Page 151 of Don't Say a Word
I heard a gunshot from down in the canal and ran toward it. Cal was right behind me. Then he passed me. I sped up.
I saw a body lying on the path and wanted to scream.
“Freeze! Federal Agent!” Cal shouted and that was when I saw a man in black running toward the fallen figure, his gun raised to fire.
The shooter turned his gun toward us, and Cal fired with a calm, cool efficiency that I didn’t have time to admire.
The shooter went down, and Cal ran over to him, fifty yards down the path, as I knelt next to Angie.
“Angie, talk to me! Are you hit? Are you hurt?”
Angie sat up and started crying. She clung to me tightly, tears streaming down her face, her body convulsing.
“Are you bleeding?” I asked as I held her.
“N-n-n-o. I fell. My ankle. B-broke. I thought—oh, God, Benny.”
“Benny wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the Cactus Stop.”
“He texted me, told me to meet him there, but he wasn’t there. I don’t know why! He said he didn’t text me.” Her hands were shaking as she handed me her phone. I read the exchange between her and Benny.
“They spoofed his phone or used a VPN.” I sounded smart, but I wasn’t. It was something I heard Luisa talking about.
I sat with Angie, her head buried in my lap, and watched Cal handcuff the suspect, who looked dead to me. But I guess it was protocol to restrain dead guys. Cal got on his phone, walked back over to me. He ended the call and said, “Police are on their way. You okay?” he said to Angie, but was looking at me.
“She doesn’t appear to be hit.”
“I looked over my shoulder,” Angie said. She was still shaking, but her voice was calmer. “When I saw him, I tripped and fell and my ankle snapped. Then I heard the gun and I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Your broken ankle saved your life,” I said. “Angie, you should have called me when Benny texted you.”
“I’m sorry.”
I handed her phone to Cal. “Someone spoofed Benny’s phone to lure Angie to the Cactus Stop,” I told him.
I caught Cal’s eye. His face had hardened, but when he squatted and spoke to Angie, his voice was kind. “You’re a tough kid. I hope you’ll let me sign your cast.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Smart kid too,” I said.
“I’m DEA Agent Cal Rafferty. And I think you know something that will send all of these people to prison.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You do. Otherwise, they wouldn’t want to kill you.”
I frowned at him. “Kick the puppy while she’s down,” I muttered. But I did appreciate his bluntness. It’s what I would have said, if I hadn’t thought she’d been shot. My heart was still racing.
I nodded toward the shooter. “Dead?”
“Unfortunately,” he said.
“Sorry—probably a headache for you.”
“That, but mostly, dead men don’t talk.”
“I don’t know anything,” Angie insisted.
