“Meaning we’re keeping our options open.”
“You and the Special Forces guy?”
She and Mack were friends. She had told him she was going after Timmy, and knowing he would be worried, she had mentioned Colt Wheeler. “Yes. Colt’s with me.”
She could almost see the burly cop nodding. “Good. Those guys know how to handle themselves. You two take care. I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Mack.”
Ending the call, she finger-combed her hair back from her face, thankful she kept it short, and walked back into the air-conditioned office.
“Anything?” Colt asked.
“No, which means we’re probably right and he’s already crossed into Mexico.”
“There’s bottled water and Cokes in the fridge in the other room,” Alex said. “Help yourselves while I call Cortez.”
Lissa headed toward a door at the rear of the office, Colt close behind her. The lunchroom had a table and chairs, a Formica counter with a sink, and a refrigerator. She pulled open the door of the fridge.
“Coke or water?”
“Water.”
She took one for herself and handed a bottle to Colt.
“Thanks.” Both of them twisted off the caps and took long, refreshing swallows, then sat down at the table to wait for Alex.
“You ready for this?” Colt asked.
“Ready or not—I’m going. You think this guy, Cortez, can help us?”
“If Spearman’s a fixer for the cartel, he’s got money and plenty of it. People with money are usually not that hard to find.”
“Then why hasn’t he been arrested and put back in prison?”
“Exactly the same reason. He’s got money. In Mexico, money equals power.Mordidasis the name of the game.”
“Bribes.”
“Exactly. El Puñal pays off the local authorities and lives his life without a problem. That’s why he feels safe bringing Timmy into his home.”
“Assuming we’re right.”
One of his dark blond eyebrows arched up. “You don’t think so?”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, I do.”
Colt tipped up the water bottle and took several long swallows, moving the corded muscles in his throat. She tried not to think of last night, of pressing her mouth against the spot on the side of his neck where his pulse beat under her tongue. She tried not to remember inhaling the scent of salty skin and hot, virile male.
She turned away as her nipples tightened beneath the orange T-shirt she had put on that morning.
Colt rose from the table. “Let’s go check out our gear, make sure we have everything we need.”
Lissa nodded. She had a feeling Colt knew exactly what was in his gear bag. So did she, but it never hurt to double check.
They headed out into the heat and Colt popped the trunk on the Mustang. He unzipped a long black canvas bag to reveal what looked like enough weaponry to arm a small militia.
He took a Mossberg 12-gauge shotgun out of the bag, grabbed a box of shells and loaded the weapon, then set it on the floor of the trunk. A Beretta M9, standard army issue until this year, came out next. They had upgraded to a SIG Sauer P320-M17, she remembered reading somewhere.
