by Dana Marton
“Did you find out how Angel Rivera is connected?”
“Not yet. But Rivera works in transportation. He drives a truck for a produce distributor that brings up truckloads of fruit from Mexico. His routes are all over the South and up the Eastern seaboard.”
“So the origin of the money could be south of the border?” Honestly, as long as it wasn’t her county, she’d be happy.
But the agent shook his head. “Could be, but unlikely. The technology on these notes is pretty amazing. It’s not some handmade printing machine some Mexican farmer threw together from spare parts in his shed.”
“There’s a paper mill south of the border, not far from here,” she told him.
“We’ll investigate that to be on the safe side, but this looks like something we usually see from even farther south.”
“You mean South America?”
He gave a brief nod. “I’m looking into that. I’ll be in touch. I just wanted to come in to thank you for your help. And ask for one more favor.”
She waited.
“Angel Rivera has a brother in prison down here. He went in just a few weeks ago on drug charges. He used to work for the same shipping company. Any chance you could look in on him? See if you can push him into admitting to being involved? He’s locked up. He’ll be more motivated to talk. Maybe in exchange for a reduced sentence. Let me know if you get anything from him.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets in a frustrated gesture. “I don’t want to wait around, setting up an appointment with the prison when his lawyers can be present and all that. I want to get moving with this. Putting together a task force will take time and paperwork, approvals. I need to be back at the office and set up a serious op. We need to find the source of the money and stop it.”
She could certainly understand that. “No problem.”
“Even if the younger Rivera doesn’t talk, we might be able to use him to soften Angel up a little. Maybe the older brother will give us something in exchange for a promise to make his little brother’s life behind bars easier. Prison is a risky place for gangbangers. Not all who go in come out.”
She nodded, thinking of the prison hit Jamie was investigating.
“I appreciate the help. We’ll keep in touch.” Agent Herrera walked to the door of her office, but then turned back before opening it. He watched her for a second before he said, “The other day, I was leaving here when a man was coming in. Is it possible he was Jamie Cassidy?”
Okay, she hadn’t expected that question. “You know Jamie?”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Consulting for CBP. How do you know him?”
“I was involved in one of his other consulting gigs,” he said after a couple of thoughtful seconds.
She had a fair idea what that might have been. “At a time you can’t specify, at an undisclosed location, on a mission of indeterminate nature?”
A smile hovered over the agent’s lips. “Something like that.”
“Was that where he lost his legs?”
The agent shook his head. “He had them there, and put them to good use. It’s good to see him back in action. He was the hero of the day.”
“Hero, how?”
“I’m sorry. That’s confidential information.”
“In generalities? I’m assisting his team with something. He’s my liaison. I’d like to know what kind of man he is.”
He still hesitated for a long second. “Without any specifics... There were bad guys and they land mined a whole village. Jamie’s team moved in, at night....” He shook his head. “He was the rear guard. When his teammates were blown up, he rushed in, under heavy gunfire, and dragged them out one by one. He kept going back and getting hit. He didn’t stop until he bled out to the point of falling unconscious in the middle of the village. But he got everyone out who could be saved.”
She wondered who had saved him. Maybe reinforcements came. She wanted to ask more, but the agent lifted his hand to cut her off.
“This stays between the two of us.”
And Bree nodded. “So you don’t know how he lost his legs?”
“Not a clue,” the agent said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw himself on a grenade.” And then he left to go about his business.
She sat behind her desk, thinking for a while about Jamie, about the kind of work he did. Then she set that aside and made a note to figure out what prison the younger Rivera was vacationing at presently. She was going to call his lawyer and see about an appointment to visit later. But first she needed to find Jason Tanner.
Eleanor was dead. Jason couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else ever again.
She hadn’t taken him as seriously as she should have. Her mistake. But she wasn’t going to make another with the man. She was going to use every tool at her disposal, call in every favor, track every lead until she found him and put him away.
* * *
JAMIE LOOKED THROUGH the database of images he’d been granted temporary access to that morning. Bree had an APB out on Jason Tanner and his red pickup truck, but Jamie had something better: access to military satellites.
No way in hell was he going to let the bastard get within striking distance of Bree again. Jamie needed to track him to his lair.
Jason would be staying somewhere close enough to swing by to see Bree, but not in town where Bree could run into him. Jamie made the whole south part of the county his target. The satellite identified ninety-six images of pickups the color, make and model Tanner was driving, information Eleanor had given the police after the vandalism on the front lawn.
Jason would be holed up in a motel, most likely, so Jamie went after those. He identified seven matching vehicles in motel parking lots and printed the list of addresses.
“I’m off to check on something,” he called out to the office in general as he stood from his desk.
Keith and Mo were on office duty, the rest of the team out on the border or following leads.
Mo looked up. “For the deputy?”
Jamie nodded.
“Let us know if we can help,” Keith put in, no teasing this time.
They’d all sworn to protect and serve, and the hit on defenseless women didn’t sit well with them.
“I appreciate it.” He walked out and made his way to his car. He had hours before he had to go back on duty again. Plenty of time to check the addresses on his list.
He first went to the nearest motel he had marked, drove around it, found a red pickup like the one he wanted in the back, but it wasn’t Tanner’s. This one didn’t have a scratch on it.
He was looking for one that had a smashed-in front grill, at least. Those unicorn statues had to have left their mark.
The next address didn’t pan out, either. The next after that didn’t have a red pickup. Whoever had it might have moved on already.
Jamie made note of that. He would come back if none of the others panned out. For now, he just wanted to do a quick rundown on his list.
He found what he was looking for at the Singing Sombreros Lodge half an hour later. Grill busted, hood dusty, the pickup was hidden in a narrow place between the lodge’s two main buildings, parked with its back to the road so the damage in the front wouldn’t be easily seen.
Jamie walked around it, tested the door, found it locked. He looked through the window. Nothing incriminating in sight. He could see nothing on the seats beyond fast-food bags and empty beer cans. He left the pickup and walked into the lobby of the main building, flashed his CBP badge.
“Do you have a Jason Tanner registered?”
The clerk, an older man, bald with a Santa Claus beard, scanned the computer screen. He had an antique banjo hanging on the wall behind him. “I’m sorry. I don’t see anyone with that name listed.”
“Do you know who has the red pickup?”
He frowned. “Some young guy.” He looked at his log. “Wait a minute. John Tansey. Here it is. I keep telling him to park that pickup in the lot whe
re it should go. He doesn’t listen.”
“Room number?”
“Is he in trouble?”
“Yes, he is.”
“The guy’s having a bad week, I guess. He hit a deer day before yesterday. Banged that nice truck right up. Didn’t even save the deer. He’s traveling, I suppose. Still, other people would have been happy to take all that venison off his hands. Don’t like no waste.” He shook his head mournfully. “Room sixty-eight.”
“Appreciate it.” Jamie looked down the hallway. “Place is full?” He didn’t think so, judging by the handful of cars in the lot, but better to double-check. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt. It’d be easier for him if the lodge was mostly deserted.
The old man shook his head. “Rodeo crowd cleared out yesterday.”
Jamie thanked him again then walked down the hallway toward room sixty-eight. He checked his weapon before he knocked. No response came, but he did hear movement in there, a chair scraping.
“Open up. Customs and Border Protection.”
He heard the window open inside. “Put your hands in the air! I’m coming in.” Gun in hand, he kicked the door in and caught a flash of a man’s back as he jumped out the window.
Jamie dashed across the room and jumped after him. He landed in some landscaping done with stones and cacti, his prosthetics unable to balance on the uneven ground with gravel rolling under his boots. He went down, but was up the next second.
Still, the time wasted added to Jason’s lead. He’d already made his way to his pickup and was behind the wheel and driving away, nearly running over Jamie as he ran in front of the car instead of taking a shot at it. He wanted this done without a fatality if he could help it. He and his team were supposed to keep a low profile.
He dove out of the way, rolled and jumped up and ran for his own car. He’d left it unlocked and the keys in the ignition just in case, which came in handy now. He was behind the wheel and after the man within a minute.
The lodge was on the edge of one of the dozens of small towns north of Hullett, the traffic sparse, a straight country road ahead of them. Tanner would have nowhere to go to get out of sight, nowhere to hide. It didn’t stop him from running.
The red pickup sped up, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, eighty. Jamie kept pace. They were up to ninety-five in another few minutes, Jason running cars that were in his way off the road.
Okay, he was putting other people’s lives at risk now. Jamie pulled out his weapon, but didn’t aim it at the back of Jason’s head.
Even if he wasn’t trying to keep a low profile, he only killed if it was an absolute necessity. Tanner wasn’t a trained soldier; he wasn’t a terrorist. He was a stalker with a mental disability. Catching him would take more work than simply taking him out, but Jamie wanted to give that a go first.
He waited until they came to a stretch of highway that was for the moment deserted save the two of them, then shot out the pickup’s back tire.
The vehicle spun almost immediately, went off the road, swerved all around, kicking up a dust cloud as it ran one wheel up a sizable rock that helped to flip it on its side, the tires still spinning as the pickup stopped at last.
Jamie ran his own SUV off the road and circled back, stopped a hundred feet or so from the wreck and got out, keeping his car between him and Jason until he measured up the situation. Jason had to be considered armed and dangerous.
“Come out with your hands in the air!” he called out.
Nothing happened.
“Customs and Border Protection. Come out with your hands in the air, Jason.”
But once again, Jason didn’t stir. As the dust settled, Jamie moved forward carefully, keeping his weapon aimed at the pickup, watching the cab and the driver’s-side door that now pointed skyward, the only possible exit point.
He went around until he could look in the front window. Jason lay flopped over, blood on his forehead. The smell of gasoline filled the air.
The ignition had to be shut off and fast.
Jamie rushed forward, but climbing up the pickup wasn’t easy. A long minute passed before he made it up on top. Then he needed both hands to pull the heavy door open, against gravity, seconds passing by during which the both of them could have been sent sky-high by an explosion.
He reached in and turned off the engine first before grabbing for the man. He got hold of an arm and started hauling him up. This was where legs that felt could have come in handy. Finding leverage was difficult like this, on a surface that was uneven, unstable and slippery.
“Come on. Wake up and push, dammit.” He gritted his teeth and pulled as hard as he could.
He’d had to decide at one point, after the depression, after he’d fought his demons, that he wasn’t going to let anything stop him, and he wouldn’t now. Not even when Jason’s shirt ripped and Jamie lost balance and fell back off the pickup, the fall rattling his tall frame and knocking the air right out of him.
He got back up and climbed again, this time making sure he got a better hold on the man. He got Jason out halfway, then all the way, lowered him to the ground, slipped down next to him then dragged him a safe distance from the gasoline fumes. On a hot day like this, the sun alone could be enough to ignite something.
“Hey, wake up.” He pulled up the guy’s eyelid to check his pupils.
And then the man was coming to at last, moaning as Jamie searched him.
No weapon.
“Where is your gun?”
Another moan came in response. Not altogether helpful.
Jamie swore. They were going to need the murder weapon. He wanted a conviction. He wanted to make sure the guy could never come after Bree again. So he ran back to the pickup, climbed back up again, down into the cab and looked for a gun.
Nothing.
Maybe Jason’s weapon was still at the hotel. Maybe in his rush to escape he didn’t have time to grab it. Or maybe he’d discarded it after the hit, thinking it’d served its purpose.
Did he even know that he’d hit the wrong woman?
Jamie scampered out of the overturned vehicle and went for Jason, who was sitting now and holding his head, still moaning. “Help.”
“Stay down.” He called Bree. “I got Tanner.” He gave his location and a brief explanation. Then he called 911 and asked for paramedics.
* * *
GRIEF AND ANGER swirled inside Bree as she watched from behind the two-way mirror as Delancy and another officer questioned Jason Tanner. He’d changed since she’d last seen him. He’d grown taller and filled out, and a five-o’clock shadow covered his face. He fidgeted on his chair, his eyes darting around the room. He was definitely off his meds. When he was taking them, he had an eerie sort of vacant look.
Since she was personally involved in the case, she couldn’t go in there. Conflict of interest. At least they had him. And she had Jamie Cassidy to thank for that. She could have kissed him when she’d caught up with him by the side of the road.
The paramedics had already been checking Jason out when she’d arrived. He was scraped up and shaken but hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. They’d pronounced him well enough to be taken in.
And now here they all were. Delancy didn’t pull her punches as she questioned him.
“I had nothing to do with that,” he whined. “My head’s hurting.”
Jason had admitted to the stalking and photos, even to the vandalism, within minutes. But he denied the shooting. Of course he would. He might have had some mental issues, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to admit to murder.
Bree itched to march in there and confront him. Eleanor was gone, dammit. For what? A decade-old obsession? If she was the crying type, she would have cried over the unfairness of it.
She pushed to her feet and might have barged in on the interrogation if Lena hadn’t opened the door and whispered, “We’ve got a problem.”
Bree hurried out to the hallway. “What is it?”
“Bank alarm just went off. Got a
cell-phone call, too. There’s someone at the new bank with explosives.”
Explosives. Bree stared at her. Seriously? Now? “A bank robbery?” She wanted to stay and watch the interrogation unfold.
“Don’t know. Sounds like it.”
Mercury must have been in retrograde. She glanced around the office, trying to pick who to take with her. There was nobody around. Brian and Delancy were with Jason. The others were out on calls. She couldn’t take Lena. Somebody had to stay and man the station.
The insanity never stopped. Welcome to a cop’s life. Well, she couldn’t complain. She was the one who’d chosen it. And she did love it. On most days.
Chapter Eleven
Her gaze landed on Jamie, who was coming out of the break room with a cup of steaming coffee, watching her.
He’d come in with Jason Tanner. She didn’t think he would have waited, but he had, apparently. And he’d heard everything Lena had said. He was walking straight toward them.
“Who’s your bomb expert?” he wanted to know.
“Pebble Creek is too small to have its own SWAT team or bomb squad. We call in the pros.” Bree nodded to Lena to do just that, then took off running for her car.
If she had to go alone, she had to go alone. Crime didn’t stop just because they were at full capacity.
But Jamie was running behind her. “Hang on, I’m coming.”
“Not your jurisdiction.” She should have stopped him, but she didn’t want to spend time arguing. She jumped into her car and took off for the bank, leaving him to do what he wished.
A cruiser was already waiting in front of the bank by the time she reached the building. Mike Mulligan’s. Then she saw him, a thirty-year veteran of the force, pushing bystanders back and making sure everyone was safe. Bree parked her own cruiser strategically, so the two would begin forming a barricade to take cover behind.
Jamie, pulling in behind her, did the same. He jumped out and ran toward her. “I can help if you need someone. I know something about explosives.”
Of course he did.
“Start evacuating the adjoining buildings,” she told Mike, then turned to Jamie. “All right. Fine. Stay back here. I might have to call for you.” Then she rushed forward in a low crouch toward the bank’s entrance.
