She opened the driver’s door. Pete Sanchez’s face was red, his black hair standing on end. “Take a break, Pete. Let me give it a try.” Pete climbed down with a sigh of relief, and Carly climbed into the cab.
* * *
Linc walked out of the inner office, out of the metal building, into the asphalt yard. The big rig double trailer was jackknifed pretty good, wedged in tight between the dock and the wash rack.
He was only a little surprised when he saw Carly’s blond ponytail bobbing behind the wheel. The truck was moving. She was giving it her best shot, but getting the mess undone wasn’t going to be easy.
He watched her work the gears, pulling forward, spinning the wheel, moving back, moving forward, trying to straighten out the trailer without tearing up the dock or damaging the rig. It was helping, but it wouldn’t be enough to solve the problem.
He started walking. He could get the job done. He still knew how to drive. Hell, he owned one of the biggest trucking companies in the country. He paused as he sensed her frustration mounting.
He could do it for her, but . . . He was beginning to understand her a little, know how much she valued her independence. Solving the problem for her was exactly the wrong thing to do.
He walked up to the open driver’s window. “Pull forward about three feet, then crank it hard to the right.”
She looked down at him, weighing his instructions, whether he knew what he was doing or if he’d just make things worse. He heard the gears drop into place. She pulled forward, then cranked the wheel as far as she could.
“Now back up a couple of feet and crank it left all the way.”
She did what he said and the trailer freed up a little.
“Do it again,” he said.
She pulled forward, turned the wheel, backed up, and stopped.
“You’ve almost got it. A couple more times ought to do it.”
The trailer rolled back farther this time, missing the dock by just a fewinches. He stood where she could see him, held up his hands to let her know how much clearance she had. She idled the truck forward, then back, then pulled farther ahead.
“You got it. Nice job.”
The trailer straightened out as she drove it across the yard into a pull-through parking spot and turned off the big diesel engine.
Carly jumped down and hurried back to him, flashing a smile brighter than anything he’d seen from her before. He felt it like a kick in the stomach.
“That was great,” she said. “Thanks. Pete and I are both still learning. I really appreciate the help.”
“No problem.”
They walked together back into the building, into her office, and closed the door. He’d vowed to leave her alone, but it was getting harder all the time. He smiled at the unintended pun.
She grabbed one of the two chairs positioned in front of her desk and pulled it up next to where she was sitting, then sat down in her chair. Linc forced his mind back to the reason he was there, Miguel Hernandez’s murder, the threatening note, and the attack on Carly last night.
He made the phone call to Ross Townsend on the landline, put it on speaker.
“Ross, it’s Lincoln Cain. I have Carly Drake here with me. What have you got?”
“First off, I took care of that security concern we discussed.”
“That’s good. E-mail me the details.”
“Will do. Regarding El Jefe, from what I could find in a short amount of time, the guy came out of nowhere, grew himself into a mid- to upper-level drug dealer. His territory covers the entire East Texas region, all the way down to Houston.”
“Why isn’t he in jail?”
“So far no one’s been able to link him to anything illegal. Plus no one knows who the hell he is. No known photos of him; no one knows where to find him. Or at least, no one’s been willing to come forward. The ones who do wind up dead.”
Considering the guy wanted a meeting with Carly, Linc didn’t like the sound of that. “Or he’s paying them for their silence.”
