Betrayal on the Border

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.”