Borderline

Borderline

Copyright © October 2011 by T. A. Chase

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eISBN 978-1-61118-461-7

Editor: Jules Robin

Cover Artist: Marci Gass

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

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Dedication

To all the men and women who fight to protect the innocent from the evil in the world.

Prologue

The knife sliced through her flesh like butter, and he studied the glistening liquid in the dim lights of the warehouse. Her eyes widened from pain. She tried to scream, but no sound came from her throat.

He grinned as she struggled against her restraints. He enjoyed the ones who fought, who always believed they could escape. It was so much sweeter when they broke.

Another cut and dark ruby liquid spilled out. God, how he loved the sight and smell of blood. Maybe one night he would drink it to see if it really did give him inhuman powers like all those vampire movies said. At the moment, though, his interest lay in making the bitch bleed until her life drained from her.

Chapter One

Macario “Mac” Guzman stalked into the Houston headquarters of the Texas Rangers Company A. Chaos reigned as he pushed his way through the seething crowd of reporters to reach his boss’s office. Captain Billingsley looked up when Mac tapped on his door.

“Good. You’re finally here. Come with me.” Billingsley grabbed his hat and gun before shoving his way out through the mob.

“Couldn’t you have told me to wait for you in the parking lot?” Mac growled as he sidestepped a precariously perched photographer.

“Didn’t realize we were going anywhere until after I got off the phone with you.” Billingsley’s brisk Harvard accent seemed at odds with his Stetson and boots.

“Where are we going?” Mac removed his hat, scrubbing his hand through his hair before putting it back on.

Frustration and exhaustion warred inside him. He hadn’t talked to Marissa in two days. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but his foster sister had been troubled the last time they’d seen each other, and Mac worried about her.

Considering his nonexistent sleep and the serial killer haunting the streets of Houston, Mac was running on fumes.

“We’re going to the bureau office.” Billingsley grunted as he gestured for Mac to drive.

“They trying to muscle in on the case?” He climbed behind the wheel of his nondescript tan sedan.

He had respect for the FBI and the agents who worked there, but sometimes he tended to think they were media whores. This serial killer case was shaping up to be quite a press frenzy. Something the bureau always loved to be a part of.

“I asked them, Mac. Our profilers are good, but the bureau has some of the best.”

“I got ya, Cap.”

Mac understood. Jurisdiction didn’t matter anymore. Not with four women dead and no real clues except their killer liked to use a knife. His stomach rolled at the memories of the most recent victim.

“You look like shit, Mac. What was the point of sending you home last night if you weren’t going to sleep?”

Bringing up Marissa never crossed Mac’s mind. No one at the rangers knew anything personal about him, and he wanted it that way. Ten foster homes in ten years had taught him to keep his mouth shut and any emotions hidden. It wasn’t until he was fifteen and placed with the Leviston family that he’d had any idea what family could mean.

“I’ll sleep when the case is over, sir.” And when he finally talked to Marissa again.

They arrived at the Federal Building where the bureau had their local offices, along with several other government agencies. As they were walking in, several men wearing DEA jackets rushed out.

“Hey, Mac,” one of them yelled.

He turned to see a man peel away from the group. He grinned and shook the large African American’s hand.

“Snap. It’s good to see you, man. What’s going down?” Mac nodded at the convoy of black SUVs pulling up in front of the building.

“Just got a tip about Victor Delarosa being in town. We’re planning on hitting a spot we think he might be.”

“Snap, get your ass over here,” one of the other guys ordered.

“Good luck. Give me a call. We’ll get a drink soon.”

“Will do.”

Billingsley and Mac watched the men leave before going through the metal detectors and heading up to the FBI offices.

“We’re here to see Special Agent in Charge Samuel MacLaughlin. I’m Captain James Billingsley, and this is Detective Mac Guzman from the rangers.”

The receptionist buzzed someone and repeated what Billingsley had told her. She nodded once before hanging up.

“Agent MacLaughlin will be right out.”

“Thanks.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

“Captain Billingsley.” A booming voice rang through the lobby. A large, red-faced, white-haired man strolled up to them with a big grin on his face.

“Agent MacLaughlin.” Billingsley shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for seeing us.”

“No big deal. Always glad to help out fellow law enforcement. Come with me.”

Mac kept his mouth shut as they wound their way through the large central room where most of the agents’ desks were. He nodded at a few agents he recognized from joint operations.

MacLaughlin waved them into his office. “So you’re looking for some help on the serial killer case I’ve been hearing about.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please call me Sam. And you are?” Sam shot a glance at Mac.

“Detective Mac Guzman. I’m the lead on the murders.” He shook Sam’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. Sit. Would either of you like some coffee? What can we do to help you out?”

Mac sat but didn’t say anything. Going to the FBI was his boss’s idea, and he wasn’t about to take over.

“Yes. We’ll both take some. It’s been a helluva four months, Sam. Four women killed by the same guy. Sliced almost beyond recognition. We hoped one of your profilers could take a look at the pictures and information we’ve gathered at the crime scenes. Just in case our guys missed something.”

Sam stared off into the distance before blinking and giving a nod. After picking up the phone, he pushed a button.

“Hey, Tanner, come in here and bring two cups of coffee with you.” Sam listened for a moment. “I know you’re busy. Just get in here.”

After hanging up, Sam leaned back in his chair. “We’ll wait until Tanner gets here before you tell me any more about the case.”

Billingsley accepted Sam’s suggestion. “I see the DEA’s got a hot tip about Delarosa.”

“Won’t matter. I doubt the man’s wherever they think he is. He’s as slippery as a snake.”

Mac agreed with the agent. The Delarosa cartel ran a majority of the drugs in and out of Texas. His supply came through Mexico, and his business was booming. No matter how much police and other law enforcement thought they knew, no one was able to pin anything on Victor Delarosa, the head of the empire.

“He’s a tricky bastard,” Billingsley commented.

“Enough to make you yank out your hair or become an alcoholic out of frustration.” Sam grimaced in disgust. “Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a mole in the DEA. Someone has to be feeding him information.”

The door opened.

“You shouldn’t be drinking coffee, and you know I hate the stuff.”

Mac turned in his chair. Every atom in his body came to attention at the sight of the gorgeous man standing in the doorway. Unlike most of the Feds, the man’s dark hair fell in curls to just above his shoulders. Golden skin attested to his Hispanic heritage. The agent glanced up and blushed.

“Sorry, boss. I didn’t realize you had someone with you. I would have knocked, but my hands are full.”

Seeing the cups in the agent’s hands, Mac jumped to his feet and took them from him. “I’ll take those.”

“Thanks.”

When standing, they were the same height and build, and even though the agent seemed fit, there was a certain softness in his eyes. Almost like he hadn’t seen how much pain humans could inflict on each other, but that didn’t make sense if he was the profiler Sam had called. Bureau profilers saw the aftermath of some of the most horrific crimes.

“It’s all right, Tanner. The coffee is for the rangers, and they’re really here to see you.” Sam waved a hand in their direction. “This is Captain Billingsley and Detective Macario Guzman. Gentlemen, this is Special Agent Tanner Wallace.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He and Tanner shook hands. Mac liked the strength of Tanner’s grip. He wondered what it would feel like to have Tanner’s hand wrapped around his cock. Okay, not appropriate thoughts. At least to have at work.

No one Mac worked with knew he was gay. Telling the men he worked with about his sexual preferences had never occurred to him because it wasn’t any of their business. Plus he had no interest in dealing with their homophobic reactions. Oh, he knew some of them wouldn’t care one way or the other, but he didn’t want to deal with the rest who would harass him about it.

Yet he didn’t protest when Tanner held his hand a little longer, and Mac caught a flash of interest in the other guy’s eyes. He filed it away for future inspection, because exploring a new attraction in the middle of a case wasn’t smart, especially if Tanner ended up working with them.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream or sugar.” Tanner’s smile included both Mac and Billingsley.

“I’ve learned to drink it black.” Mac sipped his. “You can have my seat.”

“Yes, sit, Tanner. Billingsley wants to consult with you on the recent string of murders they’re dealing with.”

Tanner frowned while he sat. “I thought the rangers had their own profilers.”

“We do, but I want a new pair of eyes, Agent Wallace. Anything you can give us will help, even if it’s just supporting what my guy has said.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll do what I can to help.” Tanner glanced at Mac. “Please, call me Tanner.”

Before Billingsley could say anything, the captain’s cell rang.

“Excuse me.” He unclipped it and checked the number. “I have to take this. Mac, why don’t you catch Agent Wallace up on our situation?”

Mac waited until Billingsley left the room before he started talking.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve heard something about this. It’s on all the local news channels, and national media has latched on to it as well.” He curled his upper lip in disgust at how the media vultures had descended on Houston. “Four women have been brutally murdered in the last four months. We’re pretty sure the same man killed all four of them, and our profiler agrees.”