that wouldn’t surprise me.”
“So that’s when you met the sheriff?”
“One of the times. I come through here occasionally on business.”
The waitress came back and placed their drinks and a couple of straws on the table. Gisella took a sip of her water and leaned back. “You’re not a very by-the-book kind of guy, are you?”
“What makes you ask that?” he deadpanned.
She gave a short laugh. “Right.”
The food appeared on the table with a flourish and Krista asked them if they needed anything else. Gisella smiled at her. “No, this looks great, thanks.”
“Just holler if you need something then.”
“How old are you?” Gisella asked the girl.
“Sixteen.”
So, she’d guessed right. “You’re very good at this waitressing thing.”
The girl gave a giggle. “Thanks. I don’t normally work school nights, but two of the regular waitresses are out sick with the flu so…” She shrugged. “I told Pop—my grand-father—I’d help him.”
“Very kind of you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not totally selfless. I like the money. Enjoy.” She flashed another smile and twirled back to the kitchen.
“At least she’s friendly,” Brock said after a bite of his chicken.
Gisella didn’t bother to answer as she tucked into her food.
The next ten minutes passed in relative silence as they both ate and tried not to let the stares from the remaining few customers faze them.
Gisella finally put down her fork and leaned back. “I’m stuffed. Reminds me of Mom’s cooking.” Cooking that she hadn’t had a lot of lately. But that was her fault.
“Where are you from?” Brock lifted his glass and took another drink.
“San Antonio. Well, my parents are from Mexico originally, but I was born in Texas.”
He smiled his thanks as Krista refilled their glasses then turned his focus on Gisella. “Did you bring that little black book in?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head and eyed him. “It’s in my bag.”
“I want to have another look at some of the other letters and numbers again.”
“Sure.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the book.
He took it, opened it and read aloud. “JZ, RP, QV. And the mixture of numbers and letters: 3149NJZ10724WRPQV. JZ, RP and QV could all be initials, maybe? As for the other symbols, it could be a safe combination written in code. Or the numbers could be someone’s birthday. 3149. Could that be March 1, 1949?”
“Possibly.”
“And 10724.”
“October 7th, 1924.”
“And look, the letters JZ are repeated in the string of letters and numbers as well as RP and QV.” Brock gave a frustrated grunt. “Could be anything.”
He turned the page. “Look at this list of numbers.”
“I know. I’m wondering if those are actually the dates and the numbers on the other page are something else.”
She studied the list.
Brock shook his head. “Doesn’t look like dates to me although I guess they could be.” He rubbed his chin. “This shouldn’t be that complicated. I think we’re making it harder than it is.” At her expression, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying all drug runners are stupid, but it looks like it made the rounds, passed from one member to the next. Surely they’d have to have some kind of common code or something so that whoever had the book could easily decipher it.”
Gisella tapped a finger against her lips. “Agreed, but it would have to be complicated enough so that if it fell into the wrong hands,” she wiggled her fingers at him, “such as yours truly, they wouldn’t have to worry about it being decoded.”
He grunted. “Okay. True.”
“And look at this.” She reached over, her fingers brushing his as she flipped the pages until she reached the back of the small book. Ignoring the wave of butterflies that took flight in her stomach when she touched him, she pointed. “Here are some symbols. This one takes up the whole page.”
“Weird.”
“I’m wondering if it’s some kind of land form. Could be a lake, but we had our forensics person run it through the computer database to see if it matched up with anything around this area. It didn’t.”
He flipped the page. “What’s this?” He referred to a series of lines that crisscrossed each other.
“Beats me.” She shrugged and sighed. “Another symbol we don’t have a clue about. We thought it might be a map of some roads. See the Y here? And here it almost looks like a U-turn that leads back to the main road leading from…well, from wherever it started. Our forensic people actually came up with a few possibilities, but when we checked them out, they were dead ends.”
His expression stilled and he closed the book in a casual move. “We have company.” His low voice snapped her from her calculated musings about the numbers, letters and symbols.
Glancing toward the door she saw three men in uniforms headed their way. Pulling her drink toward her, she relaxed and pasted a friendly smile on her face.
The three men took the table next to Gisella’s and Brock’s booth and the man who was obviously the sheriff leaned back in his chair and adjusted his hat. He placed his right ankle on his left knee and nodded in their direction. “Howdy, folks.”
“Hello,” Gisella answered. “Sheriff?”
“I am. Sheriff Kip Johnston.” He pointed to the man on his left. “Meet Niles Vernon, a Border Patrol agent working out of the Boot Hill border crossing station, and Chris Locke, one of my deputies.”
Gisella offered him a smile. “I’m Ranger Gisella Hernandez,” she said, “and this is Agent Brock Martin with the DEA. I think you two have met before. We were just saying we needed to come over to your office and let me introduce myself.”
Brock nodded his greeting and held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Sheriff.”
The sheriff and Brock shook hands. “Yep, I remember you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“I haven’t had any more escapees who headed this way.”
Sheriff Johnston gave a small laugh.
Krista came by and took the men’s order then disappeared again.
Chris Locke settled into
