White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (2 page)

D
al let
his hand slide off Emily’s shoulder as the door swung inward and Senator Green’s bulk filled the opening. Damn, he’d wanted one last second with her before going into this. She’d insisted on sleeping at her own house last night, which was reasonable enough, he guessed. Except, when he’d returned home, her absence created a huge sucking vacuum in his space. Ridiculous. He’d only met her but there was something different about how he felt about Em.

To be honest, he was always more than a little relieved when his women friends went home. Most of them overstayed their welcome, leaving him craving his privacy, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty trying to hurry them out the door. A man could only have so many early morning meetings. Thank goodness for brunch had always been his mantra. Suggest a fancy brunch on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and it seemed like an invitation, rather than what it was - an opportunity to gracefully get the woman out of his house.

After shaking her hand heartily and nodding to Dal, Senator Green pulled Emily farther into the room and Dal followed. The narrow hallway opened into a suite with a wall of windows that overlooked a service road and empty fields surrounding the airport. Two beige love seats faced each other, seemingly squared off for battle, with a low table placed between them that held a tray laden with pastries.

Jill Page rose and extended her hand to Emily. “Good to see you again, Ms. Patrick. Thanks for being prompt.” Emily nodded and sat in the spot Jill had indicated. Jill turned her attention to Dal and gave him what might pass for a warm smile if her eyes had received the memo. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Steeves,” she said, tilting her chin toward a sideboard where the Senator was pouring out coffee. “Would you like a cup?”

Dal nodded and strode forward to take the cup Senator Green had lifted in his direction. He passed it to Emily and turned back to the Senator who slanted a look at him while he poured.

“How is Anastasia, Senator?”

A broad smile creased the large man’s feature. “Couldn’t be better, Dal. She’s starting to crawl,” he said, placing a filled cup on a saucer and passing it to Dal. “We’d love for you to come and see her,” he continued. “Her mother - and I - will always be grateful to you for saving her from that fire.”

Dal ducked his head, sorry he’d brought it up, cursing himself for thinking it would be safe small talk. “Only doing my job, Senator,” he said, stepping sideways to the love seat where Jill motioned him to sit next to Emily.

The Senator cleared his throat as he joined them, folding his large frame into a spot next to Jill. “We hope you got some well-deserved rest over the weekend,” he said. Dal glanced over at Emily who nodded. “And we want to say, again, what a great job you did Ms. Patrick, bringing Dal back home safely.”

Dal glanced over at Emily. Pink tinged her cheeks. “Just my job,” she mumbled.

“Modesty is a virtue, Patrick, but let’s be clear about this. It was your first mission, you were thrown into a difficult situation, and you came out smelling like a rose.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Emily protested, nodding in Dal’s direction.

“Yes, of course,” Jill said, “that’s why you’re both here. Because you worked together so well.”

“Good,” the Senator interrupted, clapping his hands on his thighs. He turned and gave Jill a slight nod. “We’ll get right down to business then. Jill will take it from here, bring you up to speed on what we need from you.”

Jill placed her coffee on the table and indicated the pastries. Dal was tempted but his mouth was so dry the thought of eating put him off. He passed the plate towards Emily. She shook her head.

“When Jack first sent you to Mexico, it was under the authority of the State Department, the US Embassy. What we’re asking you to do now - both of you - will come under my direct authority with the National Security Agency.” Jill’s eyes slid from Dal to Emily.

“So Jack works with the Embassy or with the NSA?” Emily asked.

“The NSA,” Jill said. “Everything we discuss in this room is top secret. If you have any doubts about proceeding, now is the time to say so.”

“Before we know what you need from us?” Dal asked, glancing at Senator Green, then back to Emily.

“I’m in,” Emily said.

“Steeves?” Jill asked.

Dal caught Emily’s eye. “Really?” he said. “With no background information?”

Em dropped her voice to a whisper. “I want to get Jack.”

He turned his gaze back to Jill. “Fine. I’m in.”

“As you know,” Jill said, “we have an operation in place at the safe house near Las Flores.”

An image flooded Dal’s mind of the barn at the ranch with the small room full of weapons and the other room beside it clearly used for torture. He struggled to keep all expression from his face.

“Our main guy down there is Jack—”

“But, Jack is working with them, not for us,” Emily blurted out.

Jill put her palm up. “Hear me out, Ms. Patrick.”

Emily leaned back slightly, a knot forming between her brows. Dal reached his hand toward her, thought better of it, and placed his hand on his thigh, fingers twitching to comfort her.

“Jack is working with the cartel there,” Jill continued, “undercover. It’s a dangerous situation.”

“Are you sure he’s even alive?” Emily asked. “The last we heard, his thugs had beaten and abandoned him somewhere in the
campo
.”

With a curt nod, Jill continued. “We know he’s alive. He’s been in contact. How much did you see at the ranch?”

“Enough to know it’s more than a safe house,” Dal said.

“Right,” Jill said, fiddling with her laptop. She turned the screen toward Dal and Emily and they leaned forward.

“Here’s a schematic of the ranch. You were in the house,” she said pointing, “and the barn. And I believe, also in the mines.” She traced her finger away into the hills. “But,” she tapped the screen, “I don’t think you were able to access this building.”

“It was locked and the windows were boarded,” said Emily, clearly intrigued.

“It was old company store from when this site was an operating mine. Now this building houses enough arms and weapons to start a small war.”

“Shit,” said Dal, shifting in his seat.

“A war?” asked Emily.

“We’ve known for some time now,” continued Jill, “that the cartel is stock-piling arms. In fact, under Jack’s supervision, they’re buying from the US.”

Dal’s jaw dropped and he turned toward Emily. “You mean, from someone in the US?”

“No, I mean the US government is providing arms to the Mexican cartel.”

“Fuck,” Dal huffed out, barely under his breath.

“It’s complicated,” interrupted the Senator, “and we’ll brief you fully. But it looks like Jack’s cover may have been compromised and we need you,” he looked from Emily to Dal, “both of you, to go down there and bring him back.”

“But not before—”, cut in Jill.

“Right,” said Green, “not before they take delivery of their next shipment.”

Emily leaned forward, tapping her nails on the edge of the table. “When’s their next shipment?”

“In two days.” Jill turned her head as a knock came at the door to the adjoining room. Dal hadn’t noticed the door earlier, but he did catch the furtive glance that passed between the Senator and Jill when the NSA boss rose, crossed the room and flung the door open.

Jill tipped her chin to acknowledge the new arrival and moved to the side. A tall man, rail thin, stepped into the room. Dal guessed him to be about the same age as Jack. His eyes scanned each face until he landed on Emily’s.

On the love seat beside him, Emily gasped. Dal turned to see all color drain out of her face.

L
uis stared
up into the cab of the Peterbilt truck. The driver glared back at him as if he were the devil incarnate, holding his gaze a beat longer than was comfortable, then threw the door open and jumped down into the dust beside him.

He stalked along the side of the enormous wheels to a small track of shade at the back of the truck and leaned against the large doors, leaving Luis no choice but to follow. Sticking a cigarette in his mouth, he struck a match, lit it, then met Luis’s eyes. “What’s the plan now?”

Luis shrugged his shoulders. “He wants the shipment to go through.”

“Impossible. You said the guy wasn’t there.”

“I know what I said. I’m telling you what
he
said. The shipment has to go through.”

“What the fuck, Luis?” The large man loomed over him, fists clenched. “You think I’m taking this through the border without some safeguards in place? I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life rotting in some fucking US prison.”

Luis toed the ground with his boot. “Pretty sure they’d send you back to Mexico. You’d be in prison down there.”

“
Cabrón
,” shouted the driver. He got right down in Luis’s face and spit out each word carefully. “I. Am. NOT. Going to Prison. Not here, not in Mexico. Not. At. All. You can find someone else to drive this shipment over.” He moved swiftly back toward the hydraulic housing that coupled onto the trailer and grabbed the wrench hanging off the back of the cab.

“Not a good idea,” Luis said. He placed his hand on the man’s upper arm. He barely made contact before the driver shook it off. “Look, I know this is a tough spot, but we’ve done it before.”

“Not with me you haven’t.” He fitted the wrench to the connector for the electrical hose to uncouple the trailer from the cab.

Edging his body between the cable housing and the driver, Luis looked up into his face. One last attempt at reason and then he’d have to take a stronger stance. “They’ll trick out the truck, put every precaution in place.”

The driver shook his large head, it swayed slowly back and forth over his massive shoulders, the heavy wrench so close to Luis’s face that he almost lost ground.

But he stood firm.

“I don’t need to tell you what could happen to your family if you don’t finish this job.”

“Fuck you, Luis,” he grunted, eyes blazing black. “You leave my family out of it.”

“This isn’t about me or you. This is about the boss.”

A slow reckoning dawned in the driver’s eyes and anger hissed out of him like a giant deflating Macy’s parade balloon. He hooked the wrench back onto the cab and gritted his teeth. “Why not wait to go over when the right guy is on duty?”

“Deadline.” Luis shrugged. He knew it was an impossible position.

“Then at least a few hours until the evening?”

“Peak hours are best. Boss said we have two hours to get this truck rolling southbound.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “Where we gonna do this thing?”

“I’ll lead you over to the garage,” Luis said, turning on his heel and letting out a sigh of relief.

* * *

T
he driver geared
down as he came up on the long line of trucks snaking along the highway at least a mile from the border checkpoint. At this time of day, he knew he could settle in for a good long wait of probably several hours. He let the engine idle, cranked up the AC and grabbed his tablet to watch a movie. Anything to keep his mind off what he might be faced with at the border.

For some reason, his kid had loaded an old Jack Black movie, ‘Nacho Libre.’ It opened about halfway through, with Jack dressed as a
luchadora.
He watched it for a few minutes, but his kids must have watched that movie over a hundred times and he couldn’t stomach it again. He scrolled into his password-protected folder and chose some porn. Something about a plumber and a hotel owner. Eye candy and the plot wasn’t really what interested him, not like those assholes who used to say they bought Playboy for the articles. Who were they kidding?

He wanted to call his wife except there was no point. If he told her anything, she’d worry. If he didn’t tell her something, she’d be pissed off and complain that he never told her anything. He couldn’t win. She was tough, like his mother had been tough with his father, but he loved her. She’d given him a good home, healthy kids, and more happiness - and grief - than a lot of men ever see in their lifetimes.

If he ended up in prison on this side of the border, he’d be screwed. At least south of the border, she’d be able to visit, bring him tortillas and the occasional chicken. The thought of never sitting in the shade of the enormous mesquite tree behind their house on a Sunday afternoon with his family surrounding him, enjoying a plate of her famous
chile rellenos
and fondling her knee under the table, filled him with sadness. He turned up the chicka-boom music and tried to focus on the movie.

The crawl to the checkpoint seemed endless but after two quick movies, three cokes and half a ham sandwich, the checkpoint was in sight. He checked his watch - not bad considering the average time it took to cross the Tijuana border.

Despite the cool air blasting out of the vents, sweat drenched his shirt, his back sticking to the seat. He prayed to all the saints that he could think of, and there were quite a few, that whatever they’d done to the truck would be enough.

With expert precision, he pulled the truck up beside the agent, rolled down his window and pushed his sunglasses to his forehead. Things seemed to go better when they could see your eyes. “Hot day,” he said.

The agent tilted his chin. “Destination?”

“San Felipe.”

“What’re you transporting?”

“Shipment of utensils.”

“Utensils?”

“Yeah, knives, forks, spoons. The sets they sell at the grocery store for promotions.”

The agent nodded and waved him through, eyes already on the next truck in line.

Rolling the truck forward, he kept an eye on the light ahead. Two semis in front, one with a trailer and one not, got the green. He held his breath. Green flashed for him, too. He resisted the urge to look over into the Inspection Area, dropped the truck into gear, and let out a long, loud huff of relief.