quarter horse. The animal bolted and trotted off for a quieter piece of ground.
'Sorry, big fella.'
Suddenly, her Crown Vic hit a pothole and the jolt jarred her teeth. One of her hands popped loose from the wheel. Her seat belt locked and drew tight across her chest, the edge cutting into her neck. Becca tugged to make it release. No luck.
That's when the guy hit a series of S curves and a fork in the road. He never slowed down. His tires screeched at every turn. With only her headlights to guide her, she peered through the shadows up ahead for a way to end this.
'What the hell are you doing?' She had no idea if her question had been directed at the maniac up ahead or herself, the crazed woman behind the wheel of the Crown Vic.
Normally, Becca would call for backup on her radio. But explaining her reason for the high-speed chase would get her butt in a sling, no matter how justified. Santiago might cover for her, but Draper was another matter. He'd have her ass canned and throw away the opener.
The way she saw it, she only had a short window of opportunity. She had to catch the Lexus—fast.
But her luck had run out. The madman had been heading for the lights of the freeway. Now, one of the side streets cut onto the frontage road of Loop 410. With more traffic, too much could go wrong. Unable to make her chase
'That's it. I'm gone.' She couldn't risk it, not anymore. People might get hurt.
But the bastard took advantage of his lead and ran a light. He cut across lanes of traffic to hit the freeway entrance ramp. Becca grimaced as other drivers veered to miss him. Tires skidded to a halt. She let the asshole go, never getting close enough to pull more than a partial tag. After turning into the left lane, she cut her speed and watched the red taillights of the Lexus merge into traffic up the hill. With his headlights back on, he headed east, back the way he came.
'Damn it to hell.' She pounded the steering wheel with a fist and groaned in frustration at being so close. 'Arrgh.'
Becca took a deep breath to slow her heart. She checked out the time on her dash and made a turn back to the movie theater. A quarter to nine. She had no idea if Sonja would wait long, but she'd find out soon enough.
Who had tailed her in the Lexus and why? The pricey car ruled out almost her entire list of suspects—
Cool water. A placid surface as unchanging as glass. Diego pictured the image and tried to maintain his composure as he watched Brogan in silence. His muscles tense like a tight spring, he sat ready to defend himself if it came to that. His dangerous companion stared back with dead eyes, like a coiled rattler in tall grass. Brogan looked content with the absence of conversation as traffic and road noise droned in the background.
The limo headed downtown. Diego kept a vigilant eye on the route they took. He had no way of knowing whether Draper followed, but he was sure the FBI man had his back. The guy had the tenacity of a pit bull and the face to match. But Diego hated not knowing what lay ahead. With their destination being downtown, Rebecca's home turf, he had a growing suspicion she played a part in Cavanaugh's game of intimidation.
After Diego's last glance out the window, Brogan smirked as if he read his mind.
'You don't look like a guy who likes surprises, Mex.' Brogan smirked.
'Neither do you.' His steely gaze and quick, understated comeback made the man flinch. Brogan's sneer faded.
The limousine maneuvered through the historic arts village of La Villita and pulled up to the curb outside a trendy new restaurant called Fusion on the River. Diego had read about it. Its new and innovative menu combined the melting pot of cultures located in the region. An extravagant fare of continental cuisine blended with the old- world charm and grace of San Antonio. The limo driver let them out, and Diego followed Brogan inside. Hunter Cavanaugh had reserved a private dining room in the rear.
'Gentlemen. Glad you could join me.' Cavanaugh welcomed them with open arms and a glass of wine. 'Diego, please take the seat across from me.'
An intimate scene. Polished silver on white linen, flickering candles, and fresh-cut flowers created an elegant table setting. Tasteful oil paintings of local artists decked the stucco walls. The restaurant was a maze of small rooms with terraced outside patios carved into the south bank hillside of the San Antonio River.
They placed their order and dined on an array of appetizers, compliments of the house. The owner of the restaurant was an old acquaintance of Hunter's.
'You have admirable taste, Mr. Cavanaugh.' Diego gave the man his due as he admired the restaurant. 'Is this a special occasion?'
'Yes, you might say that.' With his Nordic good looks and aristocratic features, Hunter Cavanaugh commanded the evening with his usual flair for the dramatic. His eloquent voice resonated in the private room. 'Sometimes a man must cut his losses and begin afresh. And I am on the verge of being reborn.'
'A spiritual awakening, or are you referring to a business venture?' Diego asked. He forced a smile, hiding the knot in his gut. In his most subtle way, Cavanaugh enjoyed twisting the knife. And tonight, Diego knew the man would take his time. He would not be rushed.
His polar opposite, Brogan sprawled in his chair and gulped wine without the slightest interest in conversation. The ambience was wasted on him. The bastard would be in his element if you shoved a cold brew and a TV remote in his hand with a Barcalo-unger under his ass. Diego heard the vibrating buzz of the man's cell phone under the table. But Brogan only checked out the phone display, not answering. Glancing at his watch, he looked preoccupied.
'Ah, a spiritual rebirth or a new business venture? An astute question, Diego.' Cavanaugh raised a finger and winked. 'Over the years of our association with Global Enterprises, I have been impressed by you. And your loyalty to Mr. Rivera is certainly commendable. In similar fashion, Mr. Brogan would do anything for me. And I assure you, he has.'
'You seem to be making a point.' Diego narrowed his eyes and took a sip of wine. 'And I'm content to wait for it.'
'Yes.' Cavanaugh grinned. 'I've noticed. You are a very patient man. In that regard, you and I are very much alike. I, too, value composure . . . especially under stress. And I'm not afraid to make difficult decisions even at the expense of others. Perhaps this is where we part company.'
'What do you mean?'
'You talk a good game. And you hold your own in a fight.' Cavanaugh glanced at Brogan. The man jerked his head, suddenly paying attention. 'On more than one occasion, Mr. Brogan reported for work sporting unexplained bruises or a broken nose, presumably after having a conversation with you. But deep down, Diego, you have a soft heart. Don't try and deny it.'
'Why do I get the impression you consider compassion to be a sign of weakness?'
'Because it is, my dear Diego. It is.' Cavanaugh smiled, his fierce eyes unwavering.
Brogan leaned his elbows on the table and glared at Diego as if he played a hand in the coy conversation. But when his cell phone sprang to life again, the smug bastard checked the incoming number and excused himself from the table to take the call.
On the surface, Diego was a pristine lake at dawn, but underneath, he churned to know what was happening with Brogan. And worse, Cavanaugh pretended not to notice or even care. Diego had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy Cavanaugh's brand of after-dinner entertainment.
'I'm waiting to hear about the proposition you have for me.'
'All in good time, Diego. All in good time.'
An old mustard-colored Ford Fiesta sat at the back of the cinema parking lot, rust eating at its wheel wells and belching puffs of black smoke. The car was running with someone inside. Becca circled the vehicle, getting a good look at the driver. She pulled up facing in the opposite direction on the driver's side and rolled down her window. Sonja had her arm out, flicking ashes from her smoke. Between the exhaust fumes and the cigarettes, her lungs had to be a ticking time bomb.
