Annette Broadrick – Hard To Forget (страница 6)

Wilder went on, “Her cover will be that her firm was bought out and she was let go with a generous severance packet. There would be nothing unusual in her choosing to go back home for a while before she decides where to apply for her next job.”

He looked at Elena as though to confirm that this scenario would work for her. She nodded, unable to come up with an alternative.

Wilder said to the group at large, “Study the workup on the list of suspected smugglers. They live in towns from Brownsville to Laredo. I want you to learn their history and get to know as much about them as you know about your own brother. Or sister. You’ll see there are some women on the list.”

He waited while the agents scanned the pages. Elena spotted some familiar names. “How do you want this handled, sir? If I’m working inside, I won’t be able to communicate much with the others.”

“Sam Walters will be heading up the group down there, reporting directly to me. Chris Simmons will be your immediate contact. My suggestion is that you make regular shopping trips into San Antonio where you’ll meet with Chris for status reports. He, in turn, will stay in touch with Sam.”

Wilder looked at the others. “What we’re hoping is that you’ll hear or see something that might hint at a coming shipment. You’ll be doing utility work—electric, cable, gas, telephone—in order to have a reason to be in rural areas at odd times of day and night.

“Do what you have to do to blend in and become a part of the various small communities in the area. Each of you will have a different area to cover, some south of Santiago, others north. The main thing is not to have any run-ins with the local authorities, because you won’t be able to tell them why you’re there. Keep your noses clean and your eyes and ears open.” He paused and looked around at each of them. “Any more questions?”

Wilder’s voice faded into the background when Elena flipped to a new page and saw the name listed at the top. A photo, a detailed description and background check were all there, but she couldn’t get past the name and photo.

For a moment she thought she was hallucinating. This couldn’t be real.

Joseph Sanchez. Joe Sanchez lived in Santiago now? Since when? She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He was listed as one of the suspects.

She scanned the report. Twenty-nine years old. Received an honorable discharge from the army as a major. Currently residing in Santiago, Texas.

His black eyes stared out of the photo without expression. His hair was much shorter than she remembered, but the stubborn jaw, the dent in the chin, the slight scowl that drew his black eyebrows to a V were very much the same. There was no mistaking him.

His shoulders appeared wider and more heavily muscled than she remembered, which wasn’t surprising. She knew she had changed considerably in the past eleven years. Her changes had been more than physical.

Someone asked a question; then others added their queries. Their words washed over her without making any sense. She tried to focus on the discussion, but all she could do was stare at the photograph, aware of her heart pounding heavily in her chest.

She hadn’t thought of Joe Sanchez in years. She hadn’t seen him since they’d graduated from high school. It had been her devout hope at that time that she would never ever see him again.

Joe Sanchez was a horrible reminder of the most humiliating time in her life. She’d been so shy around boys while she was growing up, not at all certain she could trust them. She’d seen how her father’s behavior—his drinking and the accompanying lies he’d told with charming sincerity—had so often upset her mother. She’d grown up not trusting anything her father said.

Joe had seemed very different from her father. In the months she’d gotten to know him, she’d learned to trust him, to believe that not every male was like her father. Joe had betrayed her in so many ways the night of their senior prom that she had determined never to allow another man the opportunity to get close enough to hurt her again.

Instead, she had focused on her career. She knew that this assignment was the biggest test she’d been given since she joined the bureau. She was returning to her hometown and would have to pretend it was because she’d lost her job, which would certainly put a dent in her ego.

In addition, she was being assigned to get close to Joseph Sanchez, who was suspected of drug smuggling, to find out all his secrets and betray him.

How ironic was that?

Finally Wilder said, “Okay, that should take care of everything I wanted to cover during this meeting.” He glanced at her and said, “Elena, I need to speak with you for a few minutes.”

After the last agent left the room, Wilder closed the door and turned to her. “Sorry to spring this one on you like that.” He sat down in the chair that Chris had vacated and faced her. “I would have discussed it with you last night when I called, but I couldn’t take a chance that someone might get wind of my decision to use you in the field and try to get around it. I know this is a dangerous assignment, but I also believe from everything I’ve heard about you that you can handle it. I hope you agree.”

Elena pushed her chair away from the table so that she was facing him. She nodded to him and said, “Yes, sir. I do. I appreciate your faith in my abilities.”

“I want to stress that no one outside our group will know you’re working with us. No other agency will have your name. We’re doing everything we can to protect you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We noted that one of the suspects graduated from Santiago High School with you. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How well did you know him?”

She thought of several responses to that, but chose to be circumspect. “It was a relatively small school. I knew everyone in the class.”

He nodded. “Then you don’t think you’ll have any trouble making contact with him?”

Trouble? That wasn’t the word that came to mind. “I don’t think so.”

Wilder stood and Elena followed his lead. “How soon can you leave?” he asked.

She rubbed her forehead, where a steady pulsating throb was already working itself into a full-fledged headache. “Probably tomorrow. Possibly the day after. I’ll need to contact my mother and prepare her for my moving back home.” She glanced at Wilder. “Do you really think this will take months?”

“At the very least.”

She sighed, kneading her temples.

“Is this going to present personal problems for you?”

Her mind flashed to Joseph Sanchez, ex-military.

“No, sir,” she lied without a qualm. She would deal with the situation because she was a professional.

Wilder held out his hand and she shook it. “Good luck,” he said gravely.

“Thank you, sir.”

They left the conference room together.

She needed to go pack. She needed to contact her mother. And yes, she needed all the good luck she could get.

In the coming months she would use all her skills to investigate the man who had caused her so much pain. If what was suspected about him was true, she would be a part of the team that brought him down.

Several sayings flew through her mind as she retraced her steps down the hallway and returned to her own department. Two in particular kept circling.

Revenge is sweet.

Paybacks are hell.

Well, she and ex-army major Joe Sanchez were about to find out if those sayings were true.

Two

A week later Elena sat at the end of the bar in a small smoke-filled cantina in Santiago, Texas, watching the locals at the other end of the bar indulge in their daily ritual of drinking and discussing their day with friends and neighbors.

She’d arrived in town five days ago, and already she was suffering from serious signs of emotional claustrophobia.

Elena had forgotten what life was like in a small town, where everybody knew everything about you and your family and didn’t mind asking personal questions. No matter how she might attempt to sidestep such questions, she found it impossible without appearing to be rude or disrespectful.

Her mother kept reminding her that people asked about her life because they cared.

Elena could do without so much caring.

In the days since she’d arrived, she must have explained to every resident of the town, all fifteen hundred or so…

Why she was back in town visiting her mother.

Why she had chosen to return home after losing her job.

What she’d been doing all these years.

Why she wasn’t married.

And whether she intended her return home to be permanent.

As if that wasn’t enough, after five days of putting up with intensive interrogations from her mother’s friends, who made law-enforcement officials appear timid and soft, she’d seen no sign of Joe Sanchez.

However, she’d heard about the new factories that had been opened right across the border from Santiago and how the economy of the town had been helped by residents of Mexico crossing the border to shop in Santiago stores.

She’d sat in the local café and listened as town members complained about the big trucks rumbling through the town at all hours of the night, moving product northward.

This was the second night in a row she’d sat in the bar, watching and listening. Once the locals had placed her, they had pretty much ignored her presence, which was exactly what she—and Wilder—had counted on.