Sworn to Protect (23 page)

Chapter 43

The strongest of all warriors are these two—Time and Patience.

Leo Tolstoy

Danika breathed a little easier after she and Alex talked again to Chief Jimenez. The police issued separate warrants for Jacob and Sandra, and the chief expressed a possible end to all the chaos. A call to Karen assured Danika that Tiana was asleep and would not see Sandra’s arrest. At last, Danika would have some answers about the mystery of Toby’s death and the rogue agent.
Jacob and Sandra.
Who ever would have thought the veteran agent, whose file was once laden with commendations, had turned rogue—and possibly killed his own brother? And Sandra . . . She’d lied not only to Danika but also to Lucy. First thing in the morning Lucy had to be notified. So much now made sense.

Surely the questioning would clear up the discrepancies about Jacob. But Sandra would be sent back across the border unless she was detained for criminal activity.

The moment Danika and Alex walked out of the police department headquarters, the night’s revelations slammed against her heart. She shivered despite the sultry night, her thoughts sinking to depths she wanted to leave alone.

“Why don’t we sit in my truck and talk through this?” Danika’s car sat beside Alex’s truck, and he must have sensed her state of mind.

“I didn’t get to talk with Tiana. She will think her mommy has deserted her.”

“We’ll spend hours on the computer tomorrow to make up for it. I don’t want you to go home with all this junk on your mind.”

Danika sighed. “It’s late, Alex. Are you sure I won’t be dipping into your beauty rest?”

“Not at all. The beauty fairy gave up on me about ten years ago.” He limped toward their cars.

“Have you considered the crutch Olympics? You move at a good clip.”

“It might help pass the time while I’m healing for the rodeo.”

She laughed, the first time in a long time. Then she felt guilty for it.

Once they were inside his truck, the bantering from a few minutes before vanished. The weight of tonight hit her again.

“Talk to me,” he said. “I have a great ear.”

Where did she begin when two people she cared for could be involved with deceit and possibly murder? And Tiana was so attached to Sandra. “As much as I want Toby’s murder solved and the killer brought to justice, the thought of Jacob’s involvement is hard—real hard. I never had a brother, and Jacob filled the role. Before Toby’s death, we had wonderful family times together. He was a great husband and dad. And the best agent—a bit of a maverick in his methods and highly respected.”

Memories about Jacob’s legendary days rolled through her mind. “He used to hide in the brush at night with nothing but a flashlight, his assigned weapon, and a can of mosquito repellent in order to catch illegals floating across on inner tubes. He was happy then, no scowls and fits of temper.”

“Did he and Toby grow up in this area?”

“Arizona. They lived in a small border town. When it seemed like their area filled with illegals overnight, their dad grew wary. He called it ‘like bindweed.’”

“You mean the weeds that pop up overnight?”

“Exactly. And it’s difficult to get rid of. If you take a hoe to them, it seems to stimulate more growth.”

“Great analogy.”

“Right. When Papa Morales saw a trailer was rented to a single man and within a week fifteen men between the ages of seventeen and thirty were living there, he packed up his family and moved to McAllen. Jacob joined the Border Patrol, and Toby became a teacher and track coach.

“Then Toby died, and you know the rest.” She looked at Alex. This was all wrong. She knew Jacob, the real Jacob. “I’m having a difficult time believing Jacob could have killed Toby or had a hand in it. And I’ve seen a lot of bad blood between families when drugs are involved. Oh, I know I wanted to think he could lead us to solid answers earlier this evening, but he loved his brother. The arguments they had never lasted long. Certainly nothing that would have caused Jacob to think murderous thoughts.”

“Are you thinking he may have turned rogue after his brother died?”

Did she really want to consider Jacob had turned against the Border Patrol? “That makes more sense than his direct involvement before Toby’s death. He changed so much during the last two years. I watched his wife try to help him, but he refused to admit he was the source of any problems, always blaming her for his unhappiness.” She shook her head. “Unless he was being threatened.”

“That makes more sense.”

“The thought of Sandra living in my home and caring for my daughter is a little overwhelming. Tiana loves Sandra just as I do. Toby betrayed me with his pro-immigration activities, and Sandra has done the same thing. I feel stupid, weak, duped, and incredibly angry.”

Alex reached across the truck and took her hand. The firm grasp gave her silent strength, and she needed something tangible to hold on to. “She fooled the maid and nanny service too,” he said.

“But my job is detecting illegal immigrants. Now I fear what the chief will say—or if I will be given disciplinary action. I know the business Sandra worked for is liable for her illegal status, but . . . this seems to be a nightmare with no end.”

“When I think of the shots fired at us and the threatening phone call made to you, I realize there is something bigger going on. But the whys and hows are still out there.”

The finger . . . the ghastly finger.
Danika’s mind refused to shut down. “Hear me out on this. What if Sandra’s illegal status has nothing to do with Toby’s killer or the rogue agent? What if Jacob is being blackmailed by someone responsible for Nadine’s disappearance? and that someone also killed Toby and is after you and me?”

“Why wait two years? If that’s the case, what did Toby, you, and Jacob know or have that would cause someone to come after you?”

“I only wish I knew.”

Chapter 44

Deeds, and not fine speeches, are the proof of love.

Spanish proverb

Danger had never been a pothole that Alex deliberately drove over, yet a nagging thought persisted. If he went to the grass roots of the problem surrounding Danika, someone there might tell him what he needed to know. Undocumented immigrants feared the Border Patrol and any authoritative figures who represented deportation, but a doctor symbolized healing and compassion. At least that’s what Alex chose to believe. Toby had indicated where a few safe houses were located, but that was over two years ago. Alex decided to pay one of them a visit and hope it was filled with people.

Late in the afternoon, after placing two cases of water on the bed of his truck—rather awkwardly while balancing on crutches—and grabbing the same load of supplies that he’d used for the free vaccinations at the elementary school, Alex drove to a spot near Hidalgo. He doubted if Danika and Ed would approve of his methods, but he was fresh out of ideas. This was what Toby used to do, and his friend had been an activist. The thought persisted, and Alex questioned if his means of helping Danika were also a way to alienate her.

Who knows.
In one breath he felt good about what he was doing, and in the next guilt assaulted him for using the needs of these poor people to gather information. Never mind how Danika and Ed might react.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the gravel driveway of a modest frame home. Nothing about it appeared out of the ordinary. No broken windows, and the trim had been freshly painted. A scraggly dog lumbered down from the front porch. It stretched and wagged his tail. Could this be the right place?

Alex grabbed his keys and straightened his white lab jacket. Instead of his heart thumping like a scared rabbit, he sensed the same excitement as he always felt in the rodeo ring. He refused to take the time to consider the difference between getting thrown from a bronc and getting shot—again. His limp served as a reminder.

The dog sniffed him and continued to wag its tail. Alex patted its head. Hopefully the reception inside would be as friendly. He scanned the area and saw no one. Two years ago, Toby claimed this safe house did the best job because of its neat and clean appearance.

Once on the porch, he rang the doorbell. Not a sound, and the closed blinds of the windows revealed nothing. He knocked. The same reception.

“My name is Dr. Alex Price from the McAllen Medical Center. I was told that someone here needed a doctor. I’m by myself with a few medical supplies. And I have a couple of cases of water on the truck bed.”

He waited and bent to pat the dog again, his body language and every gesture aimed at setting an observer at ease.

“All right,” Alex continued. “I imagine you are nervous and maybe a bit fearful of me. But I have water, and I assure you I’m a doctor, and if you need medical assistance, my services are free. If anyone needs a hospital, the McAllen Medical Center treats everyone without question.”

Frustrated with the lack of response, he turned to leave. The moment his boot hit the well-worn path to the driveway, the door squeaked open, and Alex viewed a round-faced man who looked to be in his fifties.

“Sir, we could use the water.”

Alex smiled. No doubt they had a long journey ahead. “I’ll bring it right up.”

“We have a woman who cut her leg.”

If she had injured her leg crossing the river, infection had most likely set in. The river was a wasteland of disease. “I’ll take a look at it.”

Alex walked to his truck with optimism in his footsteps. He opened the truck gate and scooted out the box of first aid supplies. Balancing it atop the case of water, he lifted both from the truck bed, a crazy balancing act that might cause him to fall. A pinpoint of guilt niggled his insides again for what he was about to do. Most likely these were hardworking people, frightened and waiting to move on to a safer destination.

Fifteen men, women, and children gathered together in clumps of twos and threes in the living room and kitchen of the house. The odors of river-bathed bodies mingled with sweat and desperation and yanked at his senses. If any of them had drugs, they were well concealed.

Alex knelt at the side of a pretty young woman seated on a broken and slashed sofa. Her jean leg had been cut, exposing a three-inch gash. “How did you cut your leg?”

She wiped at the blood dripping down to her mud-soaked tennis shoe. “Something in the river.”

“I see. I’m going to clean it up, apply medicine to stop the infection, and then bandage it.”

She nodded. “
Gracias.
I can’t let it slow me down.”

“I understand.” He worked quickly, weighing each question and comment that entered his head. The others watched, no doubt curious and welcoming a diversion from the day. “Do you have food here?”

“Soup and crackers,” a man beside him said. “We’re lucky.”

“That you are. Do you have jobs waiting for you?”

A couple of men grunted, and a woman replied positively. A young woman joined them from the kitchen. She looked to be about fifteen. “I have a job waiting for me in McAllen.”

Alex searched through the bandages for the correct size. “I know a couple of women who had part of the cost paid to get here by someone who allowed them to work off the money owed.”

“That’s where I’m going,” she said. “I’ll work off the rest of my fee; then I can get my own job.”

“I wonder if it’s the same person.” Alex crumpled the paper that encased the bandage.

“I don’t know her name, but she’ll have someone pick me up later this afternoon.”

This could be the real thing.
Alex stood from the injured woman’s leg. “Anyone else need to see me?”

No one answered. More patients would have helped him cement more information from the young woman destined to work in McAllen. He’d have to conceal his truck down the road until she was picked up.

Three hours passed with mosquitoes swarming around him, despite the insect repellent. Alex hid around a bend in the road, armed with a fishing pole and binoculars. His white jacket had been tossed onto the seat, leaving him wearing a T-shirt and jeans. What a ridiculous idea. To think he’d taken off this afternoon from the hospital to attempt to find out where the undocumented young women were being held. This might not be the same person, but the young woman did refer to a “she.”

He was about to give up when he took another look at the safe house. A truck slowed and pulled into the driveway. A man of about twenty-five wearing a baseball cap got out and entered the house, but all Alex could see in his binoculars was a side view. Less than five minutes later, the man and the young woman who had indicated she had a job in McAllen climbed into the truck and sped away.

Alex hurried back to his vehicle, adrenaline pumping. Finally he had an opportunity to help Danika and all of those poor, abused women.

“Sir, what are you doing out here?” A Border Patrol agent leaned against Alex’s truck.

* * *

“What were you thinking?” Ed had looked happier after Alex had beaten him on the golf course.

“I wanted to help Danika.”

“By getting yourself killed?”

“I was about to find a few answers until your agent interrupted me.”

“Had it occurred to you that he could have followed the truck?”

Alex didn’t want to admit he hadn’t thought of it. “How rich. Do you think the driver would have taken the girl to where he was going with the Border Patrol on his rear?”

“Agents are trained to pursue illegals and to handle the situation in an appropriate manner.”

“None of your men could have gained the confidence of those people to find out where the women are being held.”

“How did you know where to look?”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you protecting a rogue?”

A surge of anger lit a fire in Alex’s veins. He stood, his fists clenched and his nerves singed. “I’m done here.” He turned to the door.

“Wait a minute—”

Alex spun around. “You wait a minute. You’re so determined to find this agent that you’re destroying an agent who’d give her life for the cause. Jacob is the rogue, remember? Someone is out to kill Danika. Are you an idiot? How could she be trading secrets?”

“Sounds a bit dramatic to me.”

“Maybe so. But I’d rather be a little over-the-top than attend a funeral.”