Don't Look Back, Page 2

  He nodded.

  Minding her manners, she added, “Sorry about this.” Sirens rang in the distance. Before she got to the car, the light turned green and the Porsche took off.

  “Mother Heifer.” She burned rubber trying to catch up.

  * * *

  Detective Connor Pierce walked into the all-night diner, with a headache throbbing in his right temple. Two waitresses worked the night shift to keep the drunk patrons under control. With three bars located within a block, the diner was a good place to grab some coffee and food, and sober up.

  Connor showed up at least four times a month—sometimes more. Not to sober up. It was the nightmares and guilt that brought him here.

  He paused at the door. When he saw Flora open a pad to take someone’s order, he moved to a table on her side of the restaurant. He always sat in her section. Her tired brown eyes cut to him and she offered him her normal generic nod. Never too friendly. Never hostile. At least fifty, twenty years his senior, her face was a road map of the hardships she’d encountered in her life.

  She moved behind the bar, punched in the order, then grabbed a mug and the coffeepot, and came to his booth. Setting the cup down, she filled it, leaving room for the four creams she pulled from her apron and set beside his cup.

  “The usual?” Her voice carried a slight accent.

  “Yup,” he said.

  She walked away. Talking wasn’t her thing. And that was okay; in fact, it was probably best. Opening the newspaper he’d brought with him, he started reading.

  Ten minutes later, she walked up and set the two-egg special, with hash browns and pancakes, down in front of him. He pulled his finger away from his temple where he was attempting to rub the thumping pain away.

  Her gaze met his. “Maybe you should stay home and sleep. When was the last time you slept eight hours straight?”

  Probably the same as you. “A long time ago.”

  She walked away.

  He’d only downed four or five bites when his phone rang.

  Who the hell was calling at this hour? He snatched his phone out of his pocket. Billy Johnston’s name appeared on the screen. Connor worked with the Cold Case Unit, and Billy was a friend and patrol cop with the Anniston PD. “What’s up?”

  “A friend of yours pissed me off.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Just get your ass here to the station and identify the woman on my bodycam. I want that bitch caught.”

  “What?” The line clicked silent.

  He ate two more bites, pulled three twenties out of his wallet, and set them on the table. Flora walked up to refill his cup.

  “That’s okay. I gotta run.”

  She spotted the money and frowned. “You always…that is too much.” When she looked up, he could swear for a second—maybe two—he saw something flash in her eyes. Had she figured out who he was? Hell, had she known all along?

  “Never known a waitress who complained about a large tip.” He waited for her reply, willing to take anything she dished out—wasn’t that part of why he came—but she just walked away.

  * * *

  Brie had caught up with Armand’s red Porsche. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been worth the hornet’s nest she’d stirred up with the Anniston PD. But if she’d learned who Armand was working with—who helped him do his dirty work—even jail time would have been worth it.

  But the man just went back to his hotel.

  Parked at the Omni, she waited thirty minutes before feeling assured that Armand was retiring for the night. She tried to reach Carlos. Again. And got nothing. Again.

  Disappointed, she drove to a grocery store parking lot, returned the credit card to the glove box. She stuffed her red wig into her purse, prepared to return it to its rightful owner, and left a twenty on the seat for gas. Stepping outside the car, she slipped her arms into the leather jacket that served to hide the Glock tucked inside her jeans. With a don’t-mess-with-Brie gait, she walked a block to a bar and called Uber.

  The downtown area of Anniston was, by far, the most happening place in this medium-sized college town. Under other circumstances, she might have even enjoyed living here. Well, except for the god-awful Texas summer heat.

  Thankfully, that part of the year had given way to fall. As if to prove her point, a cool late-October breeze stirred her blond hair into her face.

  A couple of men leaving the bar offered her a ride to anywhere she wanted to go—to heaven, the tall cowboy offered—but she turned them down. She excelled at sending men packing. Even before she’d started waitressing at the strip club, saying no came easy. She could thank her ex for that.

  While she waited, she tried Carlos again. This time, she left a message. “Carlos, it’s me. I’m officially worried now. I’m going to drive by your hotel.” They’d spoken briefly when he’d arrived in from their hometown of Baton Rouge, but hadn’t connected since.

  Her Uber, a white Equinox, pulled up, and Brie crawled in. “The Black Diamond, on Rayford.”

  The driver gave her the once-over at the mention of the strip club. He tried making chitchat. She grunted undistinguishable answers until he got the message. Giving him a tip, for not being completely obnoxious, she hurried to her car. She hadn’t turned the key in the ignition when her phone rang.

  Carlos’s number flashed on her screen and she smiled. “Where have you been?”

  “Ma’am,” the voice said, one that wasn’t Carlos’s.

  “Who is this?” Concern lodged in her throat.

  “I’m Officer Heyes. Does this phone belong to a friend of yours?”

  “What happened?” Brie demanded.

  “Can you tell me his name?”

  “Where is he? Let me speak to him.”

  “He can’t talk now. He’s been brought into Westside Hospital emergency room. Can you tell me his name?”

  Panic-fueled adrenaline coursed through her body. “Can’t talk because he’s busy or because he’s unconscious?”

  His nonanswer told her what she needed to know. “How bad is it?”

  “If you’d just tell me—”

  “How bad?” she bit out.

  “Critical. He’s in surgery.”

  Brie moaned. “Look, his name is Carlos Olvera and he’s FBI. Make sure he gets the best care. I’m on my way!”

  “FBI?” The officer’s tone deepened. “Was he working—”

  She hung up and drove like hell was chasing her. Because it was. This was on her. She had brought Carlos into this.

  How much guilt could one person take before it ate their soul away?

  Chapter Two

  Brie parked and sprinted into the ER. Upon being told Carlos was in surgery, she rushed up to the surgical waiting room. When she walked in, she spotted two other families, prayers in their eyes. Then there was the cop walking toward her.

  “You here for Carlos?”

  After one nod, he wasted no time slamming her with questions. Some were easy. Some not.

  “Who is Olvera’s closest family member?”

  The thought of having to call Carlos’s new husband brought tears to her eyes and more guilt to her gut. Hell, she’d been the best woman at their wedding last year. “His husband is Tory Vale. I’ll call him.”

  The man nodded. “Was the victim working a case? Is that why he was in Anniston?”

  She hesitated. Carlos had told her his trip to Anniston had been approved, but the possibility of him doing it without permission was just as likely. He’d been pissed when the agency had refused to help her.

  “He was looking into opening a case,” she offered.

  “You FBI?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, but I’m on leave.”

  “You got ID?”

  She opened her purse, unzipped the hidden pocket, and handed him her real identification.

  “So you aren’t working the case?”

  I’m not supposed to be. “I just gave him the lead.”

  “What
kind of case is it?”

  “Human trafficking.”

  “Here? In Anniston?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” she answered in her vague FBI-trained tone. But she was certain of it. How else would her half sister’s body have ended up in Guatemala chained to a bed in a massage parlor? Then Dillon Armand’s name popped up on a Guatemalan police report as being seen manhandling her sister. He’d been their only possible suspect. Or was, until that witness recanted the statement. But that didn’t sway Brie, because Armand just happened to be a part of the largest organized crime family in South America. Guns. Drugs. Humans. If they could profit from it, they had a stake in it.

  That stake had been driven through her heart twice before. Pablo. Then her sister. Now Carlos.

  “Olvera family,” a doctor called out.

  Brie rushed across the room. When she saw the doctor’s expression, it felt like that stake got pushed deeper. She didn’t say anything, just waited, waited for the guilt to consume her.

  “He’s alive,” the doctor said. “But it’s bad.”

  Sighing with relief, she grasped hold of the tiny thread of hope. With both hands.

  “We got the bullet out of his chest, with few issues, but the head injury is causing brain swelling. He’s comatose. We’re running tests to see how extensive the damage is. The next twenty-four hours are critical. You may want to prepare—”

  “He’ll make it.” She pushed the words through the choking emotion. “He’s not a quitter.”

  The doctor met her gaze head-on. “Good, because he’s got a fight on his hands. A nurse will let you know when you can see him.”

  The doctor had barely walked away when her phone rang. She frowned when the name TORY VALE came on her screen. Had someone already contacted him?

  Heart ready to break, she took the call. “Tory.”

  “Brie?” Panic sounded in his voice. “Carlos didn’t call me last night. He always calls me. I’ve tried him, but he’s not answering. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  She breathed in through her nose. Her sinuses stung. “He just got out of surgery.”

  “Surgery? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I just found out and got here as fast as I could. I’m sorry.”

  “How bad is it?”

  She swallowed to keep her voice from trembling. “He’s alive.”

  “What happened? Was he…shot?”

  “Yes, and he sustained a head injury. But I just got to the hospital, so I don’t know much.”

  “Damn it! I’ll get on the next plane to Texas. Anniston, right?”

  “Right.” Her grip on the phone tightened to the point her hand ached. Glancing around the room, her attention was temporarily sidetracked by Officer Heyes, who was on his phone. And considering the way his gaze was riveted on her, she’d bet her bottom dollar she was the topic of conversation. Was she already suspected of stealing the car?

  Tory’s next question eked through the silence. “Who did this, Brie?”

  “I don’t know…yet. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. He was just confirming my lead. But you know I won’t stop until I find out. I’m about to call Agent Calvin.”

  “No! Didn’t he tell you?”

  His tone sent chills down her spine.

  “Tell me what?” When Tory remained silent, Brie said, “Tory.”

  “I’ve never seen Carlos like this. He said if it was what he thought, then they might want to shut him up. Permanently. He even—”

  “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

  “I know he’s not supposed to tell me this stuff, but he did. He’s been digging into an old case. The Sala case.”

  “I know. Did he find something else?”

  “He thinks there was a leak. A mole.”

  Tory wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. They’d suspected a leak the day the case went terribly wrong. And again when her informant, Pablo, was found dead.

  “He was scared, Brie.”

  She dropped into a chair. “Did someone from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives contact him?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “That’s where the leak’s from.”

  “No. He thinks it’s internal.”

  “You mean…? Not someone from the Baton Rouge bureau?”

  “That’s exactly what he meant.”

  “Who?”

  “He didn’t say,” Tory answered. “I’m not sure he knew for certain.”

  Chills ran up her spine. “Tory, could you have misunderstood?”

  “No. He told me if anyone from his work contacted me, not to answer. He made me come to my sister’s in San Francisco. And now this. I’m telling you, someone with the agency did this.”

  “I don’t…” The need to argue rose up inside her. She trusted everyone at her bureau. But the person she trusted the most was Carlos. Did she really know Agents Bara and Miles? They’d both only been working there for a little over a year.

  Her mind spun. The Sala gun trafficking case had been considered a slam-dunk. But when they went to make their big bust, there hadn’t been a gun in sight. The next day Brie found her informant, Pablo Ybarra, dead in his RV and his live-in girlfriend, Rosaria Altura, missing.

  She’d spent a month searching for Rosaria, fearing she’d been killed alongside Pablo, but Brie could find nothing. She also continued looking for the leak, which had to have come from the ATF, who had assisted with the case. She’d come up with zilch on both counts. Agent Calvin had insisted she let it go. Carlos, who’d been in her corner on this, had finally agreed with him. “We win some. We lose some.”

  Losing the case had stung. Losing Pablo had cost her emotionally. She’d worked with him several times and trusted him. More than that, she’d made the mistake of getting to know him, of caring.

  A month after accepting there’d be no justice for Pablo, her sister went missing. Five weeks later when her body was found in a foreign country, the State Department saw Brie, an FBI agent, had listed her as missing, and contacted her. When she read the Guatemalan police report, a name stuck out. A name she recognized from the Sala case: Dillon Armand. A cousin to the Sala family. She then discovered he was part owner of the Black Diamond, the strip club where her sister had worked for a month before she went missing—and where Brie now worked unofficially undercover.

  Coincidental? No. Coincidences were like the tooth fairy. They didn’t exist.

  Tory spoke up again, “Carlos didn’t want to believe it either.”

  “Okay, but not Agent Calvin, right?” When he didn’t answer, she started to question it. She’d worked under Calvin her entire FBI career, five years. Had met his family. He had met Eliot, her family. Okay, she might not have known him well enough to confess what she’d been doing these past few months—or maybe it was that she knew him too well. He’d have a conniption if he knew she’d been doing her own investigation. “Did Carlos take this to Agent Calvin?”

  “I don’t think so.” Through the phone, she could hear Tory banging away on his keyboard. Probably looking for a flight.

  “What hospital are you in?” Tory asked.

  “Westside.” Brie’s mind raced at the same pace as the banging computer keys echoing on the line. “Do you know if Carlos got the official okay to come here?”

  “Yes. But that was two days before all this other shit came up.” Tory paused. “There’s a flight leaving at six a.m. I need to buy a ticket. Brie…?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you be at the hospital? I mean, if the FBI shows up, and they’re the ones who did this—”

  She looked at Officer Heyes, still on the phone, still eyeballing her with a shitload of distrust.

  “I won’t leave.” Not without kicking and screaming. They hung up.

  Officer Heyes walked over, as if he’d been waiting for her to end the call. He held out his cell. “An Agent Calvin wants to talk to you.”

  Great. Decision time. Trus
t Calvin? Or don’t.

  * * *

  “You left me half, right?” Juan Acosta asked.

  Connor looked up from his computer screen as his two partners, Juan and Mark Sutton, walked into the office. Was it already eight? The last time he’d checked the time it was five a.m. He’d left Billy super pissed when he couldn’t identify the woman on his bodycam and went in search of the Ronan case file, hoping it’d help him figure out who the redhead could be.

  Connor’s sleep-deprived mind replayed Juan’s senseless words. “Half of what?”

  “The early worm. I’m always here first.”

  Connor didn’t have it in him to make jokes. He frowned down at the open file. “Did you hear about Billy?”

  “What?” Juan’s smile vanished.

  “Is he okay?” Mark came to a dead stop. Mark and Billy had known each other for years. In fact, it was through Mark’s poker games that Connor had met the guy.

  “He’s fine. But his pride took a huge-ass blow.”

  “What happened?” Juan dropped in his desk chair.

  “He pulled a car over for speeding. The driver was a pretty redhead. Right before he let her go, the car got reported as stolen. Before he could contain her, she busted his balls, grabbed his gun, cuffed him to a light pole, and left him there for his backup unit to find him.”

  Juan chuckled. “Do you know how much shit he gave me when Vicki got the upper hand on me?”

  Connor managed a small grin. “Yeah, I remember, she beat you up before you convinced her to fall in love with you. But I wouldn’t go at Billy yet. He’s pissed. So am I. The woman claimed to know me, even gave him my card.”

  “So who is she?” Mark dropped into his chair.

  “Don’t know. Billy thinks it might be connected to a gang of Houston car thieves. They take high-end cars. But I don’t know any car thieves.”

  “How many pretty redheads have you given your card to?” Juan asked. “You pass them out to chicks at bars, right?”

  “My cards are on my desk,” Connor added. “Anyone could’ve picked one up.” But Juan was right. He had given them out to women he met at bars. Of course, that would’ve been over two months ago. He’d been skipping the bar scene lately. “Besides, I know it’s work related. She called me Detective Pierce.”