Far Gone (7 page)

She was getting the picture now. Maybe. The three similar bank robberies had occurred back in the fall, right before North and Torres were sent out to West Texas on some undercover assignment. The case was pretty hush-hush, but she’d heard through the grapevine that they were reopening the investigation of a judge who had died under suspicious circumstances.

Although what that had to do with this bank heist, she didn’t have a clue.

But what did she know? She’d been on the job barely two years. She hadn’t had time to achieve rising-superstar status like Jon North had.

He was staring at her now, waiting.

“Looks like a connection to the other ones, yeah,” she said. “Maxwell wanted us to check it out. I’m waiting on the surveillance footage.”

She motioned toward the back of the bank, where her colleague from San Antonio was trying to get access to the security video.

“Based on what we’ve got so far, it seems like the same MO,” she said. “Man walks in during the early afternoon, totally nondescript, draws no attention to himself. He waits in line for a female teller, passes her a typed note, and then stands there quietly as she counts out a few thousand dollars and hands it over.”

“Where’s the note?”

“The evidence tech already packed it up, but I’ve got a copy.” She reached for the file she had spread out on someone’s desk.

North read the note, which instructed the teller not to alert anyone, not to sound any alarms, but simply to hand over the specified amount of money. In all the cases, the tellers had complied, because that was what they’d been trained to do. Banks were insured. No sense in employees risking their safety over money that wasn’t even theirs.

“Six thousand dollars.” North handed back the note. “Same as last time.”

“I know.”

“What about the video?”

She led him into the back room and was relieved to see that her partner had managed to get something up on the computer screen. He glanced up when they walked in.

“Security firm finally sent this over,” he said.

She and North leaned in to get a view of the screen. The time stamp at the bottom showed 12:56. They watched the grainy black-and-white image as a man entered the bank. Baseball cap pulled low, zipped jacket. Nothing remarkable given the weather.

“Gloves,” Elizabeth said. She wasn’t surprised.

He waited patiently in line, keeping his head down, as if reading the slip of paper in his hand. When his turn came, he approached the teller.

“Hit pause.” North leaned closer. “Damn it.”

“Damn it, what?”

He glanced at her. “He’s too short.”

“Too short for what?”

“Shay Hardin.”

Okay,
now
she understood. Shay Hardin was a person of interest in North’s resurrected murder case. Several of the agents in her office had been helping out with the background checks.

“I’m going to need a copy of this tape,” North told her.

“Sure.”

He returned to the counter in the lobby and picked up the file she’d been compiling. “Vehicle?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet. Last three robberies in San Antonio all involved different vehicles, and the plates were conveniently obscured by mud. Want me to send the outdoor footage, too?”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’d wait for it, but I need to get back.”

“Air taxi’s leaving?”

He smiled slightly.

“How are things going out in Maverick?” she asked.

“So-so.”

“You know, I’m not really up to speed on your case, but . . . I should probably give you a heads-up.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Word is they’re planning to yank you guys out soon.”

He didn’t look surprised.

“It’s just something I heard,” she said. “Think they need all hands on deck for the Saledo case.”

North’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head.

“Can you blame them? The cartels are out of control,” she said. “They executed five people in Brownsville last weekend. And then there’s Al Qaeda. Every office is stepping it up after the university bombing.”

“I thought that was just a theory.”

“Not anymore.”

His gaze sharpened.

“You haven’t heard? They traced the minivan used in the bombing through the number stamped on the axle,” she said. “Vehicle comes back to a cleric at a mosque in Philly. He was pretty radical, from what I understand.”

“Was?”

“It was a suicide attack.”

North looked over her shoulder, his expression inscrutable as he stared out at the street. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows and made the stubble on his face stand out. She waited for him to say something. North wasn’t a big talker. He was known for being a loner, as she was, and he had a reputation for going against the grain. But so far, that had worked for him, and he also had a reputation as a solid investigator.

He glanced at his watch.

“I’ll send you that footage,” she told him.

“Appreciate it.”

“Say hi to Jimmy for me. And good luck with your case. Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it soon.”

♦

Andrea was on her eighth Hershey’s Miniature when a knock sounded at the door. She padded across the room in her socks and peered through the peephole. Her heart lurched. She wasn’t expecting visitors, and she definitely wasn’t expecting Jon North in civilian clothes with an easygoing smile on his face.

She opened the door.

“Hi,” he said.

She put her hand on her hip, instantly wary. They hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms.

“May I come in?”

She pulled the door back. He stepped inside and glanced at the bed, where her laptop was propped on a pillow.

“Working?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“You had dinner?”

“Yep.”

“How about a drink, then?”

She tipped her head to the side.

“There’s a decent pub up the road,” he said. “They’ve got a lot of beers on tap.”

“Aren’t you worried about your cover?”

“It’s in Fort Stockton.”

She looked him over. Gray flannel shirt tucked into jeans. Worn sneakers. Except for the Sig Sauer hiding under his brown leather jacket, he looked almost like a regular guy.

Yeah, right. If regular guys were built like action heroes.

But something about the running shoes got to her. They had some miles on them. They made him seem more human, less threatening. Although that was an illusion. Her brother was a key to his case, and she knew full well he’d come here because he wanted something.

Still, the drink offer was tempting. Better than staying holed up in her motel room with Mr. Goodbar, at least. She glanced down at her faded T-shirt and baggy sweatpants.

“Give me ten minutes.”

He gave her that slow smile that made her heart beat faster. “Five.”

chapter five

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, THEY
pulled into a crowded parking lot on the outskirts of Fort Stockton. They were in Jon’s personal vehicle, a gray F-150 with oversize tires. They walked to the bar entrance without comment, and he held the door open for her—more of those old-fashioned manners that seemed second nature.

Country music drifted from a jukebox. She’d expected to grab a seat at the bar, but he steered her toward a table in the back beside the pool room. Andrea poked her head in. Judging by the intense look of the men gathered around the table, there was some money riding on the game.

She stripped off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair, and Jon’s gaze lingered on her stretchy black top. The Kimber was in her ankle holster tonight.

“They have food here if you’re hungry,” he said as she sat down. “The wings aren’t bad.”

A waitress stopped by to take their drink orders. When she was gone, Andrea leaned forward on her elbows. “Look, I should tell you right off, so there’s no misunderstanding. I’m not going to get my brother to wear a wire for you.”

“You mentioned that already.”

He seemed totally relaxed. She hadn’t known him long, but she knew
relaxed
wasn’t his natural state. He was trying to get her to let her guard down so he could pump her for information.

But two could play at that game, and she liked a challenge.

Their beers arrived, and he looked at her over his bottle as he took a sip. “You talk to your brother yet?”

“I’m seeing him tomorrow.” She hoped.

“Let me know how it goes.”

She kept her expression neutral as she glanced around the bar. Not a bad crowd for a Wednesday night. There were some golf shirts and khakis mixed in with the jeans and cowboy boots, probably tourists en route to Big Bend National Park.

“So.” He leaned back in his chair, as if he was settling in for a story. “Tell me about Pearl Springs.”

“What’s to tell?”

“What was it like for you two growing up there?”

She held his gaze. “I’ve got a question first.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like a test.”

“It is. How’d you find me in Austin?”

The side of his mouth curved in what might have been a smile. She waited. If he gave the bullshit story about running her plate again, she was officially done giving him information.

She should be done anyway, and yet here she was, having a drink with him. She was in a reckless mood.

“I ran your prints.”

She blinked at him. Her mind scrolled back through their encounter at the Broken Spoke.

“You took the glass?” she asked.

“The twenty.”

“You
stole
my twenty?”

“Don’t worry, I replaced it. And then some.”

She leaned back in her chair, annoyed. And maybe a little impressed.

“I knew you were a cop,” he said. “I didn’t know what kind. Once I ran it down, I called up your department, thinking maybe I’d chat up your supervisor, find out what you were doing out here.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t get a supervisor. They patched me through to some public-information officer, and I got a canned statement about your being on leave.”

Which had probably piqued his curiosity. Which had probably led him to Google. Which had no doubt provided him with a slew of headlines about her killing a teenager.

She watched his eyes, trying to read them.

“Then I guess you know.”

He nodded.

“Good.” She picked up her beer and took a cold gulp. She didn’t want to talk through it again. She’d been debriefed so many times she could recite it by rote now, and there was something terribly wrong with that.

“Are you all right?”

The way he said it caught her off guard. His look was so direct, as if he expected a straight answer.

“Flashbacks?”

She nodded.

He didn’t say anything, but it seemed like he was waiting for something. His hazel eyes were calm and patient.

And it hit her, as it did sometimes. The stark finality of what she’d done. Because of her, a young man would never fully experience life. His family would never stop grieving. What she’d done had saved lives, but it had ruined lives, too. And she couldn’t get away from it.

She glanced down at her beer bottle as she thought about what to say.

“You spend so much time training.” She looked at him. “But when it really happens, it’s different. I don’t know. I’d thought about it, but I’d always envisioned some drug dealer drawing down on me in an alley or something. I never pictured a freckle-faced kid in a crowded restaurant.”

He watched her intently. “They get you an attorney right away?”

He meant the officers union. She nodded.

“That’s good.”

She thrust her chin out. “I’m going to need it. I’ve already heard rumors about problems with my review.”

“Why?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, hating the way she sounded, like a lawyer or someone covering her ass.

“Are you going to leave?”

“No way.”

He watched her.

“They can fire me, but I’m sure as hell not quitting.”

“Good.” He covered her hand and squeezed it, and she immediately tensed. She wanted to pull away, but his palm was heavy and warm, and she liked the way it felt.

“You were telling me about Pearl Springs,” he said, changing the subject.

She tugged her hand into her lap. “Not much to tell. It’s a pretty small town, like Maverick. I moved there in middle school.”

“From?”

“Houston, where we lived with my mom. She died when I was eleven.”

His brow furrowed.

“I came home from school one day. Cops were there. Social services. My mom had been in a drunk-driving accident. Single vehicle.”

She could see the question on his face.
Yes, in the middle of the day.

“She had a drinking problem. When she died, Gavin and I went to live with my grandparents.”

“Your dad?”

“Not an option.”

He turned his beer on the table, watching her.

“My parents divorced a long time ago,” she explained. “Probably best for everyone. It wasn’t a happy marriage.”

“What about you?” he asked. “Ever been married?”

“Nope. You?”

“I was engaged once. She called it off.”

Andrea looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t elaborate. “Did you love her?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.”

“Do you miss her?”

The question seemed to make him uncomfortable, and for some reason, she felt glad. He looked down at his beer. “Honestly?”

“No, make something up.”

“I haven’t thought much about her in months.” He met her gaze. “When she left, she told me I was an ego-driven workaholic and I was destined to end up alone.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a smooth breakup.” He glanced at his bottle, then at her again. “You ever come close?”

“God, no.”

“Why not?”

“My job’s hell on marriages. It’s a proven fact.”

“There are exceptions.”

“There are.” She shrugged. “But not for me. Relationships need nurturing. I can’t even take care of a houseplant. What would I do with a husband?”

He laughed, and she felt the mood relax, even though it was a touchy subject for her. She’d been in dozens of relationships, and they were all the same: hot and brief. When she’d first recognized the pattern, it had made her sad and self-conscious, but now she’d accepted it. Mostly.