this chatter we’re hearing about a terrorist attack on our soil?”
“I don’t know, but I have a computer disk from his car, and I’m going to pop it in my laptop once I get off the phone. One more thing, Prasad, I’m coming in, and I’m bringing the woman with me. I didn’t want to risk taking her home when we might be followed, but you guys can safely drop her back in. They don’t know who she is.”
Prasad assured him they’d be there for the rest of the night and could resettle the witness.
Justin set up his laptop and inserted the disk, ignoring Lila’s penetrating gaze.
She said, “Are you going to tell me who you are now…Lone Wolf?”
He stopped tapping the keyboard. She had a point. She’d been on the express train to hell and back and deserved to know. “You’ve heard of the Department of Homeland Security?”
She waved her tapered fingers. “Of course, the department that brought us color-coded threat levels.”
“Right. We’re a covert offshoot of that department called Homeland Intelligence Agency or ‘hiya’ as we fondly call ourselves.”
Those lovely lips tightened into a smirk. “As in, ‘Hiya, we’re just a bunch of friendly guys and gals’?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, something like that. We’re your best friend if you can give us information about terrorists slipping across our borders.”
Her mouth formed a perfect O, which was way too kissable for comfort. “You’re kidding. That’s what Chad was doing in Mexico?”
“Working undercover…disguised as a surfer. Good disguise, huh?”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she turned to him. “Yeah, that long blond hair, tanned body, devil-may-care attitude. Perfect disguise.”
Her voice broke, and his gut clenched. Oh, yeah, Chad really did a number on her. Justin left her alone with her grief.
After a few moments and a few sniffles, she tilted her chin toward the laptop. “You find anything yet?”
He’d been scanning the files on the disk, but they contained old news. “No, nothing we hadn’t already gone through together. He called me from Mexico City. Must’ve been a few days before he picked you up. We’ve been searching for a tunnel from Mexico to the U.S., and he made contact with some coyotes down there.”
Her brow creased, and he continued. “The guys who help illegals cross the border. But the illegals we’re after aren’t the ones scrambling to get here to find work. We’re looking for the ones intent on exploding bombs in our shopping malls or on trains or buses.”
She squinted at the asphalt in front of her, chewing her lip. A tunnel? A memory she’d been trying to suppress began solidifying in her mind. Chad kneeling in the dirt. The brutal whip slicing his body. The blood. His long hair swinging back. The gunshot. And before the gunshot? El túnel está aquí.
She jerked the steering wheel, and Justin clutched at the computer. “Hey, watch the road. The highway still kills more people than terrorists do.”
She whispered, “El túnel.”
His eyes glinted as they bored into her. “What did you say?”
She repeated, “Túnel, el túnel está aquí. That’s why he spoke in Spanish. They didn’t understand Spanish. He shouted that to me.”
Justin snapped the laptop shut and turned to her. “Are you telling me Chad yelled out ‘The tunnel is here’ before those men executed him?”
Bobbing her head up and down, she exclaimed, “That’s exactly what I mean. He found this tunnel you’re looking for. It must’ve been right there where they killed him. Maybe he didn’t know that when he wrote me the note. He discovered it, or his contact told him, and they surprised them and killed them.”
His tiger eyes formed two slits as he watched her. Now what? Was he going to get mad at her again? Just when he started to thaw out. He actually laughed…twice.
He spit out, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
She tossed her hair. “You’re unbelievable. I just solved your case for you, and you’re mad because I didn’t do it sooner.”
He inclined his head and compressed his lips before stating, “You haven’t solved the case, and this is no TV cop show.”
Scowling at him, she said, “I didn’t remember what he said because I’ve been trying to forget what I saw and heard in that clearing.”
The deep lines at the sides of his mouth retreated. “I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me what you remembered, and you’re probably right. He discovered the tunnel, and they discovered him.”
She felt a warm glow. That’s more like it. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “How do you think that guy got in the trunk?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The terrorists ambushed them and killed him first before you woke up. What I don’t understand is how they stashed the body in the trunk without waking you up or seeing you.”
She snapped her fingers. “Chad covered me with a blanket. The night was pretty warm and I didn’t remember having a blanket, but when I woke up I was completely covered. Maybe Chad hid me on purpose.”
Clapping her hand over her mouth, she uttered, “Oh my God, what if they had found me in that car?”
He touched her shoulder. A current sizzled from his fingertips to her bare skin. She searched his face to see if he felt it, too.
His amber eyes flickered, and then he drew back. “You must lead a charmed life. Could you find that spot again?”
“Are you letting me in?”
He pressed his back against the truck’s door. “Letting you in?”
The man had more nerve endings than an exposed tooth. She held up one hand. “I mean, are you allowing me to help?”
He relaxed. “If you can get me as close as possible to that spot, that’d be a big help.”
“I think I can do that.” She mentally converted the hours she drove into miles, and remembered the little town where she stopped for food and gas. Yeah, she could give him that.
Then maybe they could get her home, and she could call Mom and Tyler. She’d leave them out of this until the HIA could get her safely back to her apartment in San Diego. Then this strange, bottled-up man could get back to his job alone, and she could get back to her life.
She’d have to start pulling back on the strings that attached her to him. He was a wounded bird if she ever saw one, as damaged as any sea creature she helped to restore to its habitat. He had his own habitat, that sterile house where he took tea with anger and fear. He couldn’t even express sadness at the death of his colleague, even though she could read the pain haunting his eyes. Was he afraid if he let go he’d never find his way back to that barren shore he called a life?
Some
