Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (3 page)

She’d spent the past two days trying to track down
anyone her brother might have confided in, anyone who might have a clue to
where he had gone to hide. And came up empty.

He should’ve called her again. Wouldn’t he know she’d
worry? As if a lead ball weighed her stomach, a sharp pang tightened her
muscles. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. She had to be strong
and keep trying. Jordan’s life might be at stake.

“Whooee, what a hunk!” said a girlish voice.

Juliana glanced up at the teenage girls sunning on the
row-house step before her. This warm blue March day must’ve tempted a boy to
hang out on the other side of the street. Oh, for life to be that simple.

“Arlene, let’s take a little walk. I want a closer
look at Tall, Dark, and Devastating.” The girl, in low-hanging jeans and a
clingy aqua belly shirt, sashayed down the steps.

“After that last dork, Missy, you said you were
through with men,” Arlene teased. “Besides he’s too old for you.”

“A hottie like him would tempt a nun, and window
shopping doesn’t mean you’re gonna buy. Mm-mmm! Look at those broad shoulders
in that fine leather jacket.”

Reflecting on how to contact Jordan’s old girlfriend,
Juliana didn’t search out the target of their admiration. Finally their words
sparked a brain synapse.

Broad shoulders. Tall, Dark, and Devastating.
Her pulse flip-flopped, and heat invaded her cheeks. Before she turned, she
knew who the hunk was and who he waited for.

“Ms. Paris.” With fluid masculine grace, Ricardo Cruz
unfolded his long frame from the small stoop and doffed his mirrored
sunglasses. His dark eyes skimmed her with warm appreciation as he crossed the
narrow street.

“Agent Cruz. What are you doing here?” She dropped her
planner beside her backpack on the passenger seat. She dug her fingernails into
her palms against the power of his smile.

To one side, the two teenagers waited, mesmerized.
They gaped at the agent as though he were handing out free concert tickets.

Observing the bulge of what was probably a pistol
beneath his left arm, Juliana stiffened. She cast a glare at the two girls.
They huffed in defeat and flounced away.

Agent Cruz slipped his sunglasses in an inner pocket.
His intense regard threaded heat through her. The full impact of his attention
made her the only woman in existence.

A deliberate male tactic. She gave herself a mental
shake. “What do you want?”

“Merely to talk. How about lunch?”

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

Cruz made a slight bow. The image of Zorro flashed in
her mind. “A good detective takes care of herself. If you’re hungry or cold,
you can’t do your job.”

“Detective? Hardly.” She shook her head. “I’m fine and
I don’t want to talk to you.”

He examined a page in his pocket notepad. “This
morning you’ve looped all over the city. Talked to four of Jordan’s buddies
before this one. Palmieri, is it? You need a break.”

She zipped the planner in her backpack and slung the
pack on with so much force she nearly lost her balance. “You’ve been following
me. How dare you—”

“Protecting you, Ms. Paris. Protecting you.” He
shrugged. “Better me following you than El Águila’s goons.”

“El Águila? Who’s that? No one’s following me but you.”

His dark eyes glimmered with suspicion. “Did they
already contact you? Have you seen a tail?”

Her stomach prickled.
The van in the parking lot.
Then this morning . . .
“Certainly not.” She managed to keep her gaze
steady, but she’d paused a second too long.

“I see.” Perception glinted in his eyes. “Lunch and I’ll
give you the scoop on El Águila.”

She shouldn’t trust him but she had to know. “All
right. There’s a small sandwich shop a few blocks over on Congress Street. We
can walk.”

*****

Ten minutes later, Rick sat across from Juliana and
facing the entrance in a back booth at Sammy’s Subs Plus. He could observe
every table and booth. College pennants papered the walls. Tables, chairs, and
booths gleamed with the USM blue and white. Except for them and a gray-haired
couple, only fresh-faced students filled the seats.

Boys with shaved heads and torn jeans. Others in
preppy collars and khakis. Girls in mere scraps of cloth or skirts that swept
their ankles. International students—one in Middle Eastern headgear and a few
Asians. No Hispanics. Not that El Águila’s flunkies had to be Mexican or even
look Hispanic. But no one here paid Juliana and him any undue attention.

“Order first.” He picked up a menu from the table. “Then
we’ll talk.”

“You’re not buying me lunch. I’ll pay for my own food.”
She speared him with a glare. “I came with you only because I want to know
about this El Águila.”

“Up to you.” Rick observed her while she pretended to
study the menu. She’d bound that glorious hair into a ponytail. He’d like to
see it free around her shoulders.

He had to tread carefully. His cop’s instinct also
told him that Olívas posed an imminent threat to her. The idea of her brother
caught in El Águila’s talons reminded him of Rudy, but he wouldn’t examine it
too closely.

Removal of her jacket revealed a tiny butterfly tattoo
on her neck. She wore layers of silky tops over her slim jeans. Simple but
sexy. Damn, he had to curb his attraction. Sister of a suspected drug
trafficker, she should interest him only as a lead.

Once they’d ordered, she said, “I haven’t heard from
my brother, if that’s what you want to know. No letter, no phone call, nothing.”

“You must be very worried, Juliana.”

The corners of her mouth trembled. “I have every right
to be.”

Since she allowed him to use her first name, he
relaxed. Maybe it’d be okay. She’d talk to him. “Tell me about your brother.
Jordan must be a special guy to merit such loyalty. I wonder if any of my
sisters would stand up for me like that.”

“Sisters? How many?” She closed her mouth as if
regretting the personal question.

“Four. I’m in the middle, and to hear them tell it,
the bane of their existence when we were growing up.” He folded his hands on
the table. “But we were talking about Jordan.”

Her gaze slid to the tabletop, then to the throng
around them. He could almost read her thoughts through her animated features
and transparent coloring. He imagined her agile mind analyzing the pros and
cons of sharing family information with him. Fascinating.

A quartet with physics texts exited the booth behind
Juliana. They had eaten hunched over a laptop and some papers one of them
juggled into a folder.

The waitress returned with their drinks, and Juliana
peeled the paper from her straw with undue concentration. When she again
regarded him, it was clear she’d answer questions, but would pounce on any
misstep.

“My dad died when I was fifteen and Jordan was five.
Molly—my mom—wasn’t home much after that. She had to work two jobs.”

“So responsibility for your brother fell to you?” She
was more a parent to the kid than a sister. That explained her desperate
concern.

She shrugged. “I went to parent conferences and helped
him learn to read. Jordan struggled in school. He skipped a lot to hang out at
the co-ops and talk to the fishermen. Some took him out on their boats and
taught him. And his girlfriend helped him.” The half smile told him she
relished the reminiscence.

“Did he get in trouble?”

“Not the way you mean. No cops.” She could’ve lashed
out at him for that question, but her expression turned wistful. “Jordan’s
basically a good kid. He’s not slow, but he sees things concretely, and he acts
on impulse. He trusts the wrong people.”

She was being too hopeful by far, but he’d see where
this led. “So he might have gone along with what Sudsy Pettit told him about
the deliveries.”

“I think that’s it. And when he learned what was
really going on, he panicked.”

Silverware clattered with the clearing of the vacated
booth, and Juliana started.

When the busboy had hustled the dirty dishes off to
the kitchen, Rick said, “Your brother’s only part of why I wanted to see you
today.” He set down his empty glass.

“I don’t have much time.”

“You skipped classes this morning. More investigating
this afternoon?”

Her mouth tightened. She slapped her napkin on her
lap. “What is it you want?”

Their orders arrived. A veggie roll-up for Juliana and
a turkey sub for him. Averting her eyes, Juliana bit into her sandwich with an
eagerness that betrayed her hunger.

Cheered by her capitulation, Rick lifted his sub. He
stopped dead at the sight of her tongue dabbing at salad dressing on her upper
lip. Focus, he told himself. Distance. “Let’s suppose Jordan has hidden
somewhere. I assume you know the possibilities. Since you can’t find him, no
one can.”

“Maybe. So tell me about this El Águila.” Her eyes
narrowed with skepticism.

“El Águila is a Mexican cartel and also the soubriquet
of its head. The Eagle is a ruthless man, no way noble like the bird of prey he’s
named for.” He wouldn’t tell her the U. S. had nada on his real name or
description.

“A Mexican drug lord? In Maine? Please.” Although she
scoffed, furrows appeared between her eyes.

“The border between Mexico and the U.S. is more
secure, and the wars among the drug cartels and with the Mexican army are more
vicious. El Águila still operates in his native land but he has long arms that
have reached into the Northeast, including the coast of Maine.”

Her eyes widened with comprehension. “With its long,
porous coastline.”

“Exactly. Lots of small harbors and coves and vacation
homes with deep-water docks. The distance cuts into his bottom line, but don’t
cry over this cutthroat’s expenses. They smuggle heroin and cocaine into the
country. On the return trip, they take guns and explosives to continue the
violence in Mexico.”

“A vicious cycle.” Her gaze flickered with concern.
Probably wondering where her baby brother fit into the gang.

“Don’t underestimate the danger. If Carlos Olívas, his
lieutenant here in the Northeast, thinks you know or have evidence of their
drug and gun smuggling, or if he thinks you know where your brother is, he’ll .
. .
pressure
you.”

“You seem to know him well.” Her lips curved, but in a
teeth-baring challenge. Not what Rick had in mind when he wished for her smile.

“You got me there. Olívas and I have never met, but I
do know him.” And what he could do to Jordan.

“What could he think I know?” Her voice was reedy, her
eyes wide.

“It looked like they were searching for something in
Jordan’s place. Perhaps he has evidence against them.”

“That’s what you’re hoping. And you think this Olívas
might suspect Jordan gave it to me.” With her fork, she poked shredded lettuce
back into her wrap sandwich. “I don’t suppose the DEA would go so far as to
keep
pressuring
me to make it look that way to Carlos, would they? Would
you
?”

Rick blinked at her cynical deduction. Hell, she still
thought the worst of him. “I would never put a civilian in that kind of danger.”

“Perhaps.” She put down her half-finished sandwich and
sipped her sparkling water.

“I’ll help you find your brother. I can’t promise not
to arrest him, but I do promise to keep him safe. And you can help me uncover
whatever it is he knows or has hidden.”

After wiping her mouth with her napkin, she laid it
beside her plate. “Agent Cruz—”

“Rick. My first name is Rick.” He offered her his best
smile, the one that charmed females from nine to ninety.

“I don’t have any idea where Jordan is. I know nothing
about evidence and I doubt this Olívas believes I do.”

“Be careful. You wouldn’t like his kind of pressure.
Olívas enjoys hurting people.”

“I believe you, but I can’t trust strangers with my
brother’s life.” She dug a dollar bill from her bag and shoved it under her
plate. She slid from the booth.

Rick remained seated as she strode to the cashier. A
sudden craving for a smoke had him popping a mint.

He was a man who loved women, and they usually loved
him. From childhood, he knew that his looks and smile gave him an edge with
females. In return, they charmed him. He liked their company, their scents,
their soft skin, their musical voices, the intricacies of their minds. Age didn’t
matter. The mutual admiration ranged from his ancient Basque grandmother to the
smallest tot. Even at times, his sisters.

But not Juliana Paris. Exactly like the guys had said.
Shit.

After she swung through the luncheonette’s glass door,
Rick paid his check and followed her at a distance. He’d keep an eye on her as
far as her car. It would be tragic if stubbornness placed her in harm’s way.
But her refusal seemed like more than stubbornness, more like distrust. Did
Juliana distrust the DEA or cops in general? And why?

A steady stream of people strolled Congress Street.
Students and older tweedy professorial types. Street people in ragged layers
and office workers in business layers. No one strode more purposefully than
Juliana.

She turned right at the side street and waited to
cross. He wove among the few passing cars and pedestrians lined up at an ATM to
duck in Computer Fix’s doorway. Around the display window, he observed her
progress. Keeping an eye on her dark red backpack, he treated himself to the
sight of her trim hips swaying with her brisk stride.

A green van with smoked glass windows screeched to a
stop before Juliana. Two men jumped out. Blind to the street drama, the foot
traffic parted around the van and proceeded on their way. Horns blared and
irate motorists shouted.

One man grabbed Juliana by the right arm. The other
gesticulated and spoke rapidly to her. Traffic noises and distance prevented
him from hearing what the man said.