to stay on the practical aspects of how to handle his return from the dead. He’d promised to talk to her later tonight. The waiting was hard, but she believed him when he said it was necessary. And he’d spoken of possible danger to Jenny.
A worse brand of anxiety sped through Sam’s veins when she thought of her daughter. Jenny was her precious girl with jagged bangs across her forehead that she’d cut all by herself and a strong singing voice that the church choir director said was remarkable. If anything happened to her precious five-year-old daughter...
Sam’s attention returned to the injured man. He wasn’t bleeding badly, but his chest heaved as though he was struggling for breath. A punctured lung? Internal bleeding? Where the hell were the ambulances?
If he died, it was her fault. Never mind that she hadn’t fired the bullet that caused his wound. It didn’t matter that the injured man was trying to shoot her and Ty before he was brought down by the expert marksmanship of her husband. Sam was the sheriff; therefore, she was responsible.
A fat lot of good all her training did. Yes, she was certified in CPR. Yes, she’d taken dozens of first-aid classes from the Red Cross. She’d heard of sucking chest wounds and septic shock and all sorts of emergency treatments for all sorts of injuries. However, until this moment, she’d never had to test those procedures.
She needed help. Why were the ambulances taking so long? She had to get out of here, had to get back to Jenny.
She stood and called to Ty. “I’ve got an idea. We could forget about the ambulances, load these guys into my SUV and drive them to the hospital. It’d be faster.”
He was in the road, standing over the first man he’d shot, the dead man. In his gloved hand, he held a wallet. Though she was at least thirty feet away from him, she heard him muttering under his breath. Angrily, he wheeled around and shook the wallet at her. “Do you know who this guy is?”
How could she possibly know? “I’m sorry. Why should I recognize him?”
“Do you ever look at the BOLOs we send you?”
A bunch of law-enforcement offices, ranging from the FBI to the local Fish and Game warden, sent out computer notices or faxes of APBs and BOLOs to “be on the lookout” for certain license plates or vehicles or individuals. She always took a look at them and often hung them on the bulletin board. Ultimately, they became scrap paper that she handed to Jenny, who drew pictures with crayon or marker on the back. Passing a BOLO to her kid wasn’t something she’d mention to Ty. She’d once caught Jenny drawing lipstick and purple eye shadow on a felon’s mug shot.
Her ears pricked up as she heard the sound of a motorcycle engine cranking to life. Ty had heard it, too. He glared up the hill toward the place where Wade had disappeared into the trees.
“Oh, that’s just great,” Ty growled.
“A motorcycle,” she said. “Why is that a problem?”
“I’m guessing that your husband swiped a very nice little Honda from the safe house. A good bike, it’s got heavy tread for off-road and goes a decent speed on the highway.”
“He wouldn’t have taken it if he didn’t need it.”
“But it belongs to the FBI.”
“Don’t even think about whining. I had to dig deep into my sheriff’s department budget to buy disposable smoke masks, and the FBI can afford to leave an entire house standing empty.”
“Point taken.” His tone became more conciliatory. “I just hope he doesn’t wreck it, that’s all.”
She walked down the hill toward him. “Let’s get back to what you were talking about. Tell me who our dead man is.”
“Tony Reyes,” he said. “He works for the Esteban cartel, and he’s on the short list of Most Wanted for both the US and Mexico.”
She’d heard horror stories about the drug cartels: beheadings, torture, brutal murders of women and children, and human trafficking that amounted to a slave trade. Never in her wildest imagination had Sam thought she’d be in contact with this type of criminal. Swain County was a lazy little territory with one semicharming town and a couple of local ranches. Nothing ever happened here, and that was the way she liked it.
“Why does this Reyes person rate so high on the Most Wanted list? What has he done?”
“He’s an enforcer. He kills people, especially cops.”
Like Morrissey. The murdered state trooper lay at the side of the road covered with a tarp. If the smoke hadn’t already been blocking the sun, she would have sworn that the day turned darker.
She hated the way these pieces were falling into place. Had Reyes been the one who took Wade’s gun from her house? Did he know where she lived? “Are these the people Wade is testifying against? How did he get mixed up with a drug cartel?”
“It’s worse than that, Sam.”
“Worse?” Her frustration erupted in a burst of absurdities. “What could be worse? Vampires? Zombies? Oh, wait, maybe Wade actually is dead and he’s the zombie.”
“What?” Ty looked concerned.
His frown made her laugh. Her grandma always said that nothing was so terrible that you couldn’t laugh about it. Oh, Granny, you’re so wrong. For the past several months, Sam had few reasons to giggle. Even now, after learning Wade was alive, her chuckle sounded a little hysterical.
As she paced up and down on the road, she indulged in wild speculation. “Let me see, what could be worse? Did Wade do something to upset the Nazis or the terrorists or, maybe just maybe, he’s being pursued by undead Nazi zombies.”
“Are you done?”
She paused by her SUV, leaned forward from the waist and rubbed at the two bullet holes in the driver’s-side door. “This has been a lot for me to absorb. First, I’ve got a dead husband who isn’t dead. Then I find out that my daughter might be in danger. And now you’re talking about drug cartels.”
“It’s more than drugs. There’s also evidence of human trafficking. A cache of high-tech weaponry was discovered, thanks to information from Wade.”
The scope of these crimes sobered her. They were dealing with very evil, very scary people. “Is this as bad as it gets? Is there more?”
“Rogue cops,” he said. “Wade witnessed criminal acts and transactions between the cartel and law enforcement. We’re not sure how far the corruption spreads.”
“Is that why you and Wade hated Morrissey?”
He nodded. “My boss is running the task force. They were keeping an eye on Morrissey, hoping he’d lead us to others. And there are a lot of others. Cops, patrolmen, inspectors, DEA agents, maybe even FBI agents, who are taking kickbacks from the cartel.”
Literally, there was nobody she could trust, nowhere she could turn for help and no way to escape. The idyllic time in her life was over. When she and Wade were first married, they’d been so happy while building their house, having a healthy baby and making their dreams come true. Now the future looked a hundred times more complicated.
Ty had his cell phone in hand. “I need to tell my boss about this.”
“Wait.” She stopped his hand before he could lift the phone to his ear. “You aren’t going to tell your boss about Wade, are you?”
“Come on, Sam, you can trust him. Everett Hurtado is a decent guy. Kind of a bureaucrat, he probably won’t even come out here into the field.”
“You promised Wade.” She’d overheard that much. “You gave him twenty-four hours.”
“Like I told you, Hurtado is running the task force. He already knows Wade is alive and escaped from custody. He’s the one who suggested I come up here and poke around at the safe house.”
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