The Marriage Profile (19 page)

“Why are you telling me this now?” Justin asked.

“Because I want you to understand just how great a failure I am. As a man, as a father.” He closed his eyes behind the glasses. “In the past ten years I've saved and rescued hundreds, probably thousands, of strangers. Yet now when the one person who has every right to expect me to protect her—my daughter—I can't help her. I can't save her from the sick bastard who's stolen her because I'm worthless. Without my eyes, I'm of no use to her or anyone.”

“Luke, you—”

Someone barreled into the back of his chair, jolting him, and Luke's glasses fell from his face atop the table.

“Oh, heavens, I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going,” the woman said.

“Angela? Is that you?”

“Yes,” she said, and scrambled to pick up his glasses. “I'm sorry, Luke. I should have been paying attention….”

But as he stared at her, he caught flickers of light bouncing off something around her neck. He rubbed his eyes, looked again and could just make out the image of a silver cross on a chain that reflected in the overhead lights.

“Here's your glasses,” she told him.

Luke took the dark shades from her fingers, realized that he could make out the shape of her hand and the glasses he'd been hiding behind since he'd lost his sight.

“Are you all right?” she asked, worry in her voice, no doubt because he continued to stare at her.

“I'm fine,” Luke assured her. He was better than fine, he realized. Because if those flickers of light and the shadowy images meant anything, his sight was coming back.

 

“You sure Del Brio is going to show for this swap meet you've got planned?”

“I'm sure,” FBI agent Sean Collins told fellow agent Annabelle Harte as they sat out of sight and monitored the Texas road where more than a year's worth of work was finally going to pay off. Tonight he would finally put Del Brio and the Mercado crime family behind bars where they belonged. “You heard the tape Haley Mercado made. Del Brio said he would be on hand to make the exchange.”

“I don't know, Collins. Why risk it? Why not let his men handle the exchange the way he's done in the past?”

“Maybe with a million bucks changing hands for those stolen artifacts, Frankie doesn't trust his homeboys. Whatever the reason, the minute he takes that money, we've got Del Brio where we want him.” Sean trained his night-vision goggles on the road where the six trucks were lined up on opposite sides of the road—three containing smuggled Mayan treasures hidden inside bags of road-paving
and concrete supplies from Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting and three empty trucks, identical in appearance, that were to be driven away by Del Brio's people when the swap was made. Only, the drivers of the empty trucks had federal agents at the wheel who would take Del Brio and his men into custody when the money changed hands.

“I don't like this. Del Brio's late. The tape said he'd be here for eight-fifteen. It's eight-twenty now,” Harte pointed out.

“Don't get your panties in a wad, Harte. He'll be here.” But when another five minutes ticked by, Collins grew antsy himself. “Garrett, you all set?”

“Just sitting here in my big black sedan with my briefcase full of money waiting to buy me some genuine Mayan artifacts,” the undercover agent replied.

Collins grimaced at the smart-mouthed reply. “Morrisey? Henderson? Wyatt? You and your partners all set?”

“All set,” each team of drivers replied in turn.

“You forgot to ask about me, boss.”

“You better hope you're right about Wainwright, Hunter. He and that Mason woman came real close to blowing this operation,” Collins told the agent he'd sent in to work undercover in the county sheriff's office. Two nights ago when the pair had shown up at the door for their groceries, Collins had thought he'd have to haul them both in to salvage the operation. Just as he'd expected, Wainwright had picked up on something because he'd had Hunter check out Mason's new neighbors. Fortunately for Wainwright, he'd bought Hunter's story about the computer salesman and his wife from Kansas and hadn't pursued the matter.

“Heads up,” Harte said, cutting into the chatter. “Looks like the big man's arrived. What is it with these
Texas guys and their trucks? Look at the tires on that green monster.”

“It's a guy thing,” Hunter said with a good-old-boy chuckle that earned him a smart put-down from Harte.

“Looks like he's got someone with him,” Collins noted as he watched the vehicle approach. “Big gorilla of a guy.”

“Probably his bodyguard,” Hunter supplied. “Name's Alphonse Piccolo out of Jersey, but he goes by the name of Big Al.”

“Son of a— Big Al knows me,” Wyatt informed them. “I hauled him in about six years ago when I was working to crack a drug-smuggling ring back east. He was a real mean mother. Ended up cutting himself a deal with the D.A., squealed on some guys higher up the food chain and got himself a reduced sentence.”

“Can he make you?” Collins asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, it's too late to make like Casper now, Wyatt,” Garrett informed him as the green truck pulled up beside the black sedan.

“Wyatt, you hang back as best you can and let Reynolds take the lead when it's time to exchange trucks,” Collins ordered.

“You have my money, Mr. Garrett?” Del Brio asked.

“Right here,” the agent said, and, placing the black attaché case atop the hood of the sedan, he opened it to reveal neat stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills. But before allowing Del Brio to do more than look at it, he said, “First, I want to see the merchandise.”

Del Brio went to each of the trucks, selecting random bags. Using a knife, he slit the canvas of one bag and out poured the chalky powder used to make concrete—along
with ancient crosses, coins and religious artifacts from Mayan ruins in Mexico. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Garrett told him.

“Excellent,” Del Brio said. “Big Al, have our men switch trucks with Mr. Garrett's men while we conclude our business.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“I'll take my money, Mr. Garrett,” Del Brio told him, and they started back toward the sedan.

“Hey, what the—” Big Al shouted. “I know you. You're that lousy fed who…”

“He's made me,” Wyatt said into his hidden microphone as Big Al came charging at him.

“Move in,” Collins ordered.

And chaos erupted.

 

He was in a foul mood, Justin admitted as he drove his truck along the dark roadway. They'd spent another day searching for the ranch where Lena was being held and they had once again come up empty. He was tired, hungry and frustrated. He hadn't been pleased with Bobby's explanation for tailing Angela—that he'd just happened to find himself in the same vicinity while he'd been tracking Del Brio. Justin now found himself questioning his own wisdom in having Bobby check out Angela's neighbors, especially when the report that came back on Mr. and Mrs. Collins was clean.

Something had been off with Angela's neighbors. And something was off with his deputy, too, Justin surmised. The man was hiding something. But for the life of him, Justin couldn't figure out what. All the checks he'd run on Hunter had come back indicating that Bobby was just who he claimed to be—a young deputy eager to make good.
But Justin had a gut feeling there was more to Bobby Hunter than met the eye.

Turning off the main highway, Justin said, “Since it's so late, I thought I'd take an alternate route. There's an old road that's not used much anymore. It's a little longer distance-wise and the road has only one lane, but there's hardly any traffic.”

“Hmm? Oh, fine,” Angela said, and went back to gazing out the window.

“I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. What do you say we stop and have some Tex-Mex or maybe grab something at Coyote Harry's?”

“What?”

“I asked if you'd like to stop and have dinner,” Justin repeated, irritated by Angela's continued distraction. She'd been acting as if she was only half there ever since that night at the country club when he'd run into her with Ricky.

“Thanks, but I'm really not very hungry.”

Her answer did nothing to improve his lousy mood. Nor did Angela's silence for the next ten miles. It itched at him like a pesky mosquito bite, until he couldn't hold his tongue any longer. “Listen, I don't know what's going on, but—”

Lights flashed in the road up ahead, and Justin slowed the truck to a crawl. Suddenly sirens screamed. Shouts followed. Justin saw the group of trucks, surrounded by more trucks and sedans equipped with flashing lights and sirens.

In the space of a heartbeat, he heard the roar of an engine, the squeal of tires followed by the unmistakable burst of gunfire. And then he saw the dark green monster of a pickup racing away from the chaos—and heading straight for them.

“Hang on,” Justin yelled to Angela as he cut his lights and shoved the Bronco into Reverse. The tires spun on the asphalt, and he jerked it to a stop and yelled, “Hurry! Get out!”

“Justin, no! You can't—”

He pushed her out of the passenger door and onto the road. And praying she wasn't hurt, that she would forgive him, he hit the gas and shot forward, then swerved the Bronco around so that it formed a blockade in the road. Quickly he shoved the gear into Park, and with the engine still running, he dove out the still-open passenger door. He had barely cleared the door before the green monster smashed into his Bronco. It was slowed by the impact but kept going, again picking up speed. Scrambling to his feet, Justin took aim at the fleeing truck and fired. But even as he did so, he knew there was little chance he'd hit his mark.

Then all he could think of was Angela. Spinning around, he searched the side of the road where he'd shoved her from the truck. When he spotted her lying there, his heart lurched. He raced over to her. “Angel, are you all right?” he asked as he knelt down beside her, helped her to sit up. He cupped her head in his hands and stared into her eyes. Relief flooded through him when she looked at him out of dazed blue eyes.

“Did I hurt you? Is anything broken?” He spit out the questions one after the other, all the while running his hands up and down her arms, her legs, checking her body to be sure she was okay.

What if she hadn't made it out of that truck in time? What if she had still been in that truck when it was hit?

The questions ran through his head, and for the first time in his life he realized he knew real fear. Shaken by her narrow escape and furious with himself for the chance he'd
taken with her life, it took Justin several moments to register that Angela was yelling at him.

“Justin, I said I'm okay!”

Finally her words penetrated. “You're sure?”

“Yes,” she assured him, her voice softening. “Now, will you help me up so we can see what's going on over there?”

Justin helped her to her feet. Doing his best not to look at what was left of his Bronco, he and Angela made their way over to where an army of vehicles had surrounded six trucks. In what looked like a circus, a horde of what he presumed were federal agents were running around, shouting orders. Justin recognized several members of Del Brio's crew spread-eagled and being cuffed while they were being read their rights. He also noted a number of cement bags imprinted with Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting that were lying on the ground, slit open, and crosses, coins and other relics covered with powdery dust. He shot a look at Angela, realized she'd seen them, too, and had made the connection to her sketches. As he neared the heart of the melee, Justin shouted, “Who's in charge of this circus?”

“I am,” came a familiar-sounding New York accent from the center of the fracas. When the man rose and turned to face him, Justin wasn't surprised to see Angela's neighbor Mr. Collins emerge from the group of agents. But he didn't expect to see the man who followed behind him—his own deputy, Bobby Hunter. Within seconds, Justin put two and two together, and a red haze of anger took charge.

“Listen, Justin, I'm sorry about this,” Bobby began as he approached with the other agent.

Without preamble, Justin slugged him.

Two other agents grabbed him, restraining him before
he could go at the deputy again. “You just made a big mistake, pal,” one of the agents said. “You just assaulted a federal officer.”

“I just hit a lying bastard,” Justin countered.

“Let him go,” Bobby said as he wiped the blood from his mouth. “Given the circumstances, the sheriff has a right to be angry. I'm sorry I had to lie to you.”

“You can take your apology and stuff it,” Justin fired back as the agents released him. “What I want to know is where you guys get off conducting an undercover operation in my county without advising me.”

“It was my call whether to tell you or not, and I chose not to,” Collins told him.

“Then you better have a good reason.”

“The Lion's Den that was operating out of here until a year ago seemed reason enough.”

Knowing that the agent referred to the corruption within the former police chief's office, Justin resented the implication. “We both know that group was dismembered when the last police chief and his cronies were taken down.”

“True. But we had no way of knowing whether or not the corruption was more widespread and included county law enforcement, too,” Collins told him. “Agent Hunter here assures me that it doesn't.”

“If you think that squares things, you're wrong,” Justin informed the man. “I should have been told what was going on.”

“I considered it. Until Ms. Mason showed up. Given her close…association with both you and Ricky Mercado, I felt we couldn't take the risk.”

Justin narrowed his eyes, not liking the implication. He'd already figured out the reason Collins had posed as Angela's neighbor was because they considered her a sus
pect. “Careful, Collins. I've already hit one federal officer. I have no problem going two for two.”