“So you have a new boyfriend I don’t know about?”
“Funny.”
“Why am I running this dirtbag?”
Andrea got out of the car and headed for the restaurant. He was fifteen minutes late now. Maybe she’d missed him going in.
“It’s a long story,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I want to hear it in person. I assume you’ll be in at three tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan.” She stepped inside the Dairy Queen. It was blissfully warm and smelled like onion rings.
“Listen to me, Andrea. Don’t even think about canceling another appointment. Taggart will hit the roof.”
“I know, I know.”
“I shit you not. You’ll be out of a job.”
“I thought I already was.”
Silence. It was the very thing she feared most, and they both knew it. Her job was everything. It was the only thing she’d ever really been proud of, the only thing that had ever given her solid ground. Now that ground seemed to be shifting beneath her feet.
“The facts are in your favor here, Andie.”
“Not if you read the papers.”
“That’s crap. You play your cards right, it’ll work out. But you can’t keep screwing around with the process.”
The process. Just the word put a bitter lump in her throat. It wasn’t the press’s grilling that had surprised her. A young man was dead, and she would have been shocked if they hadn’t put her actions under a microscope. What surprised her was her department, the institution to which she’d devoted her career. Their lukewarm endorsement of her and their fervent pledge to fully investigate the “circumstances of the incident” had left her feeling adrift when she needed them most. You did the right thing. Five simple words they’d withheld from her. Maybe it was just bureaucratic ass covering, but it still stung.
Andrea suppressed the urge to whine to Nathan. This was her problem, not his.
It wasn’t Jon’s problem, either, and she wasn’t sure why she’d opened up to him last night. Her instincts told her she shouldn’t trust him. But the way he looked at her . . . He’d listened when she’d talked, and his concern had seemed genuine.
“Andrea?”
“I’m not screwing with the process.”
“You’ve canceled three appointments in a week.”
“Rescheduled,” she said, but she could tell he was pissed now. “I fully intend to go.”
“Yeah? Then have your ass here tomorrow so you can wrap this thing up and get back to work where you belong.”
“I hear you,” she said.
But he’d already hung up.
Andrea glanced around the restaurant. The dinner rush was over, and most of the booths were empty. Through the glass, she spotted a blue Focus. She crossed the restaurant, pushed open the door, and stood on the sidewalk, looking around.
“Sneaky little hobbitses!” hissed a voice.
She spun around and saw Gavin grinning at her.
“Damn it!” She elbowed him in the ribs. He loved to creep her out with his Gollum imitation.
“Hey, why so jumpy?”
She looked him up and down, and her heart lodged in her throat. His hair was short, not shaved. And no Nazi tats in evidence. He looked the same as he had at Christmas, and her relief was intense.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Save the lecture. I’m starving.” He went straight for the register and ordered his usual: two double cheeseburgers, French fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Andrea ordered a chicken basket, and five minutes later, she was staring at her brother over a greasy pile of fries.
It felt good to see him. She’d missed his blue eyes and his dry humor and his teasing grin.
“So, how’s Dee?”
“Fine,” she said, pleased he’d asked. “Her birthday’s next week.”
“I know.” He pointed a French fry at her. “And before you lay into me, I already put a card in the mail. I never forget her birthday.”
“You should call her, too. She’d love to hear from you.”
He shrugged, and she knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a phone person. Not that Andrea blamed him, really. She wasn’t, either—one of the many ways they were alike.
“So what’s going on, Gavin?”
“What do you mean?” He chomped into his burger with a gusto that annoyed her.
“I mean what are you doing here?”
“I told you. Working on the ranch.”
“Lost Creek Ranch, same as last summer?”
He took another huge bite and nodded.
“I don’t get it.” She shook her head. “This place is a dust bowl. I saw an actual tumbleweed this morning the size of a Volkswagen. Why on earth would you come out here?”
He slurped his shake. “Yeah, and Lubbock was a real paradise.”
“At least you had a purpose there. You were getting a degree.”
He sighed. “If you’re gonna start this up again, Andie, I’m taking off.”
She tried to tamp down her frustration. She glanced at her chicken, but her appetite had disappeared. “Okay, fine,” she said. “Explain it to me, then. What are you doing here?”
He ate a few fries.
She waited.
“I needed a change.” He shrugged. “A chance to think about stuff.”
“Such as?”
“Stuff, all right? It’s none of your business.”
He started in on the second cheeseburger. She watched him, frustrated because she knew he was right. He was an adult. It wasn’t really her business. But she and Gavin weren’t like normal siblings. After their mom’s death, they’d formed a strong bond. The age gap didn’t matter. In the podunk town of Pearl Springs, they’d been misfits together. Allies. It was the two of them against country music and Sunday school, against lima beans and prune kolaches, against their grandfather’s cranky tirades. Throughout their unconventional upbringing, they’d had each other’s back.
She remembered driving down from the University of Houston one weekend so she could chauffeur Gavin to the eighth-grade dance. He’d had a huge crush on his date. Andrea couldn’t even remember the girl’s name now, just how relieved she’d felt to learn her brother wasn’t gay. It would have been just one more reason for the farm boys to pick on him.
He’d had a tough time of it growing up. Andrea felt partly responsible, because he’d never found his footing. The normal adolescent ups and downs had quietly morphed into depression. She looked at the raised pink scar on the inside of his wrist, and the familiar lump of fear rose in the back of her throat.
He saw her looking and pulled his arm into his lap.
“Listen, I’m fine, okay?”
“You don’t seem fine,” she said. “I don’t get what you’re doing.”
“Maybe I like it out here, all right?”
“Why?”
He waved a fry. “I like the people. The climate. I like the free, fresh air.”
“ ‘Free, fresh air’? What does that mean?”
He shook his head.
“Seriously, I’m asking.”
“Wake up, Andie. Civil liberties are going away in this country. I can’t turn on the TV without seeing some jackbooted thugs kicking down someone’s door.”
“You’re talking about those SWAT shows?”
“Yes! Ever since 9/11, the government’s been using the threat of terrorism as an excuse to infringe on people’s rights. We’re heading toward a police state, Andie. Don’t even get me started on the disarmament campaign. The Brady Bill, the Fisk-Kirby Act.”
“Disarmament?” She blinked at him. “Are you kidding me? This is Texas. You can buy a gun on any street corner.”
“Ha.”
“Ha what?”
“Easy for you to say. You’re the one with the badge. No one’s going to come disarm you. You’re one of the power brokers.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m a power broker now? This sounds like Shay Hardin talking
, not you.”
“Shay’s right. Turn on the news if you don’t believe me. The government’s got surveillance all over the place. You can’t hardly drive down the street without some camera taking your picture. They’re everywhere, recording our conversations, our e-mails, taking photos twenty-four seven. It won’t be long before everyone in the country’s required to give a DNA sample.”
Andrea watched him shovel French fries into his mouth as warning bells clanged in her head. Disarmament. Government surveillance. DNA sampling. He sounded more than a little paranoid.
Actually, he sounded like a nutcase.
Or maybe Shay Hardin was the nutcase. Maybe he was the paranoid one, and he was planting these ideas in her brother’s head.
On the other hand, the man actually did have drones flying over his house. He might be justified in being a little suspicious.
Gavin looked sullen, and she could tell she was losing him. She needed to drop the ideological discussion and get down to pragmatics.
“Okay, let me ask something,” she said. “How come you don’t answer your phone?”
“I got rid of it.”
She knew this. What she didn’t know was whether he’d replaced it with another one. “How’s anyone supposed to get hold of you?”
“Who needs to get hold of me?”
“Me. Dee and Bob. Your friends.”
He shrugged. “They can e-mail me. Doesn’t cost me a dime.”
“You never check your messages. I’ve been e-mailing you for a week now, and you just responded yesterday.”
“I told you, I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, hiding out at that ranch. Gavin, it’s bizarre. All those gates and game fences. Do they even let you leave?”
He scowled. “I do whatever I want.”
She pushed her chicken basket away and leaned forward on her elbows. “Don’t you miss your computer science classes? Doesn’t it bother you to be stuck on some ranch that doesn’t even have Wi-Fi or cable? I would think you’d be going nuts with boredom.”
He gaze darkened. Maybe he’d recognized the not-so-subtle probing. “I’m doing okay,” he said.
“Yeah? Then what was the money for?”
No reaction. Zip.
“You asked me for two thousand dollars, Gavin. The least you can do is tell me who it was for.”
“For me.”
She watched his eyes, the same blue eyes as their grandfather’s. “I don’t believe you. I think it was for Hardin.”
He stuck his chin out stubbornly, and she could tell she’d offended him by calling him a liar. Never mind all the crap he’d said about her profession—somehow she was the one being offensive here.
“The guy’s a manipulator,” she said. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”
“Don’t insult someone you don’t even know. Shay’s a war hero. He’s won medals. He has principles and ideals and he’s not afraid to stand up for his beliefs. Unlike the rest of the sheeple in the country.”
“You’re changing the subject, Gavin. What was the money for?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want your money anymore, Andrea. I’m sorry I asked.” He slid from the booth and stood up. “And I also don’t want you meddling in my business.”
“Gavin—”
“I mean it!” he snapped. “You’re not my mother. You never were. So just go back to Austin, and butt out of my life.”
Her stomach hurt as she watched him leave. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.
Andrea pitched her food into the trash and stepped out into the cold desert night. She glanced down the highway leading to Maverick. He was already gone, not even a trace of taillights.
She slid into her Jeep and glanced around. She noticed the security camera mounted on the corner of the building, aimed down at the door. Government surveillance. Disarmament. He sounded like a crackpot. Did it ever occur to him that most of those cameras were put there by business owners trying to protect their property?
She shoved the key into the ignition.
The Fisk-Kirby Act. Senator Kirby.
Andrea froze. She stared through the windshield. Her skin turned icy as understanding dawned.
chapter eight
BY THE TIME HE put an end to his sixteen-hour day, Jon had an empty stomach and a hand full of cactus needles. Undercover work was a pain in the ass, because at some point, you actually had to do whatever it was you told people you did.
Because of their SWAT training, Jon and Torres had been pulled in on a number of ICE raids. They’d spent tonight executing a warrant at a home where a convicted sex offender was rumored to be holed up. The guy had been deported twice already but somehow had failed to get the message.
Like a lot of ICE raids, the whole thing was based on a tip, which was always a mixed bag. Tonight’s had panned out, though, and they had turned up not only the sex offender but the unexpected bonus of a kilo of coke.
During the mayhem that ensued, the coke’s owner had fled through a back window. Jon and Torres had taken off after him. The foot pursuit ended on the outskirts of town when the man tripped face-first into a prickly-pear cactus the size of a grizzly bear. He’d gone ballistic, howling and kicking and throwing wild punches as Jon wrestled on the cuffs.
Jon drove along the gravel road to his house now, more than ready to call it a day—except for the yawning hole in the pit of his stomach. That would have to be dealt with even before he got a shower. And then there was the other hunger that had been gnawing at him for days. He thought of Andrea’s lithe body and her sensual mouth and the way she’d tasted when he’d finally gotten her to stop arguing with him. Unfortunately, the chances of doing anything about that craving tonight were slim to none.
Jon passed through a trailer park, where clotheslines and electrical wires stretched between homes. He entered an area of modest houses on lots surrounded by chain-link fences. The low adobe homes were lit up like jack-o’-lanterns. His didn’t match, dark except for a bare bulb dangling above the door. He pulled into the carport and ignored the Rottweiler barking and hurling himself against the fence as he trudged to his back door. The dog’s name was Loco. He and Jon had yet to become friends.
He unzipped his ICE jacket as he flipped on the lights inside. Half of them were out, a fact he only remembered at this time of day. He stripped down to his Kevlar vest and pulled open the fridge.
Reality kicked in. He stared at the shelves, then filled a cup with tap water and gulped it down.
A car roared up the street, and Loco erupted as brakes screeched in front of the house. Jon tossed his cup into the sink as three raps sounded at the door—Pop! Pop! Pop!—like gunfire.
He glanced out the window at the SUV parked diagonally across the patch of dirt that made up his front yard.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
He pulled open the door.
“You son of a bitch!”
“Nice parking.”
Andrea stalked past him. “How dumb do you think I am, North?”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Her blue eyes flashed up at him, and she looked ready to spit nails.
He closed the door and sighed. “Find out what?”
Her eyes widened. Her fists clenched. She glanced at his groin, and he took an instinctive step back. “You lied to me! About your case and my brother and everything!”
Her whole body was vibrating. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he could tell it was from anger, not cold.
He felt the first stirrings of alarm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman so furious. Probably never.
“Andrea, calm down.”
“Calm down? You lied about some cold case to get me to open up to you!”
“What are you talking about?”
“What do you think? Julia Kirby! Senator Kirby! The real reason you want to use my brother!”
He didn’t say anything. Heat flared in her eyes.
<
br /> “I knew it!”
Shit. He tipped his head back. “Andrea—”
“No! You’re done! I get to ask the questions now.”
He looked down at her and felt an odd mixture of dread and anticipation. She was irate, and with good reason.
He’d underestimated her.
Torres had warned him. He’d wanted to be straight up with her, see if she’d agree to help them. Jon had wanted to do things his way, and as the senior agent on the case, he’d won. Didn’t feel like a win right now.
“First question.” She turned away, as if just looking at him was unbearable. “True or false, and don’t you dare lie to me.” She turned around. She took a deep breath. “Do you believe Shay Hardin had something to do with that bombing in Philadelphia?”
He watched her. He didn’t say anything. As the seconds ticked by, all the color drained from her face.
“Oh, my God.” Her shoulders slumped. She sank onto the arm of his sofa and buried her head in her hands.
“Andrea, look at me.”
She didn’t move. Maybe she was thinking about her brother. Maybe she was thinking about the sixteen people who had died in that attack. The images on the news had been bad, but the raw police footage was far worse—severed limbs strewn across the sidewalk, victims shrieking, mutilated bodies. The carnage was shocking, even for seasoned investigators.
But Jon didn’t know what she was thinking about. She was so utterly still he couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.
“Look at me, Andrea.”
Nothing.
“Look at me, damn it, and I’ll answer your question.”
She lifted her head, and the bleak expression on her face made his gut tighten.
“Yes, all right? I think Hardin had something to do with it.” He paused. “But I’m on my own with that. Except for Torres, everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”
“What makes you think he did it?”
He paused.
“Tell me.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me, God damn it!”
Jon was suddenly beat. His legs hurt. His head hurt. He had about a thousand cactus needles in his palms, and his hands were on fire.
He went to the fridge and pulled out a half-finished jug of Gatorade. He guzzled it down and tossed the container into the trash.
Far Gone Page 8
