Caught in the Act (40 page)

He understood the implication. If he couldn’t do inspections in the vehicle or pedestrian lanes, he’d be useless at San Ysidro. Dead weight.

Pettigrew’s mouth tightened in anger. “The only reason
I didn’t fire you on Tuesday was because your ragtag op shook up the Moreno cartel and led to several key arrests. But I can’t overlook the fact that you involved a citizen without my knowledge, and failed to disclose your relationship with her.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I was going to demote you to a lower ranking and put you on administrative leave. That option is no longer on the table. You went too far off the reservation to come back. There’s no way I can let this one slide.”

Adam had to force himself not to shift in his seat or look away.

“I don’t need cocky hotshots in my department, Cortez. I want levelheaded soldiers who know when to fall in line.”

“I can do that, sir.”

“All evidence points to the contrary.”

“I love my job,” he said from between clenched teeth.

“I know you do, son. But you don’t belong in CBP and you haven’t for a long time.”

Adam stared at Pettigrew in silence, sensing Ian’s frustration beside him. Now they were both unemployed.

Pettigrew addressed Ian with his next statement. “I spoke with Special Agent Michelson about your past performance. He said you were one of the most dedicated agents he’d ever worked with.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ian said.

He drummed his fingertips on the surface of his desk, looking back and forth between them. “Because you both did well in the academy and have exemplary records otherwise, ICE has offered to take you on.”

Ian straightened at the unexpected news. Adam glanced at Special Agent in Charge LaGuardia, who inclined
his head. Working for ICE was no demotion. The division handled most of the border-related drug arrests and smuggling investigations.

They were top-notch.

“When your unpaid leave is over, Cortez, there’s an entry-level opening for you on the task force in Otay Mesa,” Pettigrew continued. “If you do well, you might be able to transfer back to San Ysidro. As an investigator, not an armed guard.”

“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Adam said.

“You should be.” Pettigrew turned to Ian. “ICE has a unique assignment for you.”

“On the line?”

“No, across it,” LaGuardia said, taking over. “Are you familiar with the International Affairs division?”

“Of course,” Ian said, his brows lifting. DEA handled undercover operations within the United States, but ICE was responsible for those types of investigations in foreign countries, especially border areas.

“We need an ICE attaché to go after a fugitive in Mexico.”

“Why isn’t USMS on it?” Ian asked.

“Normally a deputy marshal would be called to duty, but because the fugitive is a cartel member involved in smuggling operations, it falls under our jurisdiction. You’re being offered first crack at the case because of your experience with the target.” LaGuardia passed him a photo of the wanted criminal.

“Armando Villarreal?”

Pettigrew made a grunting noise. “We took a chance on that phony news story and it came back to bite us in the ass.”

“What do you mean?”

LaGuardia handed Ian another photo. A pretty brunette in a navy graduation gown smiled brightly, holding her diploma. “This is Caitlyn Weiss. She’s a relief vet at La Canada Pet Clinic, near the Hotel del Oro. No one has seen her since Tuesday.”

“When was she reported missing?”

“This morning. She wasn’t scheduled to work again until today.”

“Signs of a struggle?”

“Not that anyone noticed. Blood is a common sight in an animal hospital. Her surgeries and appointments were finished by noon, so the other employees assumed she went home while they were at lunch.”

“And you think Armando took her?”

“We have footage of her driving across the border on Tuesday afternoon. There’s a dark-haired man in the passenger seat.”

Ian gave back the photos, satisfied. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find them.”

“Can I leave now?”

LaGuardia glanced at Pettigrew, smiling wryly. “You’ve got a couple of live ones here.”

Pettigrew’s response wasn’t as warm. “If either of you boys strays from procedure again, you won’t have to worry about being transferred to another department. The only place I’ll recommend after this is the brig.”

When the meeting was over, they stood, shaking hands across the table. Adam was confident that he could keep himself in line as long as Kari stayed safe.

Ian, he wasn’t so sure about.

29

Kari went home and slept for twelve hours straight.

On Sunday morning, she wrote thank-you notes to everyone who’d attended Sasha’s funeral. The food and flowers were given to a local soup kitchen. On impulse, she made arrangements for her van to be repainted and donated to charity. Zócalo was doing well enough now that she could afford to have her purchases shipped directly to the store. Her weekly trips to Mexico would probably trickle down to once a month, if that.

She loved the crafts and the culture, but she wasn’t looking forward to visiting Tijuana anytime soon. The thought of waiting in the lanes at San Ysidro made her stomach ache. She would always associate the border crossing with death.

That afternoon, Adam showed up on her doorstep, holding a simple bouquet of violets. For Sasha, he explained.

Her heart melted at the sight.

She accompanied him to the cemetery, her face crumpling as he placed the flowers on her sister’s grave. He
held her for a long time afterward, stroking her back while she cried. When her tears abated, she rearranged the bouquets and gathered up fallen petals. Adam accepted her obsessive-compulsive tidiness without complaint.

He also stayed by her side for the next three days.

His bruised ribs were far more serious than her minor scrapes, but he waited on her hand and foot. As much as Kari hated to admit it, she was glad for his help. The psychological trauma of her kidnapping and assault, paired with the loss of her sister, had really taken its toll. She needed the downtime. She needed
him
.

They took long walks together, shared quiet meals, and spent more than a few hours in her bed. Although they kissed and cuddled, they didn’t make love, choosing to let the wounds heal instead. Mostly they just slept.

Adam told her about the job offer with ICE, admitting that the new position would be just as dangerous as his current one, if not more so. She was concerned for his welfare but appreciated his honesty. He didn’t use the L-word again or press her about their relationship. The days drifted by in a dreamlike haze.

About a week after Sasha’s death, she decided to go back to work. Adam tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to return to her regular routine. He made her a light breakfast and kissed her goodbye.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said before he left.

“Have you?”

“We’ve been at your house for several days.”

She leaned her elbows against the kitchen countertop. “This is true.”

“Would you like to stay at my place tonight?”

Pushing away from the counter, she reached for her coffee mug instead of answering.

He pressed on, undeterred. “Why don’t you move in with me?”

Kari felt a sharp tug of longing in the middle of her chest. She wanted to say yes, even though it was too soon, and he’d made the offer for the wrong reasons. “Are you asking because you want to keep me safe?”

His steady gaze met hers. “No. I’m asking because I’m in love with you, and I want you in my bed every night.”

She filled her mug, flushing with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. “Adam, I like being independent. I can take care of myself.”

He remained unyielding. “I want to take care of you.”

“And when you go back to work?”

“I have another month off.”

“Yes, but after that I’ll be unattended. You should get used to the idea.”

A crease formed between his brows. Clearly, he didn’t agree.

She set aside her coffee and twined her arms around his neck, soothing the sting of her words with another kiss. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll sleep at your place tonight if you’ll let me take care of
you
.”

His throat worked as he swallowed.

“Are you up to it?”

“Yes,” he said, though the swelling against her stomach was proof enough.

“Okay then.” She nipped at his lower lip, very gently, and stepped back. “I’ll see you later.”

Adam gave her a dark look, aware that he’d been bamboozled. He must have decided that the arrangement
suited him well enough, because he dropped the subject and headed to the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I won’t,” she lied.

“Call me at lunchtime.”

She nodded dutifully.

He paused, as though he wanted to say something else. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he left.

As soon as he was out the door, she regretted her abrupt dismissal of his offer. Her thoughts were troubled as she drove to work and parked her rental car behind the building. Instead of making any rash decisions about her relationship with Adam, she cleaned the store from top to bottom, immersing herself in the task.

Being at Zócalo always calmed her nerves.

She dusted the shelves, polished the inventory, and mopped the floor. Cardboard boxes were piled high in the storage room and she had dozens of mail orders to fill, but she wanted to wash the front window first. Dirty glass was her number-one pet peeve. Smudged fingerprints and smog residue, her enemies.

Kari took a bucket outside, frowning as her squeegee sailed along the glass. Her new sign would be delivered tomorrow so she really wanted the storefront to sparkle. When she was finished, she studied the shining surface, looking for spots she’d missed.

A squeal of tires at the closest intersection diverted her attention. She glanced down the street, concerned.

The noise was caused by minor traffic congestion, not even a fender-bender. But her tummy twisted with panic. Memories of Chuy’s hands on her throat assaulted her senses. She closed her eyes, seeing flashes of blood and
fire. She heard the roar of the SUV, the report of gunfire, the deafening blast of explosives.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. The commotion cleared and her anxiety eased, but her knees felt wobbly as she ducked back inside the store. After she put away her cleaning supplies, she paced the aisles, unable to relax.

The impulse basket looked a little disorganized, so she rummaged through it, sorting baby booties and stocking caps. For some reason, she lingered over the
rebozos
. She’d left one of the shawls tied in baby-sling style to demonstrate its purpose. With a small frown, she slipped it over her shoulder, sticking her hand in the empty pouch.

Since Sasha’s miscarriage, she’d been too focused on work. She realized that now. As much as she loved Zócalo, she longed for more. She wanted a family, close friends and a vivid personal life.

She wanted children.

That desire had been vague and open-ended, more of a hazy wish than a distinct plan for the future, until the day she’d modeled the
rebozo
for Adam. That act, in his presence, had set her biological clock into motion. His niece and nephew were cute as buttons. Kari could easily picture a black-haired infant sleeping against her chest.

The door signal sounded, startling her from her thoughts. She turned to see Adam walking through the entrance. When he saw what she was wearing, he stopped in his tracks. “Making plans?” he asked, smiling a little.

She jerked her hand from the pouch and pulled the
sling over her head, tossing it away like a live snake. “Of course not.”

“I thought I’d take you to lunch.”

“Is it noon already?”

He arched a brow. “It’s two o’clock.”

“Oh,” she said, perplexed. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“Why don’t we spend the rest of the afternoon at the beach? I have a blanket in my car. We can go for a swim or take a nap in the sun.”

“I have to work.”

He gave her a measured look. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the tears that filled her eyes said otherwise. Hiding them from him, she turned and rearranged two clay figurines on a shelf. Because her hands were shaking, she succeeded only in knocking one over. It tumbled to the floor and shattered. Her vision blurred as she knelt to pick up the shards.

Adam crouched down beside her, grasping her wrists. “Leave it.”

“I can’t.”

“Come away with me.”

She wanted to go with him. Her desire to cling to his neck and collapse in his arms was so strong that she almost tucked her head against his chest, wilting with relief. But something held her back. One last thread of resistance.

Everyone she’d loved had left—or died. She couldn’t bear to lose him, too. If she could just put a little distance between them, she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable. A protective barrier would keep her from getting hurt.

“I think I need some space,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.