Page 40 of Facing the Enemy
Risa frowned. “I suppose we have no choice if we’re dependent on the FBI to locate Carson again, and I hope he hasn’t changed vehicles or license plates and added another name to his résumé. Hemust know a few shady characters to have a forged driver’s license.” She humphed. “Of course, that’s not hard.”
I took inventory of the few battered cars and trucks in the partially lit parking lot and the shabbiness surrounding us. “Two rooms shouldn’t be difficult.” I studied her troubled face. “Want to try another motel?”
“No, this is okay. I don’t have my Glock to rid the room of varmints, but the front desk might have a can of Raid.”
Loved her sense of humor.“Okay. I promise you can have the room with the least mold and fungus.”
She laughed. “Gage, I’m aggravated, but I miss us. I’m sure Jack is wonderful, and he’s certainly a brainiac.”
While I understood she meant our work, I wanted it to mean so much more. In moments like these, my vulnerability hit the transparent zone. The airplane kiss on the cheek made me want more, to feel her lips on mine. “Yeah. Jack is a smart guy, but a shade between odd and weird.”
“What FBI agent isn’t? Who in their right mind puts their life on the line to protect others? Do you mean his chicken noodle soup every day for lunch with a mix of coffee and Sprite?”
I shared his dating experience at Brazos State Park, and we both laughed.
“Poor girl and her little dog.” She sobered. “He needs to recover soon, so you aren’t stuck getting used to another partner.”
I had the only partner I ever wanted beside me. “I’ll check on him after we’ve settled.”
“Please do. I’m worried about him.” She turned to view the lobby behind us. “Carson could have us in his sights now.”
“If he’s involved with a crime ring, he’s hiding out ... or dead. Stupid move on his part to write a story about his crime.”
“I think arrogance took over,” Risa said. “I was set up from the start. The first day of class, he approached me in the parking lot, introduced himself, and told me he was taking my class.” She captured my attention. “His favorite genres are murder mysteries, suspense, and thrillers. I am such a fool, Gage. I let a kid manipulate me, and I’vebeen trained to know the signs. The smartest move I ever made was resigning from the FBI.”
“Don’t go there. No point. You’re a great agent, and the bureau has lost a strong woman who gave 110 percent to a tough division. We regroup and move forward, just like we’ve always done.” When we investigated together, her optimism kept us from the half-empty syndrome.
But that was before Trenton’s death.
We registered for adjacent rooms on the second floor. I requested a trace of Carson’s license plates and prayed he hadn’t gone off the grid. We found a small Mexican restaurant that served the best fajitas and guacamole.
“Oh, my,” she said, gazing around us. “The decor is red and yellow.”
“Most Mexican restaurants are.”
“Both colors incite people to eat more.”
I chuckled and took a generous bite of a beef fajita smothered in pico. “That’s right. I should have remembered how much you like to weave color into personalities. What color am I?”
Risa had relaxed, and the tiny lines fanning her eyes softened. “Green.”
“Gotta think a little. I either make you sick or remind you of weeds or I’m an alien.”
She grinned, then quickly stiffened. “Remember Carson’s story? He talks about the driver of the car longing for blood red.”
I despised how she’d been betrayed.
Nearing 3a.m. on Monday, the FIG located Carson in Marathon, Texas. He’d paid for gas with a credit card and a room for the night near the Big Bend National Park along the Texas-Mexico border. Why there? Running or was someone directing him? Another less-than-smart move for a kid on the run who should know there were always ways to find people. I phoned Risa, and within twenty minutes, we were driving southeast for the nine-hour trip of nearly six hundred miles.
Once the sun rose, I gave Carson credit for choosing a beautiful but desolate part of Texas, and if it wasn’t for chasing him down, I’d have enjoyed the scenery.
Risa’s nearness distracted me, though not necessarily unwelcome. In the past, I pushed aside my feelings with the consolation that we were together and talked seven days a week. I searched for the right words to talk about our relationship. We were alone, and the road ahead was deserted of traffic. I found it a whole lot easier pulling information from a lawyered-up bad guy. Or telling her about the tragedy that walked with me since high school.
“Everything okay with your parents?” she said.
“Yes. They’re putting together a Christmas party for a children’s home.”
“Will you see them on Christmas?”
