Call of Duty 02 - Sworn to Protect Read online

She smothered the gasp that nearly stole her breath. How did the man know her? know about Toby’s death? He clearly had inside information—information that couldn’t have been obtained easily. Unless Toby’s murder was related to something bigger than she had imagined.

  Focus. Now was not the time to weigh the shooter’s words. Later she’d look into it.

  Her gaze searched the area. An outstretched arm poked through the overgrowth where the downed man had attempted to cross the road. She hurried, gun raised, eyes taking in every inch of the brush. As she grew closer, she saw the rest of Barnett’s body sprawled on the trodden grass. Blood soaked the ground, creating a small puddle of red against the vibrant green. Danika bent to his side.

  Barnett moaned. “He shot Fire-Eater,” he whispered. “Get him.”

  “I have him cuffed. Hold on. Help’s coming.” She pulled out the radio. “Need EMS. Agent down.”

  She hadn’t been there for Toby, but she could be there for Barnett.

  Chapter 2

  Think like a man of action; act like a man of thought.

  Henri Louis Bergson

  Dr. Alex Price leaned forward in his chair and massaged the rock-hard knots in his shoulder and neck muscles. In the bright fluorescent lights, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a few moments. The air-conditioning in the ER treatment area should have wakened him, but too little sleep and too many hours had taken its toll.

  A child cried behind one of the pulled curtains, and an old man moaned. The sounds of his chosen profession. During the past nineteen hours, one patient after another had entered ER, and 90 percent of them couldn’t speak English—and he’d bet his next paycheck that none of them were documented.

  But healing was his game, and he didn’t ask questions except, “Where does it hurt?” and “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  In response, Alex’s stomach growled, reminding him that in order for his brain to function, it needed fuel. And the rotgut, ulcer-generating coffee didn’t cut it.

  He scooted back from the circular counter that separated the doctors and nurses from the patients. “I’m taking a break. Heading to the cafeteria.”

  “Haven’t you been here over eighteen hours?”

  Alex chuckled at the nurse’s question. “And your point is?”

  Elaine’s dark eyes glanced over the top of her computer screen. “We don’t have any extra beds.” Her response sounded in his ears as a garbled mixture of Spanish and English. He must really be tired.

  “Depends on how picky I am.” He yawned. “I’ll go home after I make sure the little guy who had the appendectomy is okay.”

  “And the woman who delivered the twins. And then you’ll try to find out more about the girl who slipped out of ER after you treated her.”

  Alex stood and inhaled deeply. “Elaine, it’s scary how you can read my mind like that. See you in a little bit.” No matter how hard he tried to suppress the hospital sights and sounds, some cases haunted him. The girl last night was one of those.

  He momentarily tuned out the hospital noises and walked down the hall to the cafeteria. Breathing in the smells of eggs and bacon, his insides churned at the prospect of filling his empty stomach. Tired of the strong coffee, he filled a glass with ice and sweet tea—and plenty of it. The moment he spooned the first bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth, his mind spun again with the memories of the young woman who’d entered the ER shortly after 2 a.m. Knife wound to the chest. And as soon as she’d been stitched up, someone had snatched her out of the hospital. Her eyes had been swollen shut, and her body looked like a punching bag. Tender kidneys, too. She told him in Spanish that she’d fallen. Fat chance of that. More like she’d fallen into some jerk’s fists . . . and his knife.

  What bothered him the most was the rash of beaten young women flooding the ER. They were routinely dropped off at the edge of the parking lot, where the injured woman pressed a solar-powered ER button for help. To date, the women had refused to name their abusers, and all were undocumented immigrants. Alex toyed with the unlimited possibilities. After treatment, they simply walked out of the hospital.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Alex recognized the voice without looking up—the chief patrol agent of the McAllen Border Patrol Operation, Edwardo Jimenez. “Sure, Ed. But I don’t have a thing to report other than what I already told you—and the McAllen police.”

  The big man noisily pulled out the chair and lowered his muscular frame. “We found a woman’s body dumped right outside the sector office gate shortly after four o’clock this morning.” His soft voice didn’t match his impressive stature.

  “That doesn’t mean she was involved in the same human trafficking outfit.”

  “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t, either.” Lines ridged Ed’s forehead like a plowed field in early spring. “Look, day after day we process women who would do anything to stay on this side of the border. If they have to smuggle a few drugs, sell their bodies, or allow some jerk to beat them up, then that’s what they’ll do. Desperation takes a lot of forms.”

  Alex wanted the butchers caught too, for more reasons than he had the energy to list. But cooperating with an investigation of the local Border Patrol office while treating undocumented immigrants didn’t settle well, until he realized it was a part of the same commitment to healing. “So do you still think you have a rogue agent?”

  Ed nodded. “Without a doubt.”

  Alex bit into what he’d hoped would be a crispy slice of bacon, but it was greasy and chewy. Didn’t he have enough to do? “Some of the agents have family on both sides of the river.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re breaking laws to get them here or smuggling drugs or involved in terrorists’ activities or human trafficking. I know those agents, and believe me, they’re dependable. Which makes this thing more of a mess. But someone is supplying our list of sensors and where they’re located.” Ed leaned in close and swore in Spanish. “Have you forgotten the woman sliced up like a tomato? I need your help to get this stopped. Frankly I don’t care if McAllen’s finest arrest who’s doing this or the BP finds him stumbling over the border. I want it stopped.”

  Weariness tugged at Alex’s eyelids, and he remembered the mountain of work left to do before he drove home to sleep a few hours and it started all over again. So why was he sitting across from Ed, debating the probability of ever learning the identity of the trafficker working in McAllen? Because every time he treated one of these women, he grew angrier.

  “I’ll do my best.” Alex took a swallow of tea, its sweetness and caffeine pouring life into his veins like a glucose IV. “The girl from last night slipped away before I could question her.”

  “How? You said she was in bad shape.”

  “She had to have help. And no one saw a thing.”

  Ed scowled. “Maybe you have a leak here.”

  Alex had repeatedly considered the same thing. But his staff was capable and committed to healing, not sending a patient back to the same abuse. Still, human nature was strongly attracted to money.

  “You must be thinking the same thing, or we’d be in a shouting match by now.”

  Alex picked up a piece of cold wheat toast and tried to spread hard butter over it. “We’ve been friends too long, and you know me too well. I’m on it.”

  “Good. This is just between us, and it’s dangerous. I will notify Homeland Security since they’re all over the problems down here.”

  “I understand. And for the record, I—” Alex’s pager sprung to life. He glanced at the code and then his half-eaten brunch. “Gotta run.”

  * * *

  Danika knelt at Barnett’s side. The calloused veteran agent had a bullet in his stomach. He refused an ambulance or a ride to the hospital until she promised to search through the brush for Fire-Eater. Once an SUV and a truck arrived with three agents to handle the drug smuggler and tend to Barnett, she found a towel in the truck and thrashed through a barricade of prickly pears in
search of the dog.

  Not sure whether she wanted to find an animal tormented in pain or to face the mental thrashing of losing a good friend, Danika continued to whack through the dense growth. In less than ten minutes she spotted Fire-Eater, still breathing despite the loss of blood from his neck. Her heart ached for the animal and his handler. Did anyone ever realize the sacrifice agents and good dogs made to protect the border?

  Fire-Eater attempted to lift his head, but the effort seemed too much. Danika knelt and softly soothed him before laying the towel over his head. She needed to carry him out without getting bitten.

  “I have him,” she called. The time spent in the gym had strengthened her arms, but it hadn’t toughened her heart. Perhaps her emotions were on overload because of Barnett’s serious wound, the suffering dog, the shooter’s mention of her husband’s murder, or the anniversary of Toby’s death. Or all of it.

  She loaded the dog into the caged area of another agent’s truck, and the driver sped down the narrow dirt road to the vet’s.

  “Thanks for taking care of him.” Barnett held his breath and tried to turn over. Groaning, he stared at his own blood spilled like an offering beside him. One of the agents had bandaged him, but he needed immediate medical attention. “Let me call my wife.” His face had grown ashen, his breathing labored. “I don’t want her to hear about Fire-Eater or me from anyone else.”

  “You need to get to the hospital,” Danika said. “The ambulance will be here any minute.”

  “You drive me . . . in my own truck.” Barnett closed his eyes. “Where’s the shooter?”

  Danika glanced across the road. “Like you, he’s waiting for an ambulance. And he did have cocaine in his backpack underneath cans of Red Bull.” She considered Barnett’s dedication to keeping lawbreakers out of the United States.

  “How much?”

  “Better than ten pounds. We also confiscated his Nextel.”

  Barnett attempted a crooked smile. They both knew the phone had connectivity on both sides of the border and would provide the numbers of those who were involved with the drugs. “Get me in my truck. He’d better not get treated before me. The dirty . . .”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Danika glanced at the other two agents. The three of them carried Barnett to his truck and laid him awkwardly across the seat. She slid into the driver’s seat and grimaced at the stinging in her legs from the tiny, often invisible barbs of the prickly pears. Later she’d yank them out with tweezers.

  The other two agents hurried back to the drug smuggler. In the distance, the whine of an ambulance grew closer.

  “Step on it, Morales.”

  How did he have the strength to bark orders? Any other time, she’d have whipped sarcasm back at him, but not today.

  A cloud of dirt billowed in every direction as she raced toward the highway and McAllen Medical Center, determined to get Barnett help before the drug smuggler who’d shot him.

  “The phone,” Barnett whispered.

  “I’ll call her.”

  “No way.”

  She handed him his cell, knowing the futility of arguing. He could barely talk. Would she ever be this tough—or brave?

  “Hey, Livi,” Barnett said in a futile attempt at sounding light. “You might want to meet me at the medical center.” His words seemed to steal his last bit of energy. “Got a little matter to take care of.”

  * * *

  Danika sat beside Livi Barnett in the surgical waiting area of McAllen Medical Center while doctors patched up the bullet-torn body of her husband. The crowded room spoke of the many friends who had gathered to support Livi and Jon, several of whom were Border Patrol agents. That was the way of agents; they were family. However, Barnett’s petite wife appeared as strong as her husband. Rumor was Barnett had plenty of scars, so Livi must have had plenty of practice.

  Livi turned a stoic look Danika’s way. “Are you married?”

  She recalled the shooter’s words. “Widow.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you Danika Morales?”

  Danika nodded.

  “Jon speaks highly of you. You have a little girl, right?”

  “A four-year-old.”

  “Don’t know what is worse, the constant dread of what might happen or facing a death call head-on.”

  Danika didn’t have an answer. “How can a woman be prepared?”

  “I’m not ready to be a widow.”

  “Neither was I.” No woman was ever ready to bury her heart.

  They sat in silence while Danika tossed around what she could say to pass the time and hopefully relieve some of Livi’s concerns. But the day had brought all the memories to the forefront, and try as she might, Danika couldn’t seem to get past her own ghosts. But she must. As soon as Barnett was out of danger, she’d find out about the shooter’s record.

  “Do you know the doctor?” Danika said.

  “Alex Price? Fine man. He’s stitched up Jon a few times and has taken care of the kids.”

  Danika braved forward. “Confidence in the doctor is always good.”

  “And he prays for his patients.”

  Toby was always praying for someone. Must life always come back to him?

  Livi sucked in a breath and quickly stood. “There’s Alex now.” She hurried to the doctor, stepping over feet and children, and Danika followed her.

  The doctor’s eyes were cavernous pits indicating an extreme sleep deficit. “Livi, he’s going to be all right. I removed the bullet and stopped the internal bleeding. Lucky for Jon that none of his organs are permanently damaged.”

  “Praise God.” For the first time Livi whisked a drop of wetness from her face and attempted a shaky smile. “Thanks, Alex.” She swung her attention to Danika. “This is the agent who brought him in, Danika Morales.”

  Danika shook his hand. He had a kind face and a firm grasp. Toby always said a man’s character was in his handshake.

  “My pleasure,” Alex said. “Far too many people fail to appreciate the work of the Border Patrol.”

  She sensed someone at her side who was out of breath. Whirling around, she saw Jacob. His ashen face and the fiery gleam in his eyes alarmed her.

  “Couldn’t you have had the decency to call me?”

  Chapter 3

  No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

  Aesop

  Alex thought he’d stepped into a hornet’s nest when the angry border agent confronted Agent Danika Morales in the surgical waiting area, but he had no intentions of getting stung. Perhaps the other agent was a good friend of Jon Barnett’s, and he was nervous and concerned about the man’s condition. They all should be. Barnett had nearly passed from this life to the next and was still in critical condition.

  “Jacob, I haven’t had time to call you,” Danika said.

  The wide-shouldered agent bristled. “My guess is you’ve been in the waiting room with Livi.”

  “Precisely.” Danika remained amazingly calm. Maybe Jacob was more than a coworker—a relative . . . or a boyfriend.

  “Alex, this is Jacob Morales,” Livi said. “Another agent from the McAllen sector.”

  Oh, a husband worried about his wife. “Mr. and Mrs. Morales, glad to meet you.”

  “They’re brother- and sister-in-law,” Livi quickly added. “Not husband and wife.”

  Alex should have kept his mouth shut and stuck to healing his patients. “I’m sorry. Been a long night and day.”

  Danika smiled her understanding. Quite an attractive lady. Intense blue-gray eyes penetrated into his very soul. That rarely happened. He quickly noted she didn’t wear a ring, but he knew many agents who didn’t wear them for safety purposes. Hazardous working conditions meant the possibility of losing a finger in the day-to-day operations of protecting the country’s border or having their families threatened by those who didn’t value or respect the Border Patrol.

  “Jon made it through the surgery and is resting in recovery,” Alex said to Jacob. �
�From there, I want to keep a close watch on him in ICU. He’s a tough guy, and I’m optimistic about his recovery.”

  Jacob reached out and shook Alex’s hand. “Thanks. He’s a good agent.” He glanced at Danika. “Can we have a word outside?”

  For about one tenth of a second, a flash of animosity creased her features. “I suppose so.”

  Alex studied Jacob Morales long enough to realize he strongly resembled the late Toby Morales. Perhaps they’d been brothers. Could Danika be Toby’s widow?

  The two walked outside the ER into the afternoon heat. He could read body language well enough to tell Jacob was perturbed about something.

  Alex turned to Livi. “You doing okay?”

  “For a close call, I guess so.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Keep that stubborn, daredevil husband of mine alive.”

  “I’m doing my best.” Alex had seen Livi’s ability to hold up in times of stress on previous occasions when Jon had been injured.

  “When can I see him?”

  “Soon. I’ll have a nurse notify you when he’s awake.”

  “Waiting is not my best trait.” Livi glanced at her watch.

  “I don’t think it’s anyone’s shining point. Have you called your pastor?”

  A thin-lipped smile met him. “I was too busy praying to call.”

  Alex touched her arm. “That’s not a bad thing. I’m sure Jon felt them, because he fought hard. Why don’t you get some coffee and relax a few more minutes?”

  Livi nodded.

  Danika appeared and wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders. Alex hadn’t seen her return, and Jacob was nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll wait with you until Jon’s out of recovery,” Danika said and peered into Alex’s face. “On behalf of the Border Patrol, thank you for taking good care of Agent Barnett. One of our supervisors will be here any moment.”

  “You’re welcome.” Alex excused himself to get back to work. He heard Danika ask Livi about the kids getting home from school and offer to have someone meet them there. Alex blinked back the weariness. He could use someone to greet him at the door when he got home from the hospital, but first he’d have to find the time to establish a relationship.