“I spent the thirty-minute car ride skimming a dozen articles that he wrote. He hates people like us, and people like Jack and Kane. Jack was a good soldier and a good mercenary. People like Barrow want to make them all out as being corrupt or corruptible. He might be able to play the game for a while, and he might have some redeeming qualities, but I don’t trust him.”
“Do you honestly think that Kane would take him on any of his operations?”
Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head.
“Siobhan would know that, too, don’t you think?”
“Probably,” she admitted.
“Your future brother-in-law can take care of himself, especially with a guy like Barrow. Let’s get back to Siobhan’s hotel and look at these pictures, see if there’s anyone we recognize. If not, we’ll send them out.”
“Do you think he’s right about ICE?”
“He could be. I don’t know. But Rick has a few people he trusts that he can go to on the QT, so that’s where I’ll start.”
The drive back to downtown Laredo went faster with commuter traffic easing up, and they made it to Siobhan’s hotel twenty minutes later. Noah was itching to get back to San Antonio, but he wanted to make sure that Siobhan didn’t start investigating on her own. “I don’t care what you have to say to her,” he told Lucy, “but we have to contain her. This is dangerous, and she is friendly with that ass of a reporter.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Lucy said. “We’re coming back tomorrow, right?”
“I don’t see how we can avoid it,” he said.
“Why do you sound skeptical?”
“Because we don’t have much yet. I want to run the photos Barrow gave us, and we may have a drive to Del Rio ahead of us. I wish I could pull in the Laredo office, but Barrow was right about one thing—there’s a problem with ICE here, and our office is providing assistance. Headquarters is well aware of the problem, and they’re handling it. The last thing we need is to tip their hand and jeopardize their internal investigation.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I’ve known since I got here.” He glanced at her as he pulled into a parking slot. “Part of being not only the boss, but tasked with cleaning house. But what it means for us, if Rick wants us on this investigation, I have to pull from my squad—and that means shifting and prioritizing other cases. I don’t have to tell you we’re severely understaffed.”
Not only were they down an agent, but the Violent Crimes Squad in every FBI office had been cut back drastically when the FBI reprioritized counter-terrorism as their number one focus.
As soon as they got out of the car, Siobhan exited the hotel and ran up to them. “I just got back from the hospital. Someone broke into my hotel room and stole my computer. And my camera. But we’re going to find those bastards. I have GPS tracking on both.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marisol was sleeping in an old barn when a sound woke her. She didn’t know what time it was; she didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. She feared she had an infection. She was hot and achy and had no energy. Everything she’d planned was falling apart. She didn’t know how long she’d walked, how many miles, but she’d found this barn after two nights and knew she needed to sleep.
Light flitted through the beams. Either the sun was rising or the sun was setting. She didn’t know which way she faced.
Two men were talking outside the barn. She froze. They’d found her.
They spoke English, clear as day.
“The damn tractor broke down again Friday. I just said what the hell, but I can’t afford a new one.”
“I can fix it, Dad. I wish you’d called me earlier.”
“You’re busy, son. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’m not so busy I can’t fix your tractor. What do you think is wrong with it?”
“I thought the alternator, but that’s not it. Checked the oil and fluids and all that. It turns on, but it doesn’t have any umph.”
“So technical.” The younger man laughed.
The doors of the barn opened and more light came in. Marisol didn’t move. She was partly buried under the hay; maybe they wouldn’t see her.
They were chatting, a father and son who cared for each other. Metal clanged against metal. The tractor started up. It sounded as sick as she felt. “I see the problem,” the son said. “I’ll just need to get a couple parts. I’ll pick them up tomorrow after work. Won’t take me more than an hour or two.”
“I appreciate it, Johnny. Really, I do.”
“Next time, call me before you start dicking around with the engine. I don’t mind. It feels good to get my hands dirty again.”
There was some rustling. “Dad, did you cut yourself?”
“No.”
“This is blood.”
Marisol began to shake. Oh God, they were going to find her. How could she save her sister if she was in jail? Or what if the bad police sent her back to those people? She couldn’t trust anyone. Who would believe her? Who would know the truth when the truth was so difficult believe?
“Dad.”