Warning Shot

“Four. Quinton runs things with his father. He’s the heir apparent, in my opinion.”

“So, the moonshiners were carrying moonshine. Made a drop in Canada and were heading home with an empty truck.”

“Then why run?”

“You believe the passenger was an illegal immigrant?”

“At the very least,” said Rylee.

“You believe the Mondello family is engaged in human trafficking?”

“Or they are assisting the Siming terrorist.”

“That’s a stretch. Border Patrol saw the passenger flee?”

Rylee’s stomach knotted. “No. They were acting on an anonymous tip who reported seeing the passenger flee prior to Border Patrol’s arrival. Border Patrol stopped a truck of similar description just outside Mohawk lands.”

“Could have been a Mohawk carrying cigarettes from Canada. Could have been a moonshiner. Pot grower. Poacher. And their tip could have been a rival poacher, moonshiner or pot grower. Any of those individuals would have reason to flee. Hell, they have ginseng hunters up here trespassing all the time.”

“Not in the fall.”

Ohr made a sound like a growl that did not bode well for Rylee’s career advancement plans.

“It could also be a suspect,” added Rylee, pushing her luck.

“Therefore, we don’t really know if there even was a passenger.”

“Quinton Mondello denies carrying a passenger.”

“Of course, he does. And he may be telling the truth.”

Rylee didn’t believe that for a minute.

“So, you decided to follow, alone, without backup and without notifying the tribal police,” said Ohr.

Rylee dropped her gaze to the neatly made bed and swallowed, knowing that speaking now would reveal an unwanted tremor in her voice.

“Hockings?”

“Border Patrol didn’t pursue.” There was that darn tremor.

“Because they understand the law. That is also why they had to release Quinton Mondello. No evidence of wrongdoing.”

Silence stretched.

“Do I need to pull you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I do not have time to clean up your messes, Hockings.”

Rylee thought of the handprints on her federal vehicle and her head hung in shame.

“Do not go on Mohawk land again for any reason.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ohr hung up on her.

Rylee needed some air. She gathered her personal weapon, wallet, shield and keys before heading out. The September night had turned cooler than she realized, and she ducked inside to grab a lined jacket. She stepped outside again and glanced about. The night had fallen like a curtain, so much blacker than her suburban neighborhood with the streetlights lining every road. Here, only the parking lot and the mini-mart across the road glowed against the consuming dark. She’d seen an ice-cream place, the kind that had a grill, on their arrival. A burger and fries with a shake would hit the spot. It wasn’t until she was driving toward her destination that she realized she had snatched the blue windbreaker that had bold white letters across the back, announcing that she was Homeland Security.

The dash clock told her it was nearly 8:00 p.m. and she wondered how long the ice-cream joint might stay open. The answer turned out to be eight o’clock. She arrived to see the lot empty except for one familiar sheriff’s vehicle and a clear view of the solitary worker inside, cleaning the grill. Out front, sitting on the picnic table surface with his feet on the bench, was Sheriff Trace and a very young man.

She ignored them, which wasn’t easy, as she had to walk from her vehicle to the order window.

“Ms. Hockings,” said the sheriff.

She nodded and glanced at the pair.

“Who’s that?” asked the young man. The sheriff’s companion had peach fuzz on his jaw and hair shaved so short that it was impossible to know if his hair was blond or light brown and a stunned expression. There was an old crescent scar on his scalp where the hair did not grow.

The sheriff mumbled something as she reached the order window and was greeted by a red-faced woman who said, “Just cleaned the grill. You want something to eat, have to be the fryer.”

“All right. So...what are my choices?”

“Fried shrimp, mozzarella sticks or French fries.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yup.” She motioned a damp rag at the menu board behind her. “Ain’t cleaned that yet.”

Rylee ordered the shrimp and fries with a vanilla shake. The woman had the order up in less than four minutes and the counter light flicked off as Rylee retreated with her dinner in a box lined with a red-and-white-checked paper already turning transparent in the grease.

The sheriff called to her before she could reach her car.

“Agent Hockings. Join us?” he asked.

She let her shoulders deflate. Rylee wanted only to eat and have a shower. But she forced a smile. Establishing working relationships with local law enforcement was part of the job. Unfortunately, this local made her skin tingle when she got too close. She hated knowing from the heat of her face that she was blushing. He returned her smile and her mind wandered to questions that were none of her business, like what Axel Trace’s chest looked like beneath that uniform.

Two months ago, Rylee had had a steady boyfriend but that ended when she got promoted and he didn’t. The help she’d given him on course work might have worked against him in the written testing when he didn’t know the information required. In any case, he blamed her, and she’d broken things off. Showing his true colors made getting over him easy. Except at night. She missed the feel of him in her bed; that had been the only place they had gotten along just fine. Now she knew that attraction was not enough of a foundation for a relationship. So why was she staring at the sheriff’s jawline and admiring the gap between his throat and the white undershirt that edged his uniform?

Because, Rylee, you haven’t been with a man in a long time. She swept him with a gaze and dismissed this attraction as the second worst idea of the day. The first being pursuit onto Mohawk land.

Rylee sat across from the pair, who slipped from the surface of the picnic table and onto the opposite bench, staring at her in silence as she ate the curling brown breading that must have had a shrimp in there somewhere. The second bite told her the shellfish was still frozen in the center. She pushed it aside.

“Want my second burger?” asked Axel.

“You have a spare?”