Читать книгу Threat of Exposure - Lynette Eason - Страница 10

After a quick stop by Brock’s apartment to throw some things into a small suitcase, the drive to Boot Hill, Texas, took approximately twenty minutes. Upon entering the small town with the sign proudly proclaiming their population to be 1,406, Brock eyed the woman sitting next to him.

She’d been on the phone most of the ride with a fellow Ranger. Levi someone. “How’s our guy in the hospital?” she asked. “Has he come out of the coma yet?”

Coma? Guy in the hospital? Brock shot her a brief glance which she ignored. Seems like she’d neglected to fill him in on a few details.

“Right,” she said. “Keep me in the loop, okay?”

She must have gotten an affirmative response because she said thanks and hung up. To Brock she said, “Sorry, that was my new captain, Ben Fritz.”

“Who’s in the hospital in a coma?” Brock asked.

“We’re not sure who he is.” Gisella reached down into the backpack she’d brought with her and pulled out a water bottle. She held it out to him and he refused. After she took a sip, she said, “We just know that he’s somehow involved with the Lions of Texas and his name is Quin Morton. We haven’t figured out his connection to the Lions yet, but we will. He was there when Captain Pike was murdered in his own home. Before Captain Pike died, we—the Ranger company—had gotten a text that Pike had something major to share with us. We were all to gather at his house so he could fill us in, but when we got there…” She paused and he glanced at her as he pulled into a parking spot in front of The Great Plate, the restaurant he’d heard had good home cooking.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

She cleared her throat. “When we got there, we found our captain dead and another man severely wounded. That man’s been in a coma ever since and we’ve had no luck tracking down who he is. We’re desperate for him to wake up and tell us who shot him and the captain. But so far, no luck.” She grimaced. “And to top that off, someone tried to kill him just a few weeks or so ago so he’s under 24/7 guard right now.”

“Ouch.”

She opened her door and climbed out. He saw her pull the edges of her heavy down coat tighter against her throat. He shivered in his own jacket as they moved toward the warmth of the restaurant. “And this is what you’ve been working on for the past several months?”

“That’s it. We’re making progress, finding clues here and there, but we just can’t seem to grab on to that final piece of information that will allow us to put it all together and capture the top guys.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know how you feel. I’ve been working the border down here for years, catching the small fish. I just can’t seem to get the information I need to catch the big dogs.”

“And then we’ve got the Alamo celebration coming up in March. Our company is part of the security detail and we believe someone is targeting that celebration for some reason.” She pulled the door open. “Hopefully the answer to that is somewhere in the info on the flash drive.”

As Gisella stepped inside, she breathed in the scents of veggies and coffee. And was that a roast she smelled? Her stomach growled. A sudden longing for her mother’s home cooking swept over her. Please, Lord, let us resolve our differences soon.

Brock stood behind her and for some reason, she was very aware of his presence. So much so that for a few seconds she didn’t realize the noise level in the restaurant had dropped to a dead silence.

Although there weren’t many customers—probably due to the lateness of the hour—all eyes present were focused on the newcomers. Gisella shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. She was used to people staring out of curiosity simply because of her uniform and the fascination people had with Texas Rangers.

However, these stares didn’t feel like that. They felt menacing. Surprised at her somewhat paranoid reaction, she let her eyes roam the restaurant again.

Nope, not paranoid. Unsmiling, stony faces looked back at her.

Then a man in a food-stained apron approached and handed them two menus. “Hey, I’m Angelo Luc—or Pop. I answer to both. Have a seat wherever you want, Krista’ll be around shortly to take yer order. You got here just in time. I’m closing up in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks.” Gisella gripped her menu and made her way over to a booth in the corner. Brock slid in across from her and gradually, the patrons turned their attention back to their meals.

She blew out a breath. “What was that all about?”

“Small town, new faces?” He gestured toward her badge. “A Ranger in town and they want to know why.”

Gisella flushed. “Maybe I should have changed and been a little less conspicuous. Then again, I’m not undercover and have nothing to hide.”

“After we eat, I suggest we find the sheriff and explain our presence. I’ve already met him a few times but he’ll want to know about you.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Brock picked up the menu. “So, what do you think? Lots of choices here.”

She lifted a brow. “All five of them? That qualifies as a lot to choose from?”

A grin slid across his lips and she felt her face flush for a different reason this time. He was teasing her. Then his eyes flickered as he glanced at his options on the menu. “Choices. I’ve made a lot of choices in life.”

“What kind of choices?”

“Right ones, wrong ones.” He smirked. “Seems like the wrong ones outweigh the right ones some days.”

Gisella blinked at his sudden flash of vulnerability. Where had that come from? But she knew what he meant. And because of that, she felt herself drawn to him. “I guess you have to pray about it and believe that God won’t steer you wrong.”

He pulled in a deep breath and studied her, his blue eyes piercing to her soul. “I haven’t prayed in a long time.”

More vulnerability. “Why not?” She couldn’t help it, she was curious about him.

He flushed as though he regretted bringing up the topic, then shrugged. “I guess I’ve just been so busy trying to catch the bad guys, I haven’t given God and prayer a lot of thought.”

“That’s understandable. I’ve been there.”

“But you’re not now?”

“No. God got my attention a few years ago. I finally realized I had to make the time to spend with Him, it wasn’t just going to magically happen.” She smiled, but didn’t elaborate further.

She’d been mad at God for a long time after the death of her brother, but had eventually made her peace with it. A story she would be happy to share with the man before her. Maybe when she knew him a little better, though. She couldn’t talk about it without tearing up. And after his doubtful comments about her superiors sending a woman down to work on this case, crying in front of Brock wasn’t going to happen.

Brock kept silent, then seemed to realize she wasn’t going to say anything else. He sighed. “Today when Lenny had that gun pointed at me and murder in his eyes…well, I have to say, I prayed.”

“Guess God still has work for you to do.”

“I guess.” His smile finally touched his eyes.

“Whew! Sorry it took me so long to get over here. Y’all ready?”

They looked up to find a young girl probably not much older than sixteen standing at the edge of the table, pen poised above her order tablet. Her blond ponytail swung behind her and her blue eyes smiled with her lips.

Brock smiled back at her. “I’ll take the special.”

Gisella shut her menu. “Make that two.”

“Country fried chicken, gravy, greens and cornbread. You got it.” She spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

Gisella let her eyes wander around the restaurant. Another young waitress worked the back tables. “Nice little place they have here. How did you find it?”

“A drug runner I arrested about a month ago was from here. He jumped bail and I was determined to get him back. I teamed up with a bounty hunter and we tracked him down. Found him holed up in his mother’s attic about two miles from here.”

“Probably part of the organization we’re trying to eliminate.”

“Now that wouldn’t surprise me.”

“So that’s when you met the sheriff?”

“One of the times. I come through here occasionally on business.”

The waitress came back and placed their drinks and a couple of straws on the table. Gisella took a sip of her water and leaned back. “You’re not a very by-the-book kind of guy, are you?”

“What makes you ask that?” he deadpanned.

She gave a short laugh. “Right.”

The food appeared on the table with a flourish and Krista asked them if they needed anything else. Gisella smiled at her. “No, this looks great, thanks.”

“Just holler if you need something then.”

“How old are you?” Gisella asked the girl.

“Sixteen.”

So, she’d guessed right. “You’re very good at this waitressing thing.”

The girl gave a giggle. “Thanks. I don’t normally work school nights, but two of the regular waitresses are out sick with the flu so…” She shrugged. “I told Pop—my grand-father—I’d help him.”

“Very kind of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not totally selfless. I like the money. Enjoy.” She flashed another smile and twirled back to the kitchen.

“At least she’s friendly,” Brock said after a bite of his chicken.

Gisella didn’t bother to answer as she tucked into her food.

The next ten minutes passed in relative silence as they both ate and tried not to let the stares from the remaining few customers faze them.

Gisella finally put down her fork and leaned back. “I’m stuffed. Reminds me of Mom’s cooking.” Cooking that she hadn’t had a lot of lately. But that was her fault.

“Where are you from?” Brock lifted his glass and took another drink.

“San Antonio. Well, my parents are from Mexico originally, but I was born in Texas.”

He smiled his thanks as Krista refilled their glasses then turned his focus on Gisella. “Did you bring that little black book in?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head and eyed him. “It’s in my bag.”

“I want to have another look at some of the other letters and numbers again.”

“Sure.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the book.

He took it, opened it and read aloud. “JZ, RP, QV. And the mixture of numbers and letters: 3149NJZ10724WRPQV. JZ, RP and QV could all be initials, maybe? As for the other symbols, it could be a safe combination written in code. Or the numbers could be someone’s birthday. 3149. Could that be March 1, 1949?”

“Possibly.”

“And 10724.”

“October 7th, 1924.”

“And look, the letters JZ are repeated in the string of letters and numbers as well as RP and QV.” Brock gave a frustrated grunt. “Could be anything.”

He turned the page. “Look at this list of numbers.”

“I know. I’m wondering if those are actually the dates and the numbers on the other page are something else.”

She studied the list.

Brock shook his head. “Doesn’t look like dates to me although I guess they could be.” He rubbed his chin. “This shouldn’t be that complicated. I think we’re making it harder than it is.” At her expression, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying all drug runners are stupid, but it looks like it made the rounds, passed from one member to the next. Surely they’d have to have some kind of common code or something so that whoever had the book could easily decipher it.”

Gisella tapped a finger against her lips. “Agreed, but it would have to be complicated enough so that if it fell into the wrong hands,” she wiggled her fingers at him, “such as yours truly, they wouldn’t have to worry about it being decoded.”

He grunted. “Okay. True.”

“And look at this.” She reached over, her fingers brushing his as she flipped the pages until she reached the back of the small book. Ignoring the wave of butterflies that took flight in her stomach when she touched him, she pointed. “Here are some symbols. This one takes up the whole page.”

“Weird.”

“I’m wondering if it’s some kind of land form. Could be a lake, but we had our forensics person run it through the computer database to see if it matched up with anything around this area. It didn’t.”

He flipped the page. “What’s this?” He referred to a series of lines that crisscrossed each other.

“Beats me.” She shrugged and sighed. “Another symbol we don’t have a clue about. We thought it might be a map of some roads. See the Y here? And here it almost looks like a U-turn that leads back to the main road leading from…well, from wherever it started. Our forensic people actually came up with a few possibilities, but when we checked them out, they were dead ends.”

His expression stilled and he closed the book in a casual move. “We have company.” His low voice snapped her from her calculated musings about the numbers, letters and symbols.

Glancing toward the door she saw three men in uniforms headed their way. Pulling her drink toward her, she relaxed and pasted a friendly smile on her face.

The three men took the table next to Gisella’s and Brock’s booth and the man who was obviously the sheriff leaned back in his chair and adjusted his hat. He placed his right ankle on his left knee and nodded in their direction. “Howdy, folks.”

“Hello,” Gisella answered. “Sheriff?”

“I am. Sheriff Kip Johnston.” He pointed to the man on his left. “Meet Niles Vernon, a Border Patrol agent working out of the Boot Hill border crossing station, and Chris Locke, one of my deputies.”

Gisella offered him a smile. “I’m Ranger Gisella Hernandez,” she said, “and this is Agent Brock Martin with the DEA. I think you two have met before. We were just saying we needed to come over to your office and let me introduce myself.”

Brock nodded his greeting and held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Sheriff.”

The sheriff and Brock shook hands. “Yep, I remember you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I haven’t had any more escapees who headed this way.”

Sheriff Johnston gave a small laugh.

Krista came by and took the men’s order then disappeared again.

Chris Locke settled into his chair then shot them a narrow-eyed look. “So let’s get right to it. What are you in town for? I mean Boot Hill’s so small you’d miss it if you blinked. What brings a Ranger and a DEA agent to our fair town?”

Gisella decided she wasn’t so sure she liked this deputy and focused her attention on the friendlier Niles Vernon and Sheriff Johnston. “We’re here investigating a possible connection with the Lions of Texas. Have you heard of them?”

The sheriff took a swig of his drink before saying, “Nope. Who are they?”

“We believe they’re responsible for a lot of things, the main one being the death of a fellow Ranger. We think our friend found out something about the Lions and they killed him.”

The sheriff winced. “Sorry to hear that.”

Gisella swallowed hard. She always got emotional when she thought about Captain Gregory Pike. She pushed her sadness away and said, “Anyway, we also believe they’re running drugs big time. These drugs are finding their way throughout the state of Texas and Boot Hill is a possible entry point from Mexico for them.”

Chris snorted. “Boot Hill’s not perfect and not crime-free, but we keep the drugs out. If they make it over the border, they get stopped here.” He shook his head. “The drugs spreading through Texas aren’t coming through Boot Hill.”

Instead of commenting, Gisella simply nodded. “What about you, Sheriff? Do you have any reason to believe these people are working out of Boot Hill?”

Before the sheriff could respond, Niles interrupted with an irritated look at Chris. “Regardless of what my buddy here thinks, it’s possible some drugs do get into Boot Hill. But Chris’s right about one thing, it would be mighty hard. We’ve got the Border Patrol station and we police the fence closely with agents and K-9s.”

The sheriff didn’t lose his scowl. He did raise a thoughtful brow. “In spite of Chris’s protests, we all know that in spite of our best efforts, the drugs slip through.”

“I will say that if it’s coming across—and I’m not saying it’s not—it’s coming across on somebody else’s watch,” Niles grunted.

“Not on mine.” Chris rolled his eyes, shrugged then gave a sneer. “And we don’t need some fancy-pants Ranger or DEA agent coming in and stirring up trouble.”

“Cool it, Locke,” Sheriff Johnston ordered softly.

Chris rolled his eyes, sat back and gave his recently delivered food his full attention.

Niles shot them an apologetic look.

Gisella wondered what the deputy’s problem was then decided to ignore it. “So, Sheriff, what do you say we team up and work together? I think if we’re sharing information and backing each other up, we’ll be able to find what we’re looking for a lot faster.”

“Work together, huh?”

“Well, we’re either working together or we’re not. To me the choice is a simple one.”

Sheriff Johnston stroked his chin while Chris Locke looked on. “This town isn’t so friendly to outsiders.”

Gisella felt one side of her mouth lift in a smile. “We noticed. Hopefully, if they see us cooperating with each other, they’ll warm up to us.”

Niles grunted and Chris ignored them.

Brock said, “We need a couple of hotel rooms. Got any suggestions?”

The sheriff smiled. “If you want to stay in Boot Hill, your only option is the Boot Hill Inn. You can walk to it from here if you don’t mind a little hike. They have twenty-two rooms total.”

“Any vacancies?”

“Guess you’ll have to go find out. But yeah, probably. We don’t get a lot of visitors except families needing a place to stay during the holidays. The Christmas rush is over so you’ll probably have your pick of the rooms.” He leaned forward and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So how long do you figure you’re going to be staying here?”

Gisella firmed her jaw and looked the sheriff in the eye. “As long as it takes.”