Читать книгу A Texas Christmas: True Blue / A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Diana Palmer - Страница 7

Rick and Gwen joined him at the window. Rick snapped a photo of the man across the street, using the telephoto feature, plugged it into his small computer and, using a new face recognition software component, compared it to the man he’d photographed.

“Positive ID. That’s him,” Rick said. “Let’s go get him.”

They ran down the steps, deploying quickly to the designations planned earlier by Rick.

The man, yawning and oblivious, stepped out onto the sidewalk next to a bus stop sign.

“Now,” Rick yelled.

Three people came running toward the stunned man, who started to run, but it was far too late. Rick tackled him and took him down. He cuffed his hands behind his back and chuckled as the man started cursing.

“I ain’t done nothin’!” he wailed.

“Then you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

The man only groaned.

“That was a nice takedown,” Gwen said as they cleared their equipment out of the rented apartment, after the man had been taken away by the patrol officer.

“Thanks. I try to keep in shape.”

She didn’t dare look at him. She was having a hard enough time not noticing how very attractive he was.

“You know,” he mused, “that was some fine shooting down at HQ.”

She beamed. “Thanks.” She glanced up. “At least I do have one saving grace.”

“Probably more than one, Cassaway.”

She shouldered her purse. “Are we done for the night?”

“Yes. I’ll input the report and you can sign it tomorrow. I snapped at my mother. I have to go home and try to make it up to her.”

“She’s very nice.”

He turned, frowning. “How do you know?”

“I came through Jacobsville when I had to interview a witness in that last murder trial,” she reminded him. “I had lunch at the café. It’s the only one in town, except for the Chinese restaurant, and I like her apple pie.” She added that last bit to make sure he knew she wasn’t frequenting his mother’s café just because she was his mother.

“Oh.”

“Has she owned the restaurant a long time?”

He nodded. “She opened it a couple of years before I was orphaned. My mother worked for her as a cook just briefly.”

Gwen nodded, trying to be low-key. “Is your mother still alive? Your biological mother?” she asked while looking through her purse for her car keys.

“She and my stepfather died in a wreck when I was almost in my teens. Barbara had just lost her husband and had a miscarriage the month before it happened. She was grieving and so was I. Since I had no other family, and she knew me, she adopted me.”

She flushed. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious.”

He shrugged. “Most everybody knows,” he said easily. “I was born in Mexico, in Sonora, but my mother and stepfather came to this country when I was a toddler and lived in Jacobsville. My stepfather worked at one of the local ranches.”

“What did he do?”

“Broke horses.” The way he said it was cold and short, as if he didn’t like being reminded of the man.

“I had an uncle who worked ranches in Wyoming,” she confided. “He’s dead now.”

He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Wyoming. But you’re from Atlanta?”

“Not originally.”

He waited.

She cleared her throat. “My people are from Montana, originally.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes, well, my parents moved to Maryland when I was small.”

“I guess you miss the ocean.”

She nodded. “A lot. It wasn’t a long drive from our house. But I go where they send me. I’ve worked a lot of places—” She stopped dead, and could have bitten her tongue.

His eyebrows were arching already. “The Atlanta P.D. moves you around the country?”

“I mean, I’ve worked a lot of places around Atlanta.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn’t always work for Atlanta P.D.,” she muttered, trying to backpedal. “I worked for a risk organization for a year or two, in the insurance business, and they sent me around the country on jobs.”

“A risk organization? What sort of work did you do?”

“I was a sort of security consultant.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie, either. She glanced at her watch as a diversion. “Oh, goodness, I’ll miss my television show!”

“God forbid,” he said dryly. “Okay. We’re done here.”

“It didn’t take as long as I expected,” she commented on the way out. “Usually stakeouts last for hours if not days.”

“Tell me about it,” he said drolly. “Is your car close by?”

She turned at the foot of the steps. “It’s across the street, thanks,” she said, because she knew he was offering to walk her to it. He was a gentleman, in the nicest sort of way.

He nodded. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

She turned and walked away. Her heart was pounding and she was cursing herself mentally. She’d almost blown the whole thing sky-high!

Barbara was her usual, smiling self, but her eyes were sad when Rick showed up at the door the night before he was due home.

“You said tomorrow?” she murmured.

He stepped into the house and hugged her, hard, rocking her in his arms. He heard a muffled sob. “I felt bad,” he said at her ear. “I upset you.”

“Hey,” she murmured, drawing away to dab at her eyes, “that’s what kids are supposed to do.”

He smiled. “No, it’s not.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Yes!” he said at once, pulling off his suit coat and loosening his tie as he followed her to the kitchen. He swung the coat around one of the high-back kitchen chairs at the table and sat down. “I’ve been on stakeout, with convenience-store coffee.” He made a face. “I think they keep it in the pot all day to make sure it doesn’t pass for hot brown water.”

She laughed as she made a fresh pot. “There’s that profit margin to consider,” she mused.

“I guess.”

“Did you catch a crook?”

“We did, actually. That new face recognition software we use is awesome. Pegged the guy almost immediately.”

“New technology.” She shook her head. “Cameras everywhere, face recognition software, pat downs at the airport …” She turned and looked at him. “Isn’t all that supposed to make us feel safer?”

“No, it’s supposed to actually make you safer,” he corrected. “It makes it harder for the bad guys to hide from the law.”

“I guess so.” She got out cups and saucers. “I made apple pie.”

“You don’t even need to ask. I had a hamburger earlier.”

“You live on fast food.”

“I work at a fast job,” he replied. “No time for proper meals, now that I’m in a position of responsibility.”

She turned and smiled at him. “I was so proud of you for that promotion. You studied hard.”

“I might have studied less if I’d realized how much paperwork would be involved,” he quipped. “I have eight detectives under me, and I’m responsible for all the major decisions that involve them. Plus I have to coordinate them with other services, work around court dates and emergency assignments … Life was a lot easier when I was just a plain detective.”

“You love your job, though. That’s a bonus.”

“It is,” he had to agree.

She cut the pie, topped it with a scoop of homemade ice cream and served it to him with his black coffee. She sat down across from him and watched him eat it with real enjoyment, her hands propping up her chin, elbows on the tablecloth.

“You love to cook,” he responded.

She nodded. “It isn’t an independent woman thing, I know,” she said. “I should be designing buildings or running a corporation and yelling at subordinates.”

“You should be doing what you want to do,” he replied.

“In that case, I am.”

“Good cooks are thin on the ground.” He finished the pie and leaned back with his coffee cup in his hand, smiling. “Wonderful food!”

“Thanks.”

He sipped coffee. “And the best coffee anywhere.”

“Flattery will get you another slice of pie.”

He chuckled. “No more tonight. I’m fine.”

“Are you ever going to take a vacation?” she asked.

“Sure,” he replied. “I’ve already arranged to have Christmas Eve off.”

She glared at him. “A vacation is longer than one night long.”

He frowned. “It is? Are you sure?”

“There’s more to life than just work.”

“I’ll think about that, when I have time.”

“Have you watched the news today?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“They had a special report about violence on the border. It seems that the remaining Fuentes brother sent an armed party over the border to escort a drug shipment and there was a shootout with some border agents.”

He grimaced. “An ongoing problem. Nobody knows how to solve it. Bottom line, if people want drugs, somebody’s going to supply them. You stop the demand, you stop the supply.”

“Good luck with that” She laughed hollowly. “Never going to happen.”

“I totally agree.”

“Anyway, they mentioned in passing that one of the captured drug runners said that General Emilio Machado was recruiting men for an armed invasion of his former country.”

“The Mexican Government, we hear, is not pleased with that development and they’re angry at our government because they think we aren’t doing enough to stop it.”

“Really?” she exclaimed. “What else do you know?”

“Not much, but you can’t repeat anything I tell you,” he added.

She grinned. “You know I’m as silent as a clam. Come on. Talk.”

“Apparently, the State Department sent people into our office,” he replied. “We know they talked to our lieutenant, but we don’t know what about.”

“State Department!”

“They do have their fingers on the pulse of foreign governments,” Rick reminded her. “If anybody knows what’s really going on, they do.”

“I would have thought one of those other government agencies would have been more involved, especially if the general’s trying to recruit Americans for a foreign military action,” she pondered.

His eyebrows arched.

“Well, it seems logical, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Actually, it does,” he agreed. “I know the FBI and the CIA have counterterrorism units that infiltrate groups like that.”

“Yes, and some of them die doing it,” Barbara recalled. She grimaced. “They say undercover officers in any organization face the highest risks.”

“The military also has counterterrorism units,” he replied. He sipped his cooling coffee. “That must be an interesting sort of job.”

“Dangerous.”

He smiled. “Of course. But patriotic in the extreme, especially when it comes to foreign operatives trying to undermine democratic interests.”

“Doesn’t the general’s former country have great deposits of oil and natural gas?” she wondered aloud.

“So we hear. It’s also in a very strategic location, and the general leans toward capitalism rather than socialism or communism. He’s friendly toward the United States.”

“A point in his favor. Gracie Pendleton says he sings like an angel,” she added with a smile.

“I heard.”

“Yes, we had that discussion earlier.” She was also remembering another discussion over the phone and her face saddened.

He reached across the table and caught her hand in his. “I really am sorry, Mom,” he said gently. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually like that.”

“No, you’re not.” She hesitated. She wanted to remark that it wasn’t until she asked about the lieutenant giving Gwen a rose that he’d gone ballistic. But in the interests of diplomacy, it was probably wiser to say nothing. She smiled. “How about I warm up that coffee?” she asked instead.

Gwen answered the phone absently, her mind still on the previews of next week’s episode of her favorite science fiction show.

“Yes?” she murmured, the hated glasses perched on her nose so that she could actually see the screen of her television.

“Cassaway, anything to report?”

She sat up straighter. “Sir!”

“No need to get uptight. I’m just checking in. The wife and I are on our way to a party, but I wanted to make sure things are progressing well.”

“They’re going very slowly, sir,” she said, curling up in her bare feet and jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt on her sofa. “I’m sorry, I haven’t found a diplomatic way to get him talking about the subject and find out what he knows. He doesn’t like me.…?”

“I find that hard to believe, Cassaway. You’re a good kid.”

She winced at the description.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Good woman. I try to be PC, you know, but I come from a different generation. Hard for us old-timers to work well in the new world.”

She laughed. “You do fine, sir.”

“I know this is a tough assignment,” he replied. “But I still think you’re the best person for the job. You have a way with people.”

“Maybe another type of woman would have been a better choice,” she began delicately, “maybe someone more open to flirting, and other things …”

“With Marquez? Are you kidding? The guy wrote the book on staunch outlooks! He’d be turned off immediately.”

She relaxed a little. “He does seem to be like that.”

“Tough, patriotic, a stickler for doing the right thing even when the brass disapproves, and he’s got more guts than most men in his position ever develop. Even went right up in the face of a visiting politician to tell him he was putting his foot in his mouth by interfering with a homicide investigation and would regret it when the news media got hold of the story.”

She laughed. “I read about that.”

“Takes a moral man to be that fearless,” her boss continued. “So yes, you’re the right choice. You just have to win his confidence. But you’re going to have to move a little faster. Things are heating up down in Mexico. We can’t be caught lagging when the general makes his move, you know? We have to have intel, we have to be in position to take advantage of any opportunities that present themselves. The general likes us. We want him to continue liking us.”

“But we can’t help.”

He sighed. “No. We can’t help. Not obviously. We’re in a precarious position these days, and we can’t be seen to interfere. But behind the scenes, we can hope to influence people who are in a position to interfere. Marquez is the obvious person to liaison with Machado.”

“It’s going to be traumatic for him,” Gwen said worriedly. “From the little intel I’ve been able to acquire, he has no idea about his connection to Machado. None at all.”

“Pity,” he replied. “That’s going to make it harder.” He put his hand over the receiver and spoke to someone. “Sorry, my wife’s ready to leave. I have to go. Keep me in the loop, and watch your back,” he added firmly. “We’re trying to get the inside track. There are other people, other operatives, around who would love nothing better than to see us fall on our faces. Other countries would do anything to get a foothold in Barrera. I don’t need to tell you who they are, or from what motives they work.”

“No, sir, you don’t,” she agreed. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“You always do,” he said, and there was faint affection in his tone. “Have a good evening. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir.”

She hung up the cell phone and sat staring at it in her hand. She felt a chill. So much was riding on her ability to be diplomatic and quick and discreet. It wasn’t her first difficult assignment; she was not a novice. But until now, she’d had no personal involvement. Her growing feelings for Rick Marquez were complicating things. She shouldn’t care so much about how it would hurt him, but she did. If only there was a way, any way, that she could give him a heads-up before the fire hit the fan. Perhaps, she thought, she might be able to work something out if she spoke to Cash Grier. They shared a similar background in covert ops and he knew Marquez. It was worth a try.

So Friday morning, her day off, Gwen got in her small, used foreign car and drove down to Jacobsville, Texas.

Cash Grier met her at the door of his office, smiling, and led her inside, motioning to a chair as he closed the door behind him, locked it and pulled down the shade.

She pursed her lips with a grin. “Unusual precautions,” she mused.

He smiled. “I’d put a pillow over the telephone if I thought there might be a wire near it. An ambassador’s family habitually did that in Nazi Germany in the 1930s. Even did it in front of the head of the Gestapo once.”

Her eyebrows arched as she sat down. “I missed that one.”

“New book, about the rise of Hitler, and firsthand American views on the radical changes in society there in the 1930s,” he said as he sat down and propped his big booted feet on his desk. “I love World War II history. I could paper my walls with books on the European Theatre and biographies of Patton and Rommel and Montgomery,” he added, alluding to three famous World War II generals. “I like to read battle strategies.”

“Isn’t that a rather strange interest for a guy who worked alone for years, except with an occasional spotter?” she asked, tongue in cheek. It was pretty much an open secret that Grier had been a sniper in his younger days.

He chuckled. “Probably.”

“I like history, too,” she replied. “But I lean more toward political history.”

“Which brings us to the question of why you’re here,” he replied and smiled.

She drew in a long breath and leaned forward. “I have a very unpleasant assignment. It involves Rick Marquez.”

He nodded and his face sobered. “I know. I still have high-level contacts in your agency.”

“He has no idea what’s about to go down,” she said. “I’ve argued with my boss until I’m blue in the face, but they won’t let me give Marquez even a hint.”

“I think his mother knows,” he said. “She asked me about it. She overheard some visitors from D.C. talking about connections.”

“Do you think she’s told him anything?”

“She might know that his mother was romantically involved with Machado at some point. But she wouldn’t know the rest. His mother was very close about her private life. Only one or two people even knew what happened.” He grimaced. “The problem is that one of the people involved had a cousin who married a high-level agent in D.C., and he spilled his guts. That started this whole chain of events.”

“Hard to keep a secret like that, especially one that would have been so obvious.” She frowned. “Rick’s stepfather must have known. From what little information I’ve been able to gather about his past, he and his stepfather didn’t get along at all.”

“The man beat him,” Grier said harshly. “A real jewel of a human being. It’s one reason Rick had so many problems as a kid. He was in trouble constantly right up until the wreck that killed his mother and stepfather. It was a tragedy that produced golden results. Barbara took him in, straightened him out and put him on a path that turned him into an exemplary citizen. Without her influence …” He spread his hands expressively.

Gwen stared at her scuffed black loafers. Idly, she noticed that they needed some polish. She dressed casually, but she liked to be as neat as possible. One day her real identity would come out, and she didn’t want to give the agency a black eye by being slack in her grooming habits.

“You want me to tell him, don’t you?” Grier asked.

She looked up. “You know him a lot better than I do. He’s my boss, figuratively speaking. He doesn’t like me very much, either.”

“He might like you more if you’d wear your damned glasses and stop tripping over evidence in crime scenes,” he said, pursing his lips. “Alice Mayfield Jones Fowler, who works in the Crime Scene Unit in San Antonio, was eloquent about the close call.”

Gwen flushed. “Yes, I know.” She pushed the hated glasses up on her nose, where they’d slipped. “I’m wearing my glasses now.”

“I didn’t mean to be critical,” he said, noting her discomfort. “You’re a long way from the homicide detective you started out to be,” he added. “I know it’s a pain, trying to relearn procedure on the fly.”

“It really is,” she said. “My credentials did stand up to a background check, thank goodness, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I let slip that my job involved a lot of traveling and Marquez wondered why, since I was apparently working for Atlanta Homicide.”

“Ouch,” he said.

“I have to remember that I’ve never been out of the country. It’s pretty hard, living two lives.”

“I haven’t forgotten that aspect of government work,” he agreed. “It’s why I never had much of a personal life, until Tippy came along.”

Everybody local knew that Tippy had been a famous model, and then actress. She and Cash had a rocky trip to the altar, but they had a little girl almost two years old and it was rumored that they wanted another child.

“You got lucky,” she said.

He shrugged. “I guess I did. I never could see myself settling down in a small town and becoming a family man. But now, it’s second nature. Tris is growing by leaps and bounds. She has red hair, and green eyes, like her mama’s.”

Gwen noted the color photo on his desk, with himself and Tippy, with Tris and a boy who looked to be in his early teens. “Is that Tippy’s brother?” she asked, indicating the photo.

“Rory,” he agreed. “He’s fourteen.” He shook his head. “Time flies.”

“It seems to.” She leaned back again. “I miss my dad. He’s been overseas for a long time, although he’s coming back soon for a talk with some very high-level people in D.C. and rumors are flying. Rick Marquez has no idea what sort of background I come from.”

“Another shock in store for him,” he added. “You should tell him.”

“I can’t. That would lead to other questions.” She sighed. “I’d love to meet my dad at the airport when he flies in. We’ve had a rough six months since my brother, Larry, died overseas. Dad still mourns my mother, and she’s been gone for years. I miss her, too.”

“I heard about your brother from a friend in the agency. I’m truly sorry.” His dark eyes narrowed. “No other siblings?”

She shook her head.

“My mother’s gone, too. But my dad’s still alive, and I have three brothers,” he replied with a smile. “My older brother, Garon, is SAC at the San Antonio FBI office.”

“I’ve met him. He’s very nice.” She studied his face. He was a striking man, even with hair that was going silver at the temples. His dark eyes were piercing and steady. He looked intimidating sitting behind a desk. She could only imagine how intimidating he’d look on the job.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” he queried.

“That I never want to break the law in your town.” She chuckled.

He grinned. “Thanks. I try to perfect a suitably intimidating demeanor on the job.”

“It’s quite good.”

He sighed. “I’ll talk to Marquez’s mother and plant clues. I’ll do it discreetly. Nobody will ever know that you mentioned it to me, I promise.”

“Least of all my boss, who’d have me on security details for the rest of my professional life,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t doubt he’d have me transferred as liaison to a police department for real, where he’d make sure I was assigned to duty at school crossings.”

“Hey, now, that’s a nice job,” he protested. “My patrolmen fight over that one.” He said it tongue in cheek. “In fact, the last one enjoyed it so much that he transferred to the fire department. It seems that a first-grader kicked him in the leg, repeatedly.”

Her fine eyebrows arched. “Why?”

“He told the kid to stay in the crosswalk. Seems the kid had a real attitude problem. The teachers couldn’t deal with him, so they finally called us, after the kicking incident. I took the kid home, in the patrol car, and had a long talk with his mother.”

“Oh, dear.”

His face was grim. “She’s a single parent, living alone, no family anywhere, and this kid is one step away from juvy,” he added, referencing the juvenile justice system. “He’s six years old,” he said heavily, “and he already has a record for disobedience and detention at his school.”

“They put little kids in detention in grammar school?” she exclaimed.

“Figure of speech. They call it time-out and he sits in the library. Last time he had to go there, he stood on one of the library tables and recited the Bill of Rights to the head librarian.”

Her eyes widened in amusement. “Not only a troublemaker, but brilliant to boot.”

He nodded. “Everybody’s hoping his poor mother will marry a really tough hombre who can control him before he does something unforgivable and gets an arrest record.”

She laughed. “The things I miss because I never married,” she mused, shaking her head. “It’s not an incentive to become a parent.”

“On the other end of the spectrum, there’s Tippy and me,” he replied with a smile. “I love being a dad.”

“It suits you,” she said.

She got to her feet. “Well, I have to get back to San Antonio. If Sergeant Marquez asks, I had to talk to you about a case, okay?”

“In fact, we really do have a case that might connect,” he said surprisingly. “Sit back down and I’ll tell you about it.”