Randall took a gulp of his water and held the bottle on his lap. “We need your help, Bill. We’re trying to get back across the border...into the States.”
“The last I knew, you were with the DEA.” Steele extended an upturned palm toward Devlin. “And you have a U.S. Deputy Marshal right there.” His attention drifted her way. “I’m sure you could make one call and have whatever you need. Am I right?”
She tipped her head to the side. “On any other day, yes, that would be true.”
“The problem is,” Randall put the drink beside his feet, leaned forward, rested elbows on knees, and interlaced his fingers, “she’s already used up her one phone call...and that sent three killers our way.”
Steele sat upright.
After regarding Devlin for a moment, Randall spent the next few minutes explaining how they had gotten to this juncture.
“So now you know,” Devlin crossed her legs, “the importance of getting over the border undetected by American officials. I need to find out if there’s a mole in the Marshals Service. And the people I’m hunting...can’t know I’m coming for them.”
“Wait a minute.” The elderly man aimed a remote control at the television and pressed the ‘mute’ button. The screen showed a news reporter’s talking head. The country’s native language came from the TV’s speakers, as the image changed to two, side-by-side pictures.
Both fluent in Spanish, Devlin and Randall—in their minds—translated the words underneath their own ‘mug shots’ of sorts: WANTED IN CONNECTION TO THE MURDER OF THREE UNITED STATES MARSHALS.
“Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-pup.” Steele shut off the television, scrutinized his ‘wanted’ visitors for a few moments, and stared at the ceiling.
The next thirty seconds of silence gnawed at Randall. While he trusted his older friend, he also knew the power of the media and its ability to make anyone question the truth. “You realize we didn’t kill those marshals, right?”
His concentration broken, Steele observed Randall. “What?” He frowned a beat later. “Are you crazy? We’ve known each other for how long now?”
“Almost ten years.”
“That’s right.” He got up from the easy chair. “You may be a lot of things, Noah—many of which I can’t repeat in the presence of a lady...”
Randall cracked a grin.
“...but a murderer of U.S. Marshals isn’t one of them...or a murderer at all for that matter.” Steele squinted at the blank television screen before eyeing his friend. “How long ago were you ambushed?”
Devlin was first to reply. “About four hours ago.”
Steele turned his attention toward her. “That’s too fast of a turnaround time...from incident to news bulletin. Things don’t move that quickly around here.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s almost as if—”
“Someone’s been,” she glimpsed Randall, “driving the narrative,” and the two exchanged a knowing look.
He acknowledged her. “Someone with a lot of pull at that.”
“And,” Steele scooped a cell phone from a nearby table, “power in other countries as well. I’ll need a little time to figure out how I’m going to get you two around the Mexican authorities...and across the border.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “With this much attention on you, I won’t be able to use my normal channels.” A moment of silence passed while a floor fan oscillated, sending a cool breeze at the threesome. “Anyway, until I can come up with something,” he wagged his finger at nothing in particular, “eat, drink, take a nap, shower...do the whole,” studying the mobile, he waved a dismissive hand, “my-castle-is-your-castle thing.”
“Mr. Steele?” Devlin stood.
“Bill...please.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Bill, do you have a phone I could use?”
Randall rose from the couch, a scowl overtaking his features. “Who are you calling?”
She pumped a hand his way, “Relax,” and fixed her gaze on her host.
“Back bedroom,” Steele motioned over his shoulder while punching in a number on his cell, “the one on the left...it has a phone with a satellite uplink.”
“Thank you.” She gave Randall a reassuring look and left the men. Entering the bedroom area, she heard Steele over her shoulder.
“Hola, Paco...Senor Steele.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 18
With My Life, Jessica
7:29 p.m.
alexandria, virginia
Having declined the first two calls from the unknown number, Ashford frowned at his phone and lifted a finger at a man in uniform, “Excuse me,” at the police officer dispatched to investigate the attempted robbery. Ashford stepped away. “Hello?”
“Curt, it’s Jessica.”
“Jessica. Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you. Your phone keeps going straight to voicemail. Is everything all right?”
“Not exactly.”
He shot a look over his shoulder and put more distance between him and the officer. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve run into a problem in Mexico, but I’m working on it. I just wanted you to know I’m safe. And that you won’t be able to reach me for,” silence, “well...to be honest, I’m not sure on the timeframe.”
“Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”
“It’s not that simple, Curt. But don’t worry about me. I’m fine. How’s Cassie?”
Ashford lowered his voice. “Cassie...” he shut his eyes and massaged his forehead. Do I tell her...and worry her? It sounds like she already has her hands full. But it’s her daughter. She needs to know. He bobbled his head. I’d want to know.
“Curt? Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” He winced. You need to tell her, man. “Look, Jess...everything’s okay now, but...”
*******
san fernando, mexico
Devlin heard the hitch in her husband’s voice. “Has something happened to Cassie?”
“No. She’s fine.”
In the ensuing two seconds of silence, Devlin’s heart rate increased, as a lump formed in her throat. His words said one thing, but his tone told her something else. “Talk to me, Curt.”
“We were attacked in the driveway—Cassie and me—outside the house.”
Devlin’s hand shot to her mouth.
“I fought them off and called 911. The police are here, investigating.”
Hanging her head, she held her forehead. “Tell me the truth, Curt. How’s—” Devlin swallowed, trying to dislodge the mass inside her neck, “how’s my baby?”
“She’s a little scared...”
Devlin slammed shut her eyes. Moisture squeezed out from under her eyelids.
“...but trust me, Jess, she wasn’t hurt. She’s
