Linc took the phone from her trembling hand. “Let’s go inside.” As soon as they stepped through the door into the entry, Linc drew her into his arms. He always felt so solid, so strong. A fresh shudder went through her, this time one of relief.
Linc kissed the top of her head. “We’ll go fishing, I promise. Let’s get you settled down a little first.”
“Do you think . . . think the FBI could have traced the call if we had told them?”
“It didn’t last long enough. The guy knows what he’s doing. Unfortunately.”
She swallowed, brushed away tears as he led her into the living room and eased her down on the sofa. He walked over to the wet bar. She heard the sound of a bottle cap turning, then liquid being poured into a glass. Linc returned and pressed a heavy crystal tumbler into her hand.
Carly took a drink of the amber liquid, felt the burn of the whiskey as it trickled into her stomach and spread out through her limbs. With a sigh, she leaned back on the sofa.
“Better?”
“No. Well, a little, I guess. Thanks.”
Linc sat down beside her. “You know we’ve been expecting this call. And picking up a load of whatever Zapata’s smuggling is exactly what we need to happen.”
“I know.”
“Your truck is ready to go. All we have to do is make sure the equipment is working. Tomorrow you go into the office as usual and wait for the call.Who knows, maybe Zapata will be arrogant enough to be waiting at the pickup site himself and we’ll nail him on the first try.”
“I guess so.... Maybe.”
He took the glass from her hand, set it on the coffee table, and to her surprise, drew her up from the sofa. “In the meantime, you’re dressed to go fishing so let’s go.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, baby, really.”
God, he was the most amazing man. She gazed up at him and felt the soft, almost painful beating of her heart. It was the moment she knew she had committed a terrible error. Somehow she had let down her guard.
Somehow she had let herself fall in love with him.
* * *
At least the weather was good that Monday morning. Sunshine, low humidity, just a few drifting clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky. Linc needed to go into Dallas. He had a million things to do, appointments too important to cancel, discussions he’d planned to have with Beau, briefings with his staff, but it was too risky to leave Carly at the mercy of El Jefe.
Zapata expected a Drake truck to make a run tonight. Linc planned to do exactly that and he planned to be the man behind the wheel. It was dangerous. Hernandez had wound up dead.
But Zapata knew he was involved with Carly, might even expect him to be driving. If he followed El Jefe’s instructions, he figured he’d be okay.
Unless he was willing to cooperate with the FBI and risk another failure, unless he was willing to chance El Jefe’s wrath descending on Carly—neither of which were options—he didn’t have any other choice.
He spoke to Frank Marino, had the bodyguard accompany Carly to her office that morning. Linc wanted to go with her, but he wasn’t a man who went unnoticed, and since they didn’t know for sure who to trust, he planned to go down after Carly got El Jefe’s call or as soon as the office closed.
In the meantime, he was home, impatiently waiting, trying to work, which was impossible to do.
At four o’clock, his cell phone rang. Ross Townsend’s name appeared on the screen and from that moment, his worries only got worse.
“I need to see you,” Ross said. “It’s important.”
“I plan to be at the Drake yard a little after five. We can meet there.”
“That’ll work. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Which left Linc a little over an hour to worry about what Ross wanted. Apparently something the investigator wasn’t willing to discuss on the phone. By the tone of Ross’s voice, something definitely not good.
At ten to five, Linc left the ranch and drove to the truck yard. By the time he arrived, the office was closed, most of the employees were gone when he walked through the door.
