Saint (7 page)

“Um, there was a Dave Smith with Will the
first couple of times we met. After that I only dealt with Will. The agents who
sat with me on location were picked by his supervisor, but they’re…dead. Where,
exactly, would you be, er, stashing me?”

“Yes or no?”

The panic that had been swirling in her
guts began to work its way up her spine. “Why did Will dump me on you and run?
Is he afraid of Juarez or his own people?”

A muscle ticked along Harris’ jaw. “All I
know is there’s a leak somewhere and Will didn’t have the time to find out just
how far up it went. That makes it pretty hard to know who you can trust.
Doesn’t change your situation. Yes or no?”

She rose to her feet and paced the length
of the room. Everything seemed to be closing in on her. “I’m not going anywhere
with anyone until I know what’s going on here. I trusted Will. I did what he
asked, followed all his instructions to the letter and look where I ended up.
How do I know I can trust you? How do I know I can trust the person you pawn me
off on? You’re doing the same thing Will did, shoving me onto someone else.
People are dying all around me and I have no control over it. It wasn’t
supposed to be this way.”

“Things rarely work out the way they’re
supposed to,” he said quietly. “How did you think it would be?”

Her fingers locked together then unlocked.
Her chest started to burn. “Will assured me I would be safe until the trial,
then afterward I might have to enter Witness Protection for a while, ’til
things calmed down. He didn’t tell me everyone who got close to me would die.”

“Anytime you deal with someone as powerful
as Juarez, you take that chance. Once Will suspected Juarez had help from the
inside so he was afraid to use any more agency people. And you’re right.” He
rose, crossed the room to stand in front of her. “You don’t know that you can
trust me. You’ll just have to take my word for it nothing will happen to you on
my watch.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Oh yes, I can.” His voice was rough as
gravel. “What I can’t guarantee is that more people won’t die in the process.”

“Those agents…Simon and Ray and Buck. They
had families.”

“Everyone has something to lose. They were
doing their job.”

“You’re not answering my question. Why did
Will bring me to you? Why was he so sure you are the only one who could keep me
safe until the trial?”

His face was as readable as a stone wall,
his eyes and voice flat when he finally spoke. “He was hoping I’d eliminate the
need for a trial.”

Maria took a step back, rubbing at the
center of her sternum, where the burn was now a raging inferno. “He—he wanted
you to kill Juarez?”

“No Juarez, no trial.”

A mercenary. A paid killer. Someone who
thought nothing of taking a life if enough money was involved. And she was
supposed to put her life in this man’s hands because Will Skaggs thought he had
run out of options. She had thought more of Will than that. Thought he wanted
to see justice done. Will couldn’t deal with the complications legally so he
was copping out, leaving it to a professional to fix the problem. Permanently.

But Seth Harris had refused and so Will had
dumped her in his lap and disappeared. “If I don’t testify against Juarez in
court, I’ll be just as guilty of manipulating the law as he is. I’ll have sunk
to his level.”

Harris’ hard mouth pulled to the side
wryly. “That’s better than being dead.”

She backed away from him. “It can’t be this
way. If everyone took the law into their own hands there would be no law, only
destruction and persecution. That’s why my grandfather came to this country, to
get away from the dictators and the corruption and the killing. My father was a
police officer for twenty-seven years. The system works. I’ve seen it work.”

He was giving her that look again, the one
that said
get a clue, lady
. “Every system has its flaws. Our laws protect the criminal instead
of the victim. Even if you can prove a crime was committed, there are
exceptions. Juarez is a major exception. It’s not your fault those agents died,
that’s just the way it is when you deal with a lunatic. Juarez has no respect
for the law, he buys and sells it. That’s why he came here, because in this
country you’re innocent until proven guilty. If you don’t testify along with
the evidence, which may or may not still exist, he’s not guilty of anything.
Evidence is easily lost or discredited, but since you’re the one witness who
can verify the existence of that evidence and cause a glitch in everybody’s
plans, he has to get rid of you too. There’s no telling how many people are on
his payroll.”

Maria could tell he was hoping she would
choose to take her chances with the DEA, leaving him free to return home with
no guilt. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply. “You
think about it for a while.” Blue smoke jetted from his nostrils, swirling
around his head. He seemed to be so in control, so sure of his abilities. So cold
and unfeeling.

But when she thought about it, what choice
did she really have? If she went in, the DEA would assign her a new agent, one
who might be on Juarez’s payroll. If she stayed with Seth Harris, things might
get out of control. He might choose to take matters into his own hands and
murder Juarez. She’d much rather he locate Will and together they could find a
way to solve the problem.

Help me Papa. I don’t know what to
do.
She fingered the gold cross around her neck. When
she was little, her father always said the angels took her prayers to God.
Sometimes the answer was yes, sometimes no, but always a door would be opened.
She just had to decide which door was the right one.

“Who would I be staying with if I let you
hide me?”

“A preacher, of sorts.”

Close enough. “Then I guess it’s the
preacher.”

Chapter Four

Mexico

The preacher opened the note handed to him
by the cantina owner and skimmed the contents.

No money. Temporary. Could be trouble. Saint.

He chuckled to himself. “And I thought that
collar was just going to sit and collect dust.”

* * * * *

D.C.

Pepe dialed a number from his cell phone,
delighted to have information that would please his boss. It would smooth the
way for answers he didn’t have yet. “As far as I can tell, Dave Smith, Skaggs’
partner, has been taken off the case. Skaggs also had a visitor.”

“Who?”

“I don’t have an ID yet, guy smeared mud
across the license plate, but he listened to Skaggs’ phone messages and called
Headquarters. Hocksteder returned the call immediately, thinking it was Skaggs.”

“And?”

“Nothing. He just hung up.”

“Pepe, is there a point to this drivel?”

He could just picture Juarez examining his
perfectly manicured nails, a bored expression on his handsome face. “Yes, sir.
I followed the guy back to the Crescent Arms hotel, but before I could get
close enough to get the plate number he packed up and hauled ass out of there.
I think he has the woman.”

“You think? You
think
?” Juarez exploded. “I don’t pay
you to think, damn your eyes! Why didn’t you follow them?”

“Couldn’t be helped. I was caught behind a
traffic accident and blocked in behind several cars at the last turn. But I cut
a deal with the hotel clerk. Candy for information. Guy’s name is Seth Harris.
He paid for the room in cash. I’m having both a partial plate and the name
checked out.”

Under control once again, Juarez’s cultured
voice flowed smoothly. “It’s time to dig deeper. Women are notorious for soft
hearts and secrets. Find someone or something we can use to make her come to
us. I prefer someone.”

“Hocksteder will clamp down on us if we don’t
keep a low profile.”

“I do not leave my entire future in the
hands of incompetent bureaucrats like Hocksteder. He plays both ends. Whatever
benefits him is the way he will go. I want some kind of guarantee Maria
Carvania will see reason. Find it.”

* * * * *

The return trip to Harris’ mountain seemed
to take forever. The heat was oppressive, the air hazy and heavy with humidity.
The package kept to herself in her corner of the truck cab. She looked like
hell. Probably because she’d been on the road, nonstop, for the last week,
maybe more, and had slept very little.

“Now what?” she asked as he unloaded the
bags and carried them into the cabin.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“Not what, who.”

“Your preacher friend?”

“Yep. Make yourself comfortable. It may be
a while. Francis has a habit of taking the scenic route.”

A while turned into a week.

Seth waited and watched for her to break.
She didn’t. Her hands continued to shake but she seemed to have adjusted to the
present circumstances well enough. He’d given her the spare bedroom directly
across from his own. She slept with the door closed but he could hear her
moving around restlessly during the night.

He kept conversation minimal, impersonal
and away from the subject of Juarez. He also kept his distance from the package.
The only time they spoke or spent any significant amount of time together was
during meals. To him, she was a package to be delivered, nothing more.

At times, when she thought he wasn’t paying
attention, he felt her liquid brown eyes on him, studying him, searching for what,
he had no idea. He was a pretty simple guy nowadays.

The dreams came on him again, just as he
knew they would. For the moment they were only fragments he could push away in
the light of day. But they served to help harden his resolve. He wouldn’t let
her pull him in, wouldn’t be forced into anything. He wouldn’t give a damn. Find
Will. Get rid of her. The end.

* * * * *

Western Kentucky

Francis passed what barely qualified as a
hole-in-the-wall bar as he neared his destination.

What the hell, might as well have one
more drink.
Once he reached the colonel’s that would be
all the alcohol for a while. It was probably for the best. He couldn’t remember
being sober for more than a day or two at a time in years.

The bar was quiet. He ordered a whiskey and
glanced around the dingy room. There were three men and a woman at a nearby
table but otherwise the place was empty.

“You got a jukebox?” he asked the generic
bartender.

“Back in the corner.” The bartender hooked
his head toward the ancient-looking machine. “But it doesn’t work all the time.”

Francis strolled toward the antique
spinarama, feeling the stares of the other four occupants. Damnation it was too
quiet.

Fishing a quarter from his pocket, he
inserted it in the slot and flipped through the selections, some of them as old
as this ragtag broken-down bar.

He pressed B4 and waited. Nothing.

He pressed C7. Nothing.

“Mister?” the bartender called out as
Francis swung a fist upward. “What are you doing?”

The resounding crash sent all four
occupants fleeing, their drinks forgotten as they made a mad dash for the door.

“Giving you a reason to buy a new jukebox,”
he growled. “Try getting one that works this time. I hate packrats. Hey lady,
you forgot your purse.”

The woman backtracked, grabbed frantically
for her purse and made another wild dash for the door.

Francis merely shrugged at the bartender
whose mouth was still hanging open. “Something I said?”

* * * * *

Harris’ Mountain

Holy Hell’s Angels.

Lean-hipped, long-haired, wearing leather
pants that stretched indecently across his pelvis, the biker parked his hog and
unsaddled. He sauntered straight to the porch where Maria was standing, the
chains on his hips and boots clinking with each step. An open black-leather
vest revealed tattoos that covered his arms and chest, along with a scattering
of scars. His body screamed biker, but his face…he had the face of an altar
boy. Only the black stubble covering his jaw lent his innocent expression its rebel
look. Around his neck he wore a simple white priest’s collar.

Seth inclined his head. “Francis.”

Francis stepped forward to shake Seth’s
hand. “Colonel.”

“You certainly took your sweet time. I was
going to give you ’til tonight.”

“Well hell, if you didn’t live up here with
the bears and beavers it wouldn’t have taken me so long.” Francis rested a
booted foot on the step. “I’ll never know how you stand all this peace and
quiet. Gets on my nerves.” His dark, appraising gaze swiveled toward Maria with
unabashed curiosity. “This the soul who needs saving?”

Harris made the introductions as calmly as
if he were introducing a partner at an afternoon tea. “Maria, this is Father
Francis. Francis, Maria. She picked a fight with someone bigger than her and
could use a little divine intervention.”