Betrayal on the Border

“He’s divorced. Lives alone,” Chris informed Maddie as they parked in front of a dinky rambler wedged between a colonial and a Southwestern-style stucco home.

He walked up to the front door while Maddie disappeared into the darkness.

Standing on the stoop, Chris’s insides clenched. “Maddie?”

“Yo,” she answered out of the shadows.

“Something’s not right here. The front door is ajar.”

“Don’t touch anything.” She appeared beside him. “Step to the side of the door like you’ve seen in all the cop shows and call the guy’s name.”

He did as he was told while she stood with her back pressed to the wall on the other side of the door. Silence answered Chris’s call. The heavy stillness stole his breath. What was that faint metallic smell?

Maddie sniffed. “Blood,” she murmured, answering his question. “Stay back.” She moved in front of the door, gun at ready angle, then shoved the door wide with her shoulder and clicked on her flashlight.

A man’s body sprawled, faceup, in the foyer. Beside one wide-flung arm lay a paperback novel with a thin scrap of colorful cardstock paper on the floor nearby. The other hand clutched what looked like a matching scrap in its fist. Gunpowder speckled the man’s slack face around a black hole in his forehead. The blood they’d smelled spread in a crimson pool beneath the body’s head.

Bile burned the back of Chris’s throat. Agent Edgar Jackson wouldn’t be answering any questions.

THREE

Death. Maddie’d had her fill of it, but here it lay again, staring with sightless eyes. She suppressed an internal shiver.

A distant sound brought her head up. Sirens.

She grabbed Chris’s arm. He stood mesmerized by the body. She shook him.

“We’ve got to go. Someone has called the cops. Maybe a neighbor heard the shot. That blood’s fresh. The killing couldn’t have happened more than a few minutes ago.”

Chris turned a fierce blue gaze on her. “He was silenced because we were coming for answers.”

“Maybe. Or else he stepped on some dealer’s toes because of his job. We don’t have time for debate right now. And I sure don’t want to discuss the issue with the police if they arrive to find us standing over a dead DEA agent.”

“What’s that in his hand?” He pointed at the scrap Edgar Jackson clutched in his fist.

“What difference does it make?” Chris’s reporter curiosity was going to land them in a cell at the local jail, sitting ducks for their enemies.

He broke free of her grip on his arm and bent over the body.

“Come on!” Those sirens were getting scary close.

“All right. All right.” He waved at her but didn’t move or look up.

She clicked off the flashlight. “Enough sleuthing, Sherlock. We’re out of time.”

He let out a disgusted snort, rose, and charged out the door ahead of her.

“Finally!” she muttered and followed him toward the car. “I’m driving.”

He piled into the passenger seat. She slid on her rear across Ginger’s hood, then took her place at the wheel. Lights off, she skimmed the Cutlass away from the curb. Within seconds the units would be in view of the house. She took the first available turn. No! A cul-de-sac. Wait! What was that? A dirt drive angled off through a vacant lot between a pair of the houses. Maddie turned onto it.

The drive petered out behind the neighborhood at the edge of an open field. Maddie applied the brakes and studied the situation. The full moon revealed a couple of large pieces of machinery hunkered to their left, and directly ahead, a swath of excavation possibly several feet deep and a few car-lengths wide. A new subdivision was about to be born. Multiple sirens chorused not more than a stone’s throw distant.

She looked toward her passenger and sensed more than saw his return gaze.

“I’m game for the next move. Your call,” he said.

Maddie’s heart expanded. Chris was bold as any ranger, smart enough to know he wasn’t one, and too comfortable in his manhood to be threatened by ranger skills in a female package. A rare combination, as she’d had cause to learn from a few dating fiascos. Not that she had the least interest in romance with a reporter who was playing her for the sake of a story, especially when he might have had a pivotal hand in the deaths of her brothers-in-arms.

Maybe he was tricked into betraying their location.

She batted away the feeble excuse. Either Chris Mason was a full-on traitor or he had phenomenal luck, surviving both the attack at the Rio Grande and the attempt on his life at the hotel.

“Have you ever watched any reruns of that old show Dukes of Hazzard?” she asked.

“One of my dad’s favorites.”

“The General Lee’s got nothing on Ginger.”

“Which am I? Bo or Luke Duke?”

“Take your pick. I’m Daisy. Tighten your seat belt.”

She threw Ginger in Reverse, took her back a few yards and then opened her up. The engine’s purr rose to a growl. The landscape rushed toward them to be gobbled beneath the Oldsmobile’s tires. The rough terrain chattered her teeth together. Then they went airborne, and the bottom fell out of Maddie’s stomach.

“Yeee-haaa!” Her passenger’s rebel yell brought a grin to her face. He looked more like Luke, but evidently he’d decided to be Bo.

The wheels met terra firma, and Maddie’s head grazed the roof. Pressure steady on the accelerator, they zipped across the remainder of the field, bumped over a curb and hit pavement. Maddie cramped the wheel to the right and fishtailed them onto a residential street.

“We made it!” Chris’s grin came through in his voice. “If there’s anything fun about this situation, that was it.”

“That was nothing. You should try flying over a hill on a dirt bike.”

“Anytime.”

“It’s a date.”

The breath stalled in Maddie’s throat. Why had such intimate terminology escaped her mouth? Maybe because this was the way they had bantered in the days of excitement leading up to what should have been a resounding victory in the war on drugs. Before her world got blown up and everyone became a suspect. She stole a glance toward the shadowed figure of her passenger. His gaze faced straight ahead, and he had the good sense not to respond to her quip.

The first time she’d seen Chris her team had been debarking from their air transport at the secret training facility in the Arizona desert. Their orders were simple and straightforward, just the way the army liked it. Her team was to meet with a handpicked task force of DEA agents and Mexican federales, forge a plan, then go after the Ortiz Cartel, capture whoever would surrender, and those who wouldn’t—well, they had the sanction of two governments to wipe them out like the nest of vipers they were. But then this reporter was thrust into their midst.

The day preparation began, Maddie had leaped from the chopper, full pack on her back, and trotted behind her commanding officer toward the underground bunkers that would house them for the duration of their planning and training. Chris had been standing in his shirtsleeves next to his stocky cameraman, watching her unit pass, coffee-colored hair whipping every which way in the airstream from the whirling helicopter blades. His deep blue stare had collided with hers, sending sparks to her toenails.

The team CO had nearly blown a gasket when he discovered the bureaucrats upstairs had saddled them with a civilian reporter to document their activities from start to finish. But Chris had refused to back down in front of a man whose bark sent chills down the backs of hardened G.I.s, and he’d won a smidgeon of grudging respect. Then he threw himself into whatever was on the docket, even attempting some of the grueling training activities. Sometimes he didn’t do half bad, other times he made a complete fool of himself with good grace, earning more respect.

By the time their final orders came through, Chris was accepted by the hodgepodge strike team of rangers, Mexican law enforcement personnel and DEA agents as nearly one of their own. Then they were moved to a top-secret bivouac on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande, poised to strike the very next day...except the cartel had been tipped off to their location and descended with high-tech weaponry that used to be available only to the military of legitimate governments.

The cartel considered itself an authority of its own, superseding the civil governments. They made their own rules and broke them at will, and either coerced or bought cooperation from everyone necessary to conduct their slimy international trade. Had Chris been bought before or after he wormed his way into the good graces of her team?

What if he’s innocent? The question echoed in her mind and sucked her breath away.

The longer they were thrown together, the more her conviction about his betrayal weakened and the stronger her attraction toward this way too charming man grew. Coward! She flinched at her mental blast toward herself. The brave men and women who died at the Rio Grande deserved better than her vacillation. But didn’t she deserve a chance at happiness with someone she could love and trust?

Futility gripped her by the throat. What she wanted and what she could have always seemed like opposite things.

* * *

The pink rays of dawn roused Chris from a fitful slumber. He blinked his eyes open. They were parked in a far corner of a Walmart lot, trying to grab a few z’s.

He looked toward Maddie, snoozing in the driver’s seat. Her head leaned against her side window. The sun’s beams outlined her profile, so delicate and fine for such a tough woman. Maddie didn’t think of herself as beautiful, but she was. Not in the classic sense, but Barbie-doll looks didn’t interest him. He liked the strong, clean lines of her nose and jaw and the graceful length of her neck beneath the seashell curve of her ear. And that mouth. His dreams weren’t always about blood and death. Sometimes—for just an instant—he tasted those full, firm lips.

What would it be like to taste them for real?

Forget it, buddy! But the heart was a rebellious organ and resisted his stern command.

Maddie stirred and lifted her head. She met his gaze. He smiled, but she grimaced and rolled her jaw.

“My mouth is so dry it thinks we must be back in the Iraqi desert.”

“Texas in the summertime isn’t much better. Good thing it cools off at night, or we’d be roasting right now.”

She gave him a stare that questioned his sanity. “Have you ever been in Iraq?”

“I haven’t had the privilege. I’m not a foreign correspondent.”

“One hundred twenty in the shade makes a Texas summer feel like a day at the spa.”

Chris chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to cancel my vacation plans to Baghdad.”

She shook her head with a muted smile. A low rumble carried to Chris’s ears, and her face turned pink.

Maddie pressed a hand to her abdomen. “I’m hungry, as well as dry.”

“Ditto.”

They went into the Walmart to freshen up in the bathrooms. Chris caught up with Maddie browsing in the produce section.

“What do you want for breakfast?” She hefted a peach. “These look awesome to me.”

Chris took the fruit from her and set it in the bin. “I may not be a soldier but I need some he-man sustenance in a sit-down restaurant.”

Her brow puckered. “What about keeping a low profile? Someone could recognize you, and then our enemies would have a read on our location.”

Chris shrugged. “After last night’s visit to Agent Ramsey, they already know I’m in town—or soon will. The guy will hardly keep our presence a secret, and the news will filter through the system pretty quickly. Besides, anyone could recognize my televised mug anytime, anywhere...even standing in a store like this.”

Maddie’s gaze swept the area, and she heaved a breath. “Roger that, but we’ll have to stay on the move so we can’t be pinned down.”

“Uh...Roger that.” He grinned. “Now how about a rib-sticking breakfast?”

They adjourned to a restaurant down the road.

“What next, Sherlock?” she asked as the waitress withdrew from delivering cups of stout black coffee.

Chris pulled the colorful scrap of card stock from his jeans pocket.

Her narrowed gaze focused on what he held in his hand. “You didn’t!” The words spat out through gritted teeth.

Chris’s neck warmed. “I’m a reporter. Digging is what I do.” At least if he talked to her about this in a public place she couldn’t murder him, could she?

“At a crime scene?” Her voice rose to a muted screech.

He leaned toward her across the table. “Advertise to the world, will you?”

She crossed her arms on a huff, a mulish set to her jaw. Fortunately, they were seated a good distance from any other patrons. The restaurant wasn’t busy this early in the morning.

“It was an instinctive move,” he said. “I snatched the stray piece from the floor, not the other half in the dead guy’s hand. We needed to leave, but if this scrap of paper can lead us closer to the truth, isn’t it worth the risk?”

“Taking anything from a crime scene could put us behind bars.” Her words emerged low but sharp. “Not that we’d ever have the opportunity for a trial. As stationary targets, we won’t survive that long.”

“What if taking this could keep us from getting dead? I don’t want either of us to add to the body count.”

“You really think Jackson was killed to keep him from talking?”

“Don’t you?”

She canted her head and seconds passed. “Maybe,” she conceded.

“It’s too big of a coincidence for this journalist to swallow that within an hour after we confront one of the DEA planners of our intended assault on the cartel, the other planner is dead and left for us to find.”

“Do you think someone meant for us to take the rap for the killing?”

“Me, anyway. Hopefully, they don’t yet realize we’re a team.”

Her expression shuttered as her gaze focused on her coffee cup. Did she object to his use of the word team? The term implied trust and interdependence.

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. “Whoever planned the betrayal of our coalition forces is very smart. Since we’re both known to be alive, and we’ve disappeared at the same time, it’s a fair guess this person suspects we’re together.”

“Suspecting and knowing are two different things.”

“We need to listen to the news and find out what they’re saying about the murder.”

“That and visit the nearest library.”

“A library?”

“The novel on the floor beside Agent Jackson was a Western, but he was marking his place with this bookmark promoting a memoir about the Vietnam War. A lot of soldiers came out of that war either addicted to drugs and/or savvy about drug distribution. Maybe the author has some connection to what happened on the Rio.”

Maddie frowned. “I doubt the connection could be that simple or direct. I mean, Jackson would have had all of a few seconds after he opened his front door to realize he was going to die. By what coincidence would he be holding a bookmark promoting a book written by his killer?”

“I can’t answer that question...yet.”

Maddie shrugged. “A slim lead is better than no lead.”

Get a lid on your enthusiasm, would you? Chris contented himself with thinking his frustration rather than speaking it aloud. Just as well. The waitress was approaching with their breakfasts. A gurgle from his stomach welcomed the savory smells of bacon, hash browns, fried eggs and pancakes. He winced toward Maddie’s choice of whole-grain toast, a fruit cup and a veggie omelet.

“You’ve been busy in the past year,” she said as she snagged a piece of omelet with her fork.

He raised his eyebrows toward her, and a flush worked its way from beneath her collar onto her cheeks.

She lifted her chin. “I mean you’ve gone after more stories than this one since last we met. You didn’t spend all your time looking for me.”

Chris savored a bite of hash browns then leaned back in his chair. “My hunt for you was private—on my own time. The station had plenty of what they considered new news for me to investigate and report.”

“Like the David Greene case?”

Ah, so that’s where this conversation was going. The lurid business of a Texas oil millionaire under suspicion of strangling his girlfriend had dominated the airwaves for quite some time. Too long, in his opinion.

“You followed that one, did you?” He drizzled syrup onto his pancakes, keeping half an eye cocked toward his companion.

Her stare skewered him. “I thought it was very interesting that your segments were the only ones that left room to believe the louse might be innocent.”

“You have something against unbiased media coverage?”

“I have something against killers getting away with murder just because they’re rich and can hire slick lawyers.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“It’s what everybody thinks happened...except you! What fries my goose is that Greene didn’t end up charged with anything, even though he was found in the same room with the dead body.”

“Passed out cold, I might remind you.” Chris wagged his fork at her.

Maddie sniffed. “So the booze and pills knocked him out after he went nuts on his girlfriend.”

He laid down his fork and crossed his arms over his chest. “David Greene was tried and convicted in the court of public opinion, but it might do the public good to realize that there could be a reason why he was never formally charged.”

“Insufficient evidence. Blah. Blah.” She wrinkled her nose and took a swig of her orange juice. “I suppose it’s just as well that they wait to haul the slime into court until they have a case that will convict...if that ever happens.”

“I’ll be happy if enough evidence is uncovered to convict the right person—whoever that may be. Even David himself is unsure what happened that night.”

“David? First-name basis, huh? I noticed you were the only reporter Greene would allow to interview him. Huge coup for your network. You’re all about grabbing those.”

Chris frowned. She was back to needling him with her suspicions about his career-building motives for tracking her down.

She leaned toward him. “Do you have some sort of inside track with this creep?”

“If you must know,” he said on a sigh, “Davie Greene was a hooligan who lived in the same town as me when I was a snot-nosed kid. Way before his Apache grandfather died and left him a swatch of sand and cactus that turned out to be floating on a lake of oil. We went to the same elementary school. David was a wild child, but one thing I remember about him, he couldn’t tolerate anyone picking on girls or weaker kids. He ended up with more bloody noses than I can count from standing up to bullies who were tormenting other children. We weren’t close friends or anything, but I rather admired his rowdy gallantry.”

A sharp chuckle left her lips. “So this candidate for knighthood grew up, got rich quick and power corrupted his saintly character.”

“Saintly? Hardly. Just an underdog who defended underdogs.”

“And who you happened to know from back in the day. Lucky break for you and World News.”

Chris bit back angry but useless words. There was a lot more to the story, but nothing that stood much chance of changing her opinion of him or David. How could he explain that he owed it to his network, as well as the natural-born newsman inside him, to pursue stories how and where they were presented? But that didn’t negate his personal quest for answers about the Rio Grande Massacre, regardless of whether or not he was ever credited with another word of the coverage. Fat chance she’d put any stock in his higher motives when she saw him as someone who would take advantage of a personal connection with a killer in order to bolster his career and boost his network’s ratings.

Uneasy silence fell between them, and they both attacked their food like it was a mutual enemy. As they finished their breakfasts, Maddie’s head lifted, and her gaze fixed on something beyond his shoulder.

“Don’t turn to look,” she said softly, “but we’ve got company on your six.”

“My six?” Oh, yes, that meant behind him in military-speak. Chris swiveled his head and caught his breath. A pair of uniformed police officers were striding through the front door of the restaurant. He quickly turned back toward Maddie. “Cops!”

Her gaze held stern reproach. “I told you not to look.”

“I’m a reporter. I’m trained to look anywhere someone tells me not to look.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Where are they now?”

“Heading for us like we’re a pair of homing beacons.” Her face went grim. “You’d better hope they don’t arrest us on the spot. Forget a charge of tampering with a crime scene. What you’ve got in your pocket will convict us of murder in any court of law.”

FOUR

Maddie stared at the morsels remaining on her plate as doom trod closer...closer. Her muscles tensed and tingled into combat mode. Clearly, her body wasn’t getting the memo from her common sense. There was no way she could resist arrest.

Even if submitting to lockup meant certain death?

The policemen reached their table and strode past with scarcely a glance in their direction. Maddie’s head went light as a helium balloon. Then she remembered to breathe.

Chris sent her a wicked grin. “Don’t look now, but the officers have taken a table on your six. Guess they’re here for breakfast like the rest of us law-abiding citizens.”

Maddie scowled. “Let’s get out of here while the getting is good.”

She began to swivel out of her chair, but a shadow loomed over them and froze her in her seat. One of the officers. Her throat closed against an involuntary squeak.

The stocky man gazed down at them—well, at Chris anyway—thick brows drawn together. “Excuse me, but would you be Christopher Mason from World News?”

Chris leaned back in his chair and answered the man’s stare with a steady, cool expression. “That would be me. What can I do for you, officer?”

Maddie’s teeth ground together. If Chris possessed this level of acting ability, she was right to suspect he could be hiding his complicity in the Rio Grande Massacre and playing her for a story at the same time. Then why did that conclusion feel so wrong in her gut? She shook herself inwardly. Better to keep listening to her head—safer for everyone if she trusted no one.

The policeman scratched under his ear and offered a small grimace. “Are you aware that the vehicle you rented at the airport blew up yesterday?”

Chris nodded. “Fortunately, I wasn’t in it at the time.”

“Yes, but sir, you’re now listed as a missing person. I advise you to contact police headquarters in San Antonio as soon as possible. They will want a statement from you.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be sensible of me. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”

A smile flickered on the officer’s face. “No problem.” The man turned toward his table then quickly swung back toward Chris. “My wife would be thrilled if I’d bring your autograph home.” Color traced the edges of prominent ears poking out from his buzz-cut hairline.

“I’d be honored.” Chris grinned wide. “Do you have anything for me to write on?”

“Sure.” He pulled the ticket pad from his belt and ripped off a sheet.

Chris took the paper and raised an eyebrow. “Signing this isn’t going to get me into any trouble, is it?”

“Naw. Write your name on the back. Best use of one of these things I’ve seen in a long while.”

Seconds later, the officer strolled away, smiling and tucking the autographed page into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Chris stuck more than enough cash to cover the bill into the discreet black folder the waitress had supplied, and then he stood up. “Shall we?”

Nursing reluctant admiration, Maddie followed him toward the exit. Chris Mason possessed a brand of courage she could only dream about. His occupation kept him in the public eye 24/7 and thrust him in front of a camera, speaking to millions of people at a time. She’d rather engage a squadron of enemy forces single-handed than give a speech.