My Spy: Last Spy Standing (15 page)

Then she could breathe again, and he was right there, the two of them dragging, pushing each other toward shore like some weird, desperate tag team. When they finally made it out, they could do little more than lie in the mud on their backs and gasp for air.

“I didn’t get them.” He coughed up water. “I let them get away.”

Her lungs burned. She was ridiculously grateful just to be alive. “I’m so glad you showed up. I was running out of steam fast. You saved my life.”

“It’s not enough. I want to know who’s after you, dammit. I should have caught those men.”

She brushed the wet hair out of her face. “Oh, well... As long as you’re playing God, maybe you can do something about the drought. I’m sure a lot of Texas farmers would be grateful.”

He turned his head from her.

A moment passed before she realized he was looking at his prosthetics, a few hundred feet away. He got up and maneuvered himself that way, supporting his weight on his hands.

Her gaze caught on the way his wet shirt stuck to his back and upper arms, outlining his muscles. Those were the arms that had saved her. He had an incredible body. She didn’t think she could ever get tired of looking at him.

He strapped his legs on then pulled up his pants.

“You know, we do have a public-indecency ordinance in place. You seem to have a habit of going pantless in public,” she remarked as she stood and squeezed water out of her hair and clothes.

He glanced back as he got to his feet. “You going to arrest me for that?”

She sighed. “I kind of like it. Does that make me shallow?”

Surprise crossed his face, then a half smile formed. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that good or bad?” she asked as she caught up with him.

But instead of answering her question, he said. “Don’t drown again. It makes me feel...” He shrugged.

She watched him for the rest, but he didn’t finish.

“Were you scared for me? Is this a mucho-macho thing? Not admitting to being scared? For the record, I was terrified.”

He reached for her, caught her arm and pulled her close. He dipped his head to hers and brushed his mouth over her lips. “I was scared for you. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared.”

“I’m a tough Texas deputy.”

He gave a rare full smile at that. “I know. And the stupid thing is...” He glanced down then back up to hold her gaze. “I feel like I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Ever.”

Oh.
Warmth spread through her chest. It quickly turned to full-on heat when he kissed her.

They were wet and dirty from lying in the mud. There was a van with armed men out there somewhere who wanted her dead. Since she figured the chances of catching up with them at this stage were ridiculously slim, she gave herself over to the kiss.

Live in the moment.
She’d learned that from her sister.

And after a few seconds, she could barely remember where they were or how they’d gotten here. The thing about Jamie was he could transport her in an instant to some place where she could barely remember reality. He was a seriously good kisser. He kissed her as if she was the most important thing in the universe to him, the only thing.

That kind of stuff could go to a woman’s head.

They fit together perfectly. They moved in unison, each knowing what the other wanted without a word having to be said. She’d never felt like this with anyone before.

“You’re not what I expected, either,” she told him when they finally pulled away.

He looked her over. “I’ll take you home. You need to change.”

“Will I see you tonight?”

He nodded.

“I’ll have dinner ready.” God, they sounded like an old married couple. It pleased her to no end.

But he didn’t show up that evening. He was called in to deal with some smugglers on the border, so she spent the night alone, having to be content with only dreaming about him.

Chapter Fourteen

The following morning, Jamie sat in his SUV outside Steven Swenson’s house, Bree next to him. Swenson worked out of his converted garage, which served as his home office. He was a one-man law firm. Maybe nobody wanted to work with him. According to Bree, he was pretty much a jerk.

Jamie’s team, as well as Bree’s, had searched the house and office the day before, but the man had been gone.

Taped to Jamie’s dashboard were printouts of half a dozen versions of what he might look like if he came back wearing a disguise. With a beard, with a bald head and so on. Bree’s idea. She had some computer program at the station.

Swenson had small, close eyes, a crooked nose and a cruel mouth topped with a mustache that was yellow from smoking. Tall and skinny with a slightly bent back, he even looked like a weasel.

“He’ll be back,” she was saying, watching the house. “It doesn’t look like he took much. He left in a hurry.”

They hadn’t found anything incriminating either in the house or in the office. Then again, Swenson had passed the bar exam, presumably, at one point. He was probably smart enough not to keep a log of his illegal business with the Coyote.

Because life was never easy.

“You called to let him know that you were coming over,” Jamie said. “He probably thought you were onto some of his dirty dealings. He panicked, ordered a hit then took off until the dust settles.”

“I’m betting he’s connected to the counterfeit money.”

“And to the Coyote, too. Should have figured those two were linked.” Why not? The Coyote ran human smuggling, guns and drugs. It made sense that he would have a hand in everything that was illegal and big business. He controlled a large area and a veritable army of criminals.

Not for long; Jamie’s team always got their men.

“What if Swenson doesn’t come back?” Bree asked.

The bastard had tried to have Bree killed, Jamie thought as he looked at her. He could never look at her without being a little dazzled. “Then I’m going to track him to the ends of the earth.”

She shook her head at him. “You know, from anyone else that would sound like fake action-movie dialogue, but when you say it, I know you actually mean it.”

He smiled at her. She got him. He liked that. He liked way too many things about her.

“He didn’t go south,” she said as she glanced at the abandoned house once again. “Border agents are watching for him. I put out an APB yesterday. He could be holed up somewhere else.”

“He owns no other properties beyond this place. He has no siblings. Mother and father dead. Never been married.” Jamie had run the guy through the system as soon as he’d gotten back to the office the day before.

“He could be with friends,” she said, then thought for a second before continuing. “Who does he trust?”

“A guy like that? Probably nobody. I wouldn’t if I was in his place.” If he was caught, the law was the least of his problems. He knew very well that the Coyote could reach people in prison, have them killed.

“He’s lying low somewhere. We have a state-wide APB out on him and his car. Every cop in Texas is looking for him. I’m betting he knows that.”

Jamie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he ran a couple of possibilities through his brain. “He represents criminals. Most of them are in prison. Which one of his clients has a place that stands empty?”

He pulled out his phone and called that in, talked to Mo on the other end. Mo and Keith were in the office, with access to information a regular sheriff’s office could only dream of.

“I’ll run some queries,” Mo said. “I’ll call you back when I have something.”

“Thanks.” Jamie put the phone down, trying to think what else they could be doing.

Bree shifted in her seat, turning to him. “When your top-secret mission is done here, will you all be leaving?”

“The office has been made permanent. The border needs to be monitored. CBP is set up for illegal immigration. Terror threats are a whole different level, and the problem is not going to go away in the foreseeable future. It needs different people with different training.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “That you and your team are here. I wasn’t at the beginning when I first found out about it.”

They talked a little more about that, how times were changing. They kept watching the house, seeing no suspicious movement. Half an hour passed before Mo called back.

“I have an address for you. I found a couple of things, but I think our best chance is a remote farmhouse. One of Swenson’s clients inherited it from his parents recently. The guy’s sitting in federal prison. Swenson is trying to sell the place for him to cover legal expenses for an appeal.”

“Thanks. We’re heading over. I’ll call in to let you know what we find when we get to the place.” Jamie punched the address into the GPS and took off.

“You need backup?”

“Let’s wait and see if he’s even there. And I’ve got Bree.”

“Thanks,” she said as he hung up.

“For what?”

“For treating me as an equal partner.”

He wasn’t sure what to say as he flew down the road, heading for the highway.

“This way.” She pointed in a different direction. “I know a dirt-road shortcut.”

Which was why he looked at her as a partner. She knew what she was doing. Still, as much as he trusted and admired her skills, he did feel a sense of protectiveness at the thought of her going into danger.

Maybe he should have asked for that backup. “What if he’s not alone? What if the men who pushed you off the road are with him?”

“I really hope so,” she said as she checked her weapon, flashing the first scary smile he’d seen on her.

In another five minutes he reached the dirt road and turned onto it. His SUV bounced over the gravel. In a little while, they could see the abandoned farmhouse in the distance, surrounded by outbuildings. A red-and-blue For Sale sign greeted them from one of the front windows.

“Swenson’s last stand,” Bree said.

He scanned the ranch. “No cars.”

“He’d be smart enough to pull his car into the barn. He knows we’re looking for him. How close do we pull up?”

He could see tire tracks in the gravel driveway in front of them. Somebody had definitely been out this way lately. Of course, it could be anybody, even people who were looking to buy the place.

“We’ll pull up all the way. I don’t think he’d start shooting right away. He’ll hope we think the place is abandoned and drive away. He’s a lawyer, not a sharpshooter. He hires out his dirty business. He’ll try to avoid a shootout with law enforcement if he can. He knows the odds are not on his side.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“We pull up, keeping in the cover of the car as we get out. If there’s no attack, we’ll walk around the outbuildings first.” He slowed the car as they reached the end of the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires.

“We’ll make our way to the shed,” she said. “That’s closest to the end of the house. He might only have a small bathroom window there, or none. I’ll stay somewhere visible from the front windows to distract him. You sneak up to the side.”

“Exactly.” Man, it was easy to work with her. She had a quick mind.

“How do I know when to come after you?”

You don’t. You stay where it’s safe,
he wanted to tell her, but he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t accept that. And he did trust her to handle herself.

“If things go well, if he’s in there, I’ll bring him out through the front door. If things go badly, you’ll hear the shots.” They were both wearing Kevlar vests.

“All right. Let’s get him.”

He stopped the car and pulled his weapon out, waited. Nobody shot at them. So far, so good. He opened his door. No movement in the house. He stepped to the ground but stayed behind the open door for a second as he scanned his surroundings. Still nothing. Then he stepped to the side and closed the car door.

He was out in the open.

If Swenson was in there and he was going to do something stupid, this was the time to do it. But nothing happened. Jamie nodded to Bree. She got out on the other side.

They both had their weapons ready as they moved forward, walking a few paces apart, ready to provide cover for each other. But all remained quiet as they passed by the house, checking it from the outside only, from a dozen or so yards away. The curtains didn’t move, and there was no sign that anybody was watching them from inside, yet Jamie’s instincts prickled.

They walked to the barn. Bree covered for him as he stepped inside into dusty darkness. They listened. No sound or movement anywhere in the dim interior. They turned on their flashlights to see better and panned the cavernous area in front of them. The stalls stood abandoned, farm tools and moldy hay taking up most of the space.

The old, wooden ladder to the hayloft looked promising, but rickety, to say the least, leaning more than a little. Bree tested it then shimmied up, keeping her gun out. She weighed less than he did. Still, he stood ready to catch her should the ladder break under her.

She disappeared over the edge of the hayloft. The wooden floor creaked under her as she walked around, checking every corner, sending dust sifting down between the cracks of the floorboards.

“Nothing up here,” she called down before reappearing at the edge and climbing back down with care.

They left the barn and checked out the rest of the outbuildings. No sign of cars, although the grain silo was definitely big enough to hold a vehicle. Or more than one. It had no windows to look inside, and the door stood padlocked.

They moved on to the shed, according to plan. This they found unlocked. They went inside together.

The light coming through the open door and small window was enough; they didn’t need their flashlights here as they looked around. Old, rusty equipment took up most of the space; things were piled randomly and perilously on top of each other. Jamie popped open the small window in the back and climbed through. Bree walked back out to distract whoever was watching them.

Keeping low, Jamie rushed over to the side of the house—no windows on this side, so nobody would see him—then moved around to the back. He stopped under the first window there and inched up. He saw a sparsely furnished bedroom, but there no sign of anybody and nothing was out of place.

Disappointment tightened his jaw. Maybe they were wrong about the old farmhouse. Maybe Swenson had gone someplace else.

He snuck over to the next window—open a crack—and popped up to eye level. This bedroom was just as deserted as the first one, but clothes lay scattered on the bed here.

Bingo.

He wedged his fingers into the opening and pushed the window up inch by slow inch, then climbed inside without making a sound, careful with his boots on the old, hardwood floor. He registered the clothes: faded jeans and a light shirt. Could definitely be Swenson’s.

A duffel bag had been half kicked under the bed. He edged it open with his gun carefully and found more clothes, a box of ammo, some pill bottles and a stack of twenties held together by a rubber band, several thousand dollars’ worth.

Things were looking pretty good.

He left the bag where he found it and moved to the closed door. Voices filtered in from the other side, at least two men talking.

Okay. They had Swenson, but the man wasn’t alone.

Jamie pulled out his cell phone and sent a quick text to Mo, asking for backup. A month ago, he would have gone in, waiting for nobody. But he no longer needed to push the envelope every single time just to prove something to himself.

Now he had Bree, and that changed things, too. And Bree had Katie. So, no, he didn’t always have to do everything the hard way. The smart way was better.

He put his phone away and turned the knob silently, hoping to hear what the men were talking about while he waited for reinforcements. Whatever intel he gained would come in handy later, and could be used against the men in interrogation.

“Nobody saw our faces,” someone said. “And we had the license plate covered with mud. Ain’t nobody gonna recognize us, no way. I’m telling you, man.”

There was a long pause, and then a different voice said, “I can’t take any chances. I’m sorry.”

Then a gunshot, and Jamie had to sprint forward, because he knew the gunshot would bring Bree running.

He burst into the living room to find Steven Swenson holding a gun while a man lay bleeding on the floor, looking pretty much dead.

As Jamie burst in, Swenson swung the gun toward him, his face startled, eyes wide. “Who the hell are you?”

“Put your weapon down! Customs and Border Protection,” Jamie ordered.

Swenson’s gaze darted back and forth, calculating. “Hey, man. I’ve been ambushed by a burglar. Clear case of self-defense. I’m an attorney. I’m not illegal.”

“Put down your weapon.”

Swenson hesitated, swallowing, measuring Jamie up, almost as if he was waiting for something.

What the hell was he waiting for? “Put down your weapon!”

Then the door banged open and another man came through, looking a lot like the one on the ground. They could have been brothers. The newcomer had Bree, one hand around her midsection, another holding a gun to her head.

As he took in the body on the floor, rage contorted his face. He yelled in Spanish, cursing Jamie and all his ancestors, assuming he’d been the one who’d fired the fatal shot.

“Calm down,” Swenson advised, probably still thinking he could somehow come out of this clean if he only played his cards right. “Everybody calm down!” But he didn’t sound too calm himself.

The guy with Bree didn’t seem to be listening. His weapon hand was shaking as he swore at them all in Spanish.

The tension was escalating out of control, seconds from where it would hit conflict point.

And Jamie froze.

The bastard had Bree.

For a second, all he could think of was that family in the Afghan mountains. He couldn’t save them. People on his team had called him a hero, but he hadn’t been able to do anything heroic back with that family. He’d let them die. His fault.

And he blamed himself even more because nobody else wanted to blame him.