Page 12 of Grave Peril

Living in Los Angeles and working at Stealth was fine. But Rip did miss his hometown. For one thing, any barbecue outside of Texas just wasn’t Texas barbecue, even if the restaurant claimed it was, and no matter how many awards it had won.

His home state was friendly. In LA, everybody seemed busy and stressed out. Back home, there was no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store, because someone was sure to strike up a conversation in the checkout line. Growing up, he remembered how people waved hello, especially on the back roads.

But Rip’s life had taken him elsewhere. That didn’t mean his attachment was severed. He had folks he cared about there, and that was where his roots were. So he tended to keep an eye on things back home, including the weather, the news…

A press release caught his eye. He scrolled to read it. Two FBI agents dead…a train station security guard injured… What the hell?

Rip devoured the article. The incident involved three gang members linked to the drug cartel. It was assumed that they were after Lela Cabelo, a paralegal in the office of Ortiz and Associates in downtown Houston.

It was bold to attack in broad daylight and gun down federal agents. But the drug gangs in the area had no qualms about killing. Rip was no stranger to that culture. The cartel’s continued terrorizing of the city was something he took personally.

The criminal faction had affected his life, and their activities raised havoc in the area on a daily basis. This new bit of news ticked him off. But that wasn’t all of it.

The murder of government agents was alarming, but what got Rip’s attention was Lela’s story. The woman had been under the feds’ protection. She was scheduled to testify in the upcoming trial of Senator Ortiz.

The article went on to implicate the senator in some pretty serious crimes, including connections with drug lords. He’d been arrested, but was out on bail. That explained a lot.

A dirty politician wouldn’t take it lying down. He’d use everything in his arsenal to keep from going to prison. The arrogant asshole could bully and cheat, but was a coward when it came right down to it. The man wouldn’t last long in prison, and would make every effort to avoid the consequences of his acts.

Rip did some quick research. It wasn’t difficult to find background information. Lela Cabelo had been born and raised in Houston. She was of Spanish heritage. She was thirty-six years old, working in the senator’s law firm dedicated to constitutional law.

That would have put her close enough to be aware of any crimes. But what did she have on Ortiz? It had to be significant if her life was in danger. The feds had been escorting her out of the city to put her under witness protection.

But she hadn’t made it that far. At the Amtrak station, the gang had descended and ambushed the feds. According to reports from bystanders, it had been sudden. Certainly the agents hadn’t expected it, or they would have had backup.

As it was, the gangsters got away. And, much to Rip’s amazement, Lela had escaped. Witnesses had seen her run while the gang members had been engaged with the feds. He couldn’t fathom how she’d accomplished that.

Rip stared at a photo of her. The picture shown in the news release didn’t do her justice. He’d found a few recent ones on social media. Lela was gorgeous. Her Spanish blood gave her an exotic look. She had dark, wavy hair and brown eyes. Her skin’s deep tone and her full lips enhanced her beauty.

She was divorced. For some reason, Rip was relieved to read that. She was none of his business, so there was no reason that he should care.

But Lela Cabelo had just become his business. She was a woman alone, and she was in trouble. He wondered if she realized how deep the trouble went, because he certainly did. She was in a world of hurt with no one to help her.

A woman didn’t just run away from the cartel. The evil sons of bitches would find her. It was only a matter of how long it would take for them to get their murderous hands on her.

Rip wasn’t about to let this disaster run its course—no way in hell. Houston was his home turf, and he knew enough about the cartel to have a chance against them. That was more than Lela had.

There was only one answer. Rip had to rescue her. But first he had to find her. He rocked back in his chair and gazed out the window. Lost in thought, he considered the possibilities. The pieces of the puzzle came together in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more pissed he became.

He couldn’t stomach the cartel terrorizing then murdering an innocent woman. It was up to him. He was the only man who could help her, and he wasn’t about to let her down.

Rip launched from his chair and headed for his boss’s office. Travis was on the phone, but hung up when he saw the look on Rip’s face. “Is something up?”

Too agitated to sit down, Rip paced in front of the desk. “Go to CNN and search ‘FBI deaths Houston.’” He waited while his boss got up to speed.

Travis read the highlights, then looked up. “That’s some bad shit.” He frowned. “What does it have to do with you?”

“I’ll tell you,” Rip said, pointing a finger at Travis. “I intend to rescue Lela Cabelo.”

“The witness who escaped?” Travis raised his brows. “Do you know her?”

“I know all I need to know.” Rip stopped in front of the desk. “She needs help, and I’m the one who can offer it.”

Travis stared at him.

“I’m the only man who stands a chance of finding her fast enough.” Rip threw up a hand. “The feds blew it. She won’t trust them now.”

“You have a point.”

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