Fatal Exchange (21 page)

“I do have to do this. For Tess. For my sister . . . for myself.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her aside, giving them a measure of privacy. “I know what it’s like to shoot someone. To feel guilty because you can never turn back the clock. Because you knew Charlie, that guilt will be multiplied. But you don’t have anything to prove.”

Emily dropped her gaze. She’d wanted to ignore it, but the guilt was there, trying to strangle her with its thick tentacles of doubt and fear.

“I mean it, Emily. I already see every one of those qualities within you. Determination, resolve, purpose . . . You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I know.”

He put the cell phone in her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “But I’m still not taking any chances.”

“Okay.”

He brushed back a strand of her wig. “In five minutes, we’re meeting with the other officers involved to go over everything before leaving. I want you to know who’s on the team, so you know who to run to if things go south.”

Emily nodded, her stomach churning despite her proclaimed brave front.

“One more thing. I have my own set of rules.”

“Your own set of rules?”

“My job is to keep you safe, so if you see him, remember—you will not make eye contact with him. You will not speak to him. If you end up needing the cavalry, the code word is ‘snowman.’ Because if anything happens to you—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. I have you.”

She smiled up at him, heart pounding, and it wasn’t simply
because she was about to go on her first—and hopefully only—undercover gig.

He brushed his fingers across her hand. “Maybe when this is all over, you and I can go out . . . on a real date. I know this restaurant downtown I think you’d love. It’s quiet and the food is fantastic.”

“I’d like that.”

“So would I.”

Carlos cleared his throat, then handed Emily his phone, dragging her back to reality. “Your father wants to talk to you before we leave.”

“Okay.” Emily took a deep breath. “Daddy?”

“Hey, sweetie. I just received a briefing on what you’re getting ready to do. You know you don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve already been told that at least a dozen times, but I need to do this. I’ll be okay. How is Avery?”

“She’s hoping to be released soon, but this has been rough on her. She’s scared and can’t do anything about it. Something she isn’t handling well.” There was a pause on the line. “As for you, be careful, Emily. If anything were to happen to you . . .”

“I’ll be careful, and I know you’ll be praying.”

Emily hung up the phone. A minute later, Mason was making quick introductions to the team that would be there with them, instructing them about the plan. Carlos, Tory, Griffin, and three guys the captain had assigned to the stakeout—Gordon Britten, Russell Coates, and Randy Venetten.

Mason turned to Emily. “Are you ready?”

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s go.”

E
mily drummed her fingers against the table, wondering how Mason could look so calm when her insides felt as if they were about to explode. Despite all of Tory’s efforts, she was still convinced someone would notice she didn’t blend in. Worried he would recognize her if he saw her.

She drew in a breath of heavy smoke. Someone was singing an off-key version of a Garth Brooks song, the music blasting so loud she could feel the pulse raging in her chest. Part of her wanted to run. The other part was still fighting to find the courage to stay and see this through. She took a sip of her lemonade and looked around the room, trying to look like her pasted-on smile was real because this was something she always did. Exposed brick walls held cockeyed photos and flashing neon signs. Waitresses served plates of food with little maneuvering room, over sticky floors. Customers played air hockey or threw darts between glasses of whatever local brew was being served. The Black Tap was a watering hole for the masses.

She turned back to Mason. “I hadn’t expected it to be so . . . crowded.”

Which had her worried. If she missed him, they’d be facing another dead end.

“Try Friday night when there’s a live band onstage lighting up the scene.”

She’d never considered herself snobby, but karaoke and cheap beer didn’t exactly fall in the middle of her comfort zone. Besides that, the smell of stale booze, stale cigarette smoke, and greasy burgers was doing nothing to ease her growing headache. “Am I the only one who sees this entire situation as ironic?”

“Ironic how?” Mason dipped a fry into a pile of ketchup, then popped it into his mouth.

She leaned forward even though no one was paying attention to them or could overhear their conversation if they tried. Mason had warned her that even the surveillance they’d set up with the transmitter hidden in the cell phone in her jacket pocket was going to be tough, if not impossible, to follow due to the excessive noise around them.

“Ironic because I’m the daughter of a former police captain with zero desire to play the role of hero, who is now sitting in this ridiculous getup, at a somewhat disreputable local dive bar simply because I happen to be the only one who can recognize a wanted—and deadly, might I add—cartel agent.”

“While you have a valid point, I have to disagree with at least one thing.” He grabbed another fry, looking like he was on a date, not a stakeout. “I think you look rather hot in that getup, and that tattoo was definitely a nice touch.”

“Hot?”

“Seriously, Tory did a good job with your makeover, though I’m having a bit of a hard time getting used to you as a blonde.”

“You’re not helping.” She tried to shoot him a mean glare, but ended up laughing. “I was looking for sympathy, not encouragement.”

“I don’t know.” He flashed her a smile. “Like I said, I think this look is good for you.”

“You’re awful.”

He leaned forward. “Where would you rather be right now?”

She made another visual sweep of the room, trying to look relaxed. Never forgetting why she was here. The man’s face was etched into her memory. “Sitting at home with a good book, dinner with a few close friends, shopping . . . pretty much anywhere but here. And you?”

“I guess over the years I’ve gotten used to having to go places out of my comfort zone, as well as learning how to blend in even when I don’t feel comfortable.”

“So why this?” She kept scanning the room, thankful that talking was helping to calm her fears. “Is it some kind of effort to save the world, or is it a sense of adventure you crave? The adrenaline rush?”

“Both, I suppose. I started out wanting to help kids like Rafael. Kids who were going down a similar route that I’d gone down. That, and I wanted to get drug dealers off the streets because I’d seen how it had affected my family.” Mason popped the last fry into his mouth. “At first I thought I could rush in like Superman and save them all. Unfortunately, I found out quickly that it doesn’t work that way.”

“You’ve done that today.”

“Today’s not over. We still have someone else to save.”

Tess.

Unlike him, she had no idea how to get rid of the fear. “What if I was wrong? What if I don’t recognize him, or he doesn’t show up? It’s already past seven.”

“Unless he found out about Charlie, he’ll be here.” He took her hand from across the table and laced his fingers between hers. “I know this isn’t easy, but all you have to do is give the signal when you see him, then my team will whisk you away to safety. We’re going to get him.”

She nodded, but casting her burdens on the Lord always ended up being easier said than done.

Movement caught her eye near the front of the bar. Two men walked in, their gazes sweeping the room as if they were looking for someone. Nervous? Angry? She gulped in a breath of air. The one on the left was the same build, same ethnicity as the man she remembered. She just needed him to turn so she could see his face . . .

She let out the breath she’d been holding as he stared past her, nodded, then proceeded to a crowded table toward the back.

“Is that him?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Stakeouts are all about building your patience. He’ll be here.”

“I don’t get it. How do you get rid of the fear—real or simply perceived—in a situation like this? I feel as if I’m drowning in it.”

His hand squeezed her drumming fingers. “I’m not sure it’s possible to always get rid of the fear. Not completely anyway. But you focus on what you’re doing and hopefully the lives that will be saved because of it.”

Emily could still feel the pressure of his fingers against the back of her hand as he pulled away to take a sip of his Coke. “I’m sure you’ve been through dozens of high-adrenaline situations, but the most nerve-racking my life ever gets is during a football game with our school’s rival or final exams. I’m not used to having my life on the line.”

Mason laughed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Even seasoned cops can get flustered when they find themselves in a situation they shouldn’t be in.”

“I keep looking around the room, afraid even if he’s here that I’ve missed him.”

“Maybe you need a distraction.”

Emily raised her brow in question. No matter what her sister believed about Mason, she liked him. He was attentive, strong, compassionate . . .

“What kind of distraction?” she asked.

“How about this. What’s your favorite ice cream?”

“My favorite ice cream?”

He lowered his head, but his smile had broadened. “Go with me on this.”

“Okay . . .” The man never failed to intrigue her. Once she found the time to step back from the situation, she wanted to contemplate how he’d managed to steal more than a corner of her heart throughout the course of the day. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to take it back. “Favorite ice cream is cookie dough.”

“Favorite kind of food?”

“Italian.”

“Place to travel?”

“New York City.”

“Interesting. I would have thought you were more of a country girl.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all.”

“Favorite holiday?”

“Thanksgiving.”

She felt her shoulders relax as she answered. Whatever he was doing was working. She caught the glimmer in his eye, alert to what was going on around them, yet seemingly relaxed at the same time.

“Movies?”

“Anything that ends with happily ever after.”

“Biggest phobia?”

“I thought we were talking about happily ever after.” She shot him a half smile. “Heights.”

He wrinkled his nose. That dimple was back again. “So no sky diving?”

“Never.” Her breathing had deepened, her pulse slowed. The distraction was working. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Okay.”

“What’s your biggest phobia?” she asked.

“Spiders.”

She laughed. “You’ll face a bullet, but you’re afraid of a little spider?”

“I was bit by a black widow when I was six and ended up in ICU. I’ve hated anything with eight legs ever since.”

“Ouch. Can’t blame you for that. Okay, what’s your favorite sport?”

“Basketball.”

“Movie genre?”

“Action.”

“Pet?”

“German shepherd. We had one growing up, but had to give it away when we moved. Someday I plan to get another one.”

“Really? I found one online this past weekend that I’m planning to adopt once I find a house.” She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly as he caught her gaze. She liked getting to know him. Liked him. Liked the fact that they had things in common and how comfortable she felt with him no matter what happened to be raging around them.

“See.” He nudged her with his elbow. “It worked.”

“Yeah, I’m as relaxed as I can be while sitting in a rowdy pub as the only one who can ID a murderer.” She laughed and felt her cheeks flush. Her response had nothing to do with the situation they were facing and everything to do with the man sitting across from her. “But you’re right. I feel better.”

“How about some dessert?”

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“No. One thing I’ve learned in my job is to eat when you can.
You never know when you might get stuck with nothing more than a stale power bar and a lukewarm water bottle.”

“I’ll pass.” She managed to finish another lemonade, but her stomach couldn’t handle any more food. “Somehow I don’t think I’m going to go hungry in the next couple hours.”

She eyed the now empty plate sitting in front of him—some kind of five-alarm burger packed with chilies and jalapeños. He’d devoured that after a plate of nachos, while she’d barely managed to eat more than a couple bites of her shrimp platter. Unlike Mason, stakeouts and food weren’t a good combination in her book. And from the looks of it, she should have brought a bottle of antacids for him.

He grabbed one of her fried shrimps. “They’ve got chocolate brownies and ice cream. Come on. I’ll split one with you.”

“Go ahead. I’ll pass. Besides, I need to go to the bathroom.”

The laughter in his eyes faded. “Can’t you wait?”

“No.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I drink a lot when I’m nervous, and tonight I’m very nervous.”

“Looks like you should have stopped at the third jumbo glass.” He glanced toward the back of the smoky room where a narrow hallway led to the restrooms and frowned. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“You have this place surrounded. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.” She caught the hesitation in his expression. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be worried tonight, remember? I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Now he was getting ridiculous. “You’re not coming with me—”

“It’s a decision not up for debate. It’s a single-stall bathroom. You go in, lock the door behind you, and I’ll be waiting outside.”

He signaled at their waiter to bring them a plate of brownies
and ice cream, then took her hand as they made their way through the restaurant.

She studied people as they walked past crowded tables, trying to appear uninterested. Couples sat at cozy tables or hovered around the bar. She stepped back into the darkened hall where the restrooms were located, suddenly grateful for his presence.

He squeezed her hand, then let go, before checking to ensure the bathroom was empty. “This will all be over soon. I promise.”