretty radical, from what I understand.”
“Was?”
“It was a suicide attack.”
North looked over her shoulder, his expression inscrutable as he stared out at the street. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows and made the stubble on his face stand out. She waited for him to say something. North wasn’t a big talker. He was known for being a loner, as she was, and he had a reputation for going against the grain. But so far, that had worked for him, and he also had a reputation as a solid investigator.
He glanced at his watch.
“I’ll send you that footage,” she told him.
“Appreciate it.”
“Say hi to Jimmy for me. And good luck with your case. Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it soon.”
♦
Andrea was on her eighth Hershey’s Miniature when a knock sounded at the door. She padded across the room in her socks and peered through the peephole. Her heart lurched. She wasn’t expecting visitors, and she definitely wasn’t expecting Jon North in civilian clothes with an easygoing smile on his face.
She opened the door.
“Hi,” he said.
She put her hand on her hip, instantly wary. They hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms.
“May I come in?”
She pulled the door back. He stepped inside and glanced at the bed, where her laptop was propped on a pillow.
“Working?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“You had dinner?”
“Yep.”
“How about a drink, then?”
She tipped her head to the side.
“There’s a decent pub up the road,” he said. “They’ve got a lot of beers on tap.”
“Aren’t you worried about your cover?”
“It’s in Fort Stockton.”
She looked him over. Gray flannel shirt tucked into jeans. Worn sneakers. Except for the Sig Sauer hiding under his brown leather jacket, he looked almost like a regular guy.
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