“I thought you considered me in the employ of the mastermind. Why would I dare expose the person or persons who could expose me as a traitor to my country?”
“Good question.” She lifted her chin. “Like you, I’m hoping for answers on this joy ride.”
“Like you said earlier, I know I didn’t betray the coalition team. But unlike you, I don’t assume the other survivor did.”
“Survivor? If you mean I’m alive, yes, but I did a tough stint in the hospital. You? Your hair didn’t even get ruffled in the cartel’s attack. How did that happen?”
An odd look passed across Chris’s face, half earnest, half eager, with a hint of baffled frustration thrown in. He opened his mouth, and Maddie waited for a revelation regarding his survival. Like where he was hiding while her team was being slaughtered.
But he turned his face away and stared out his passenger-side window. “I don’t know how the cartel got word of our location, but I intend to find out.”
Maddie suppressed her irritation. Evidently the information highway didn’t work two directions with a reporter.
She forced a grin and kept her eyes on the road. “At last, we agree on something, Mr. Mason.”
* * *
Rousing a DEA agent at midnight in the privacy of his home would send a tide of reaction up the chain of command. Possibly provoke a rash move by someone who would prefer to remain hidden.
At least, that was the theory, and Chris intended to test it. He gripped the door handle as Maddie pulled the Cutlass to the curb outside Agent Clyde Ramsey’s two-story house in a modest subdivision of Laredo, Texas. She killed the headlights but left the engine running and fixed a steady stare on Chris.
“Wait here,” he said.
“Not going to happen. I want to catch every word either of you speaks.”
“It might be a good idea if our enemies don’t yet realize we’ve joined forces.”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “Here’s the deal. I’ll lurk in the shadows while you knock on his door. Do your best to hold your chat right there. But if you move inside, I’m stepping out and coming in, too.”
Chris frowned. Not the best plan, but he wasn’t likely to get a better concession from someone who didn’t trust him. “Deal.” He held out his hand.
She brushed his palm with her fingertips. An intake of breath hissed between her lips, while a minor earthquake went through him. Did she feel the tremor, too? Or did the tentative touch—uncharacteristic of her usual forthrightness—mean that she found him loathsome? Impossible to tell with Maddie, and he had no time to ponder the answers. She was getting out of the car, her Glock in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
Chris hastily exited the Cutlass onto the sidewalk that led up to the house. Quiet draped the area, except for a soft shush of traffic noise from the Interstate only a mile distant. The scent of verbena drifted on the breeze, the only thing innocent and winsome about this moment.
He remembered Ramsey from the planning phase of the operation. The guy liked to talk tough and throw his weight around, but original thought was pretty negligible. If he was a participant in the tragedy on the Rio Grande, he was an order taker, not a mastermind. Chris’s research told him Ramsey was a family man with a wife and two half-grown kids. Not surprising that his house lay dark...or maybe not completely. As Chris moved up the sidewalk he discerned a faint bluish glow filtering around the edges of heavy blinds on a front right-side window. Was someone up watching television? Insomnia or a guilty conscience? Chris’s steps quickened.
They reached the front stoop, and true to her word, Maddie faded into the shadows against the house. Chris rapped on the door. No response. He hammered, waited and then his finger headed toward the doorbell, but a light flipped on in the foyer before his pointer hit the button. He stood quietly, staring at the peephole, while whoever was on the other side scoped him out.
A lock rattled, the door eased open several inches, and a pair of smoke-colored eyes set deep in a bulldog face peered out. Their gazes locked. The DEA agent wore a pair of lightweight pajamas, and the hand that wasn’t holding the door was hidden behind his back. Chris’s scalp prickled. Was he armed? Maddie’s close presence might be more necessary than he’d thought.
“Surprised to see me?” he said.
“You’re that reporter who’s supposed to be dead. Why aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t in the car when it blew.”
“Yeah, I knew that much. The late news said they found no body in the vehicle. The cops have you listed as a missing person. What do you want here?”
“What does any reporter want? Answers. Only now, getting them is personal.”
“That leads you to me how?” The smoky eyes narrowed.
“The attempt on my life was related to the Rio Grande Massacre. I’ve been searching for Madeleine Jerrard, and I was getting close. Someone didn’t care to have me find her.”
“There you have your answer.” Ramsey let out a piglike grunt. “It was Jerrard. She wasn’t right in the head after the Rio, and she tried to take you out. Those rangers are more dangerous than a nest of rattlers. Better back off, newsman.”
“Not until I uncover the truth about how the cartel found the encampment.”
“Don’t you listen to your own network’s news? They reported months ago that the investigators concluded the ranger scout got careless and led the cartel forces back to the camp.”
“I don’t buy that story. Never have. I spent weeks observing and cataloguing the preparation phase. I’m not easy to impress, but that ranger team did it for me. As soon as the need for secrecy was past, I expected to share the story of their triumph with the world.” Chris leaned closer to the DEA agent. A faint scent of whiskey teased his nostrils. What kept this guy up nursing booze in the night? “I didn’t like being left with a story of posthumous heroism. My cameraman was killed in the first barrage, and I want to know who’s really responsible.”
Ramsey stiffened and drew back. “What? You think I had something to do with it?” A blue vein pulsed in the man’s forehead. “Don’t forget, my office lost several good agents.”
“Are you saying that no one in the Laredo DEA office could possibly be dirty?”
“I’m not saying they couldn’t. I’m saying they aren’t. Including me. Now get off my property, or I’m calling the cops. Right after I fill your pants with buckshot.” He pulled a shotgun from behind his back and cradled it in the crook of his elbow.
Chris lifted both hands and backed away a step. “I’ll go, but I’m not through digging.”
Ramsey’s gaze took on a mean glint. “You will be if you enjoy breathing.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Naw. A prediction.”
“Fine. Now here’s my prediction. Whatever’s eating you up inside is going to take you down with a stroke or an ulcer, or else it’s going to trash your career with a DUI.”
Ramsey growled and started to raise the shotgun. Chris turned on his heel and hustled down the sidewalk, shoulder blades tingling. He didn’t look back. His life was in Maddie’s hands if the DEA agent decided to try pulling the trigger. He reached the car, which was still running, climbed in the driver’s side and drove off. She was smart enough to slip away and meet him around the corner. He pulled over to the curb and waited. Sure enough, she slid into the passenger seat less than a minute later.
“Good job of rattling the bones in the closet.” She gave that throaty chuckle that turned him to molten putty, only he’d never let her know it. “Now we’ll see what falls out.” Her hand on his stopped him from putting the car into gear. “I had no idea you didn’t