My Spy: Last Spy Standing

by Dana Marton

  She made sure she was ready for anything as she tried a few more tricks with Ronny, but he really did seem to be clueless. He got the bills from Rivera, and that was all the information he had.

  When she was done with him, Bree pulled the divider open and stepped over to the other bed. “How about you continue the story? Ronny got the money from you. How did you come by it? You just took a shot at me. That’s assaulting a police officer. You want to be very helpful now.” She waited.

  “No hablo inglés.”

  “Yo hablo español. See? It’s your lucky day.” She flashed him her nicest smile, even though she didn’t feel like it.

  But Angel just stared daggers at her and wouldn’t answer any questions no matter what language she asked them in or what she promised or threatened. If looks could kill, she would have been lying at the foot of the bed in a sticky, red puddle.

  She kept on until the doctor finally showed up to check on the men. While he did that, she stepped outside and called the CIA agent to fill him in. Now that Ronny had confirmed a connection to the fake money, she had something solid to pass on to the agent.

  She might not have gotten a ton of information, but they were one step closer to the source of the bad money. Progress.

  Agent Herrera could come and see if he might get further with the two dimwits if he felt like it. She also called Delancy to stay with Rivera until the man could be taken into custody. She needed to get back to the office and take care of other business.

  * * *

  BORDER PATROL WAS a bust: no movement all day. Jamie used some of the time to call the lab to check on Bree’s envelope. Several times. They had a partial print, too smudged to be of much use, but they were trying to digitally enhance it before running it through all the databases again.

  At least he made some progress with setting up witness protection for Rico Marquez and his girlfriend, calling around to make sure all the pieces were in place for a problem-free extraction.

  He could have left it to the U.S. Marshals Service; they ran the program just fine. But he’d given Rico a promise, so he made sure he kept an eye on the process and was part of the decisions. He sure hoped Rico would have something usable for him in exchange.

  When his shift was over, Jamie swung by his apartment—a utilitarian, sparsely furnished space he basically only used for sleeping—took a shower and changed before heading over to Bree’s place. He checked the perimeter first. She kept her property tidy, as did the rest of her neighbors. Seemed like a nice, family kind of neighborhood. She should have been safe enough here.

  When he was sure all was clear and nobody suspicious was hanging around, he walked up to the front door and knocked.

  “I should have locked you up for that fake twenty and all those weapons,” she said as the door opened. “Just to keep you out of my hair.”

  She wore a pink T-shirt with jean shorts, her long shapely legs making his mouth go dry as they caught his attention, his brain barely registering the words she was saying. Then he blinked and caught up.

  “You think of me and you think of handcuffs?” He wanted to see her off balance for once. “A man could take that as encouragement.”

  But she just burst out laughing.

  She was way too cheerful by half. Thing was, he kind of liked it. He’d lived in darkness for so long, she felt like sunshine on his face.

  As she lifted her chin, he caught sight of a bandage on her neck and his whole body went still, his protective instincts plowing forth like a steam engine. “Are you hurt?”

  She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Chill. Just a scrape. The bullet didn’t even hit me.”

  He didn’t like the thought of a bullet anywhere near her. He wanted to ask how it’d happened, but he was interrupted.

  “Who is that?” came a call from somewhere in the house.

  He had thought they would be alone, that her sister would be asleep by now.

  “That’s Katie, my sister. She stays up late to watch her favorite shows on Fridays.” Bree eyed him with hesitation.

  He had no doubt she wanted to kick him out. But she was too much of a lady to do it—the beauty of Southern hospitality.

  “It’s been a long day.” He piled it on. “Hot out there on that border. I sure could use a cold drink.”

  Her sister stepped into the foyer and stopped, her eyes fixed on Jamie. She looked a lot like Bree in her coloring but shorter and slighter. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with a pink unicorn in the middle.

  “Katie, this is Jamie, a friend from work,” Bree said.

  “Are you a police officer?” She watched him without blinking, as if she had X-ray vision.

  “Kind of,” Jamie answered. “How are you, Katie? Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m watching my show,” she said after some time, then padded away, barefooted on the Mexican terracotta tile.

  “She likes you,” Bree said, a frown smoothing out on her forehead. “If she didn’t trust you, she would have stood there until you left to make sure you were out of our space.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, spacing out a time or two when his gaze slipped below her waist. Those shorts should be illegal. Then again, she was wearing them in the privacy of her home. He was the idiot for coming here and asking for trouble.

  Katie paid little attention to them, sprawled on the rug on the living room floor in front of the TV, watching some crime show as intently as if she was memorizing every word.

  Bree brought him a cold beer, along with a glass of orange juice for herself as they sat down, the same as before.

  She caught his gaze on Katie. “Autism. She’s very high functioning. She really doesn’t need a lot of help,” she said with a proud, loving glance toward her sister, not as someone who was bitter or embarrassed. “She’s as good as you and I in a lot of things, and in some things she’s better.”

  He wouldn’t doubt it. “You’re lucky to have each other.”

  She tilted her head, her shoulders relaxing. “Most people say she’s lucky to have me.” She watched him for a second or two. “They don’t know anything.”

  “I have seven brothers and a sister.”

  She muttered something that sounded like, “God help the women of the world,” under her breath.

  He added a silent amen. His brothers were... His gaze slipped to her legs. With a view like that, who could think about his brothers?

  “Seven brothers and a sister,” she repeated, sounding more awed than snarky this time around. “That must be great.”

  It was, even if he’d spent the past couple of years pushing his family away. He’d been in a dark mood after he’d come back from Afghanistan without his legs.

  “We have our moments.”

  He didn’t ask if she was from a big family. He’d read her file. She only had Katie. Her parents had both passed away a decade ago in a house fire. He glanced at Katie, who was watching her show, completely mesmerized. “You’re close.”

  Part of him envied that connection. He’d had that before. And he couldn’t blame anyone for losing it. He’d been the one to push his family away.

  “That’s the best part of having a sister.” She was smiling, but a shadow crossed her eyes.

  “And you would want to keep her safe.” He came around to the purpose of his visit. “So if there was anything strange going on, you’d tell me.”

  She straightened in her chair. “I don’t need your protection. Seriously, Jamie, you’re handsome and all, have that whole warrior thing going, but we have to stop meeting like this.”

  She thought he was handsome? That tangled up his thought process for a few seconds. “Where would you like to meet?” A certain part of him was voting for her bedroom.

  “On the phone when you call to update me on what your team is doing in my town,” she said deadpan.

  She was a tough nut to crack. Good thing he didn’t mind a challenge. “How about your case? Any progress with the counterfeit money?”

  “The CIA i
s here.” She gave a small shrug. “I caught two guys today who are connected. One doesn’t know anything, the other one isn’t talking.”

  His gaze slipped to her neck again, the muscles in his face tightening as he reached out and touched the edge of the bandage for a second before drawing back. “You had a tough day. Might as well tell me about it. Chances are, if I get what I came for, I’ll leave faster. I want to know about what’s going on with your stalker.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. But then her face grew somber as she thought a little before saying, “I got another envelope today.”

  His body tensed as he watched her closely. “More pictures?”

  She shook her head. “Something more personal. He took something from the house this time.”

  His fingers tightened on the cold bottle. “He’s escalating. He came in. He’s getting closer.”

  “I don’t think he’ll make contact. He didn’t before.”

  Which meant absolutely nothing. “What did he take?”

  “None of your business.”

  He had to ask. “Anything that could be considered sexual?”

  She nodded with reluctance.

  Anger cut through him. “You know what that usually means in cases like this. He wants you and he hates you at the same time. It’s not a good combination.”

  “I know. I thought about that. He was an adolescent boy the first time he became obsessed with me. Now he’s all grown-up.”

  He turned that over in his head a couple of times, considering the implications. “Why come back now, after all these years?”

  “He’s been living with his parents until recently. He took off without notice. I’m guessing he stopped taking his meds.”

  More bad news. “What if he pushes even closer?”

  “I’m a trained officer of the law. I’m always armed. Katie is never home alone. If I have to go back to the office for something, Eleanor, our neighbor, comes over. And Jason is not after Katie, anyway. He’s after me. He just wants to scare me and have a good laugh about it. He gets off on showing how clever he is.”

  “You’re sure it’s Jason Tanner?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  He hoped so. A messed-up average Joe would be easier to handle than if the smugglers, ruthless killers, were coming after her.

  “You got the envelope for me?”

  She got up and brought it to him with a resigned shake of her head.

  “Whatever he took is still inside?”

  “Not a chance, buster.”

  Of course, the more secretive she was, the more his imagination tortured him. He watched her from across the table, held her gaze. There were enough sparks between them to set her kitchen on fire.

  He wasn’t sure what to do with all that heat. He’d never wanted anyone with this intensity before. He would have liked to think he had enough self-control to not cross certain lines, but the hell of it was, he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m not relationship material,” he said, just so they understood each other. If anything were to happen, he wanted her to be forewarned.

  She flashed him an amused look. “Good thing I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m not looking for a man at all, in fact.” She tilted her head. “Your being here is more like harassment than a date. We’re clear on that, right?”

  “I don’t want you to be upset.”

  “Because you don’t want to be my boyfriend? I think I’ll live.”

  “I meant if we end up sleeping together.”

  She was just taking a sip of her juice, which she coughed up, some of it through her nose. She grabbed for a napkin and dabbed her face, then wiped the droplets of juice off the table. “You think we’re going to sleep together?” She looked at him, bewildered.

  She’d never looked sexier.

  “I’m pretty sure,” he said miserably, with all the resentment he felt. She was the one who’d barged into his life at that bookstore. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “That’s good.” He didn’t need that kind of grief.

  * * *

  BRIANNA TRIDLE, THE most beautiful woman in the world, had a guy in her house.

  The man watching her from the outside didn’t like that. His hands tightened on his camera as he observed through the kitchen window, hidden in the darkness. Clouds covered the moon, and he’d picked a good spot, wedged between two tall bushes. He was good at hiding. He was good at a lot of things. He didn’t care if people called him stupid.

  Brianna was inside in the light. She was pretty. He wanted more pictures of her. He liked looking at her. He always had. But he didn’t want pictures of her with the other man.

  She belonged to him. She was supposed to be waiting for him. He’d come back to forgive her. But she was betraying him.

  Rage washed over him so hard it had him grinding his teeth.

  The doctor said he had to control his rage. The doctor said a lot of things. He didn’t like the doctor. He wanted to do what he wanted to do, and not what other people told him.

  Chapter Seven

  Tracking down Jimenez—Jamie’s one lead to the Coyote—proved to be a difficult task. He’d been released from prison two months before, unfortunately, current location unknown. Jamie was running down leads all day, calling Jimenez’s family and dropping in on his known associates, trying to get a bead on him.

  Nobody knew where he was or, if they did, they weren’t telling. He drove back to the office in a bad mood, which didn’t improve when the first thing he heard was, “Why the long face? Deputy Hot Chick slapped the cuffs on you again?”

  Shep grinned at him from behind his computer. “She can do a full-body search on me anytime she wants,” he finished.

  “Beauty Queen Babe?” Keith joined in, coming from the back with his coffee. “Oh, man. She’s a walking fantasy.

  “Watch it before you get lovebug fever,” Shep shot at Keith. “It’s going around in the office.”

  He wasn’t lying. Ryder and Mo, two guys as tough as they came, had recently been bitten.

  “You look at a woman too long, next thing you know you’re shopping for a ring,” Shep warned Keith, the youngest man on the team.

  “Not me, old man,” Keith vowed as he plopped into his chair. “Spending your life with one person is like...medieval. Who does that anymore?”

  Keith had a playboy side. He was young and full of energy, and had the looks to pull it off. Jamie had seen women walk up to him and hand over their phone numbers on more than one occasion when they’d been in town together, running down leads.

  Not that Jamie’d had any trouble in that department, either, before. He’d meant to get married. Coming from a big Irish family, marriage and kids had always been the assumption, the expectation, even. He’d been in love, or he’d thought he’d been. He’d been on the verge of getting engaged.

  Then he’d come home without his legs and given Lauren her freedom back. She hadn’t protested. And her leaving hadn’t destroyed him.

  He hadn’t been seriously interested in anyone else until now. Good thing he and Bree had been able to clear the air between them. There was some attraction, fine, but neither of them wanted to see where it might lead.

  They both had other things to do. They were both content with the way things were. Big relief.

  He booted up his laptop and let Shep and Keith argue over the merits of serial dating. He tuned them out when he saw that he’d been emailed the prison visitors’ log for the day he’d requested. Since he couldn’t find Jimenez, he had to figure out who carried the hit order to him from the Coyote.

  But as he opened and scrolled through the file, he soon realized that the logs weren’t overly helpful. Jimenez had had two visitors on the morning of the day when he’d killed the inmate who’d been about to betray the Coyote.

  Neither of the visitors were fellow gang members, but a priest with a prison reach-out program, and Jimenez’s girlfriend, Suzanna Sanchez. Jamie check
ed the address given in the log—San Antonio—looked up the phone number online and made the call.

  “I’d like to talk to Suzanna,” he said when the line was picked up on the other end.

  “Wrong number.” The male voice sounded elderly.

  He confirmed the address and was assured he’d gotten that right. And after a few moments of conversation, it became apparent that he was calling an apartment building where tenants rotated in and out on a regular basis.

  He thanked the man and hung up, entered Suzanna’s full name and last known address as well as approximate age into the most comprehensive law enforcement database he had access to. He had a new address and new phone number within seconds. As luck would have it, she was living farther south now, less than twenty miles from Pebble Creek.

  This time he hit the jackpot.

  “I need to talk to you about your boyfriend, Jimenez, ma’am.”

  “You found the bastard, ay? You gonna make him pay child support now?” She misunderstood him.

  He didn’t correct her assumption. “Could I stop by so we could talk in person?”

  “Sí. I’m at home. Where else would I be? He left me with three niños. I can’t afford no daycare to go work no more.” She went on cursing Jimenez both in English and Spanish.

  Keith was still trying to convince Shep of the beauty of open relationships. Jamie tracked down information about Jimenez’s other visitor, the priest, via the internet, grabbed his address, too, then took off to see Suzanna.

  She lived in an immigrant neighborhood where people ran into their houses when they saw Jamie’s truck roll down the street. They were afraid of immigration. He slapped his fake CBP badge on. Better if they think he was here checking on her immigration status than if they thought she was snitching on her old boyfriend to law enforcement. Jimenez was a hard-core gang member. His buddies wouldn’t take well to traitors.

  He checked his gun before he got out, then walked to the patched-up trailer that looked like it was on its last legs; the roof was repaired with corrugated steel, the siding was missing in patches. One good storm and the thing would collapse. He didn’t like the idea of little kids living in a place like that.