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  Wow. Okay.

  She shifted from one foot to the other. It had been a while since she’d been asked out.

  Kenny was...nice. She didn’t feel any sparks, but so what? Her grandmother had always told her love grew with time. It started with respect. And she did respect Kenny. He was here trying to help, while most people would rather gossip about her and her brother.

  She didn’t want to offend him or alienate him. If she alienated any more people in her life, she’d have nobody left.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  A confident smile spread across his face, as if he’d fully expected that answer. And why wouldn’t he? He was a pretty good catch, young with a steady job and good looks, a good standing in the community.

  “Tomorrow night?” he suggested.

  “How about tomorrow afternoon? Maybe four-ish? Logan will be at the annual library treasure hunt from four to six.” She could drop her son off, then pick him up later, have dinner in between.

  “I’ll come out to get you.”

  “I’ll be in town anyway. Let’s meet at the restaurant.”

  “I was thinking Gordie’s?”

  Gordie’s served Tex-Mex cuisine, a nice place, but not so fancy that she would be uncomfortable. She nodded, trying not to think how fast they would set all the gossiping tongues wagging.

  “Have a good night, then. See you tomorrow.” Kenny flashed her another smile before he walked back to his car.

  She looked after him as his dust-covered police cruiser pulled down the driveway.

  Skipper came to lick her hand.

  “I’m dating again. Okay, one date, but still, how weird is that?” she asked her, but if the dog thought it was weird, she kept it to herself. She just gave a goofy, lolling grin.

  “I’m dating the Pebble Creek sheriff,” Molly said experimentally. Yep, definitely sounded weird.

  She went inside the house, letting the dogs in, picked up her yellow notepad from the windowsill where she’d left it earlier, and took it upstairs with her. She was working on a list of people she could ask for character references about Dylan, to submit to Shane. She wanted Shane to move the investigation in a new direction, help her figure out why and how her brother had been framed.

  Maybe Kenny would help her.

  She wished she was on speaking terms with Grace so she could call her friend and tell her all about that development. She hated the rift between them. But if she was against Dylan... No matter how good friends they’d been once, family came first.

  At least Kenny was on her side.

  As she got ready for bed, she tried to think of all the things she knew about him. He’d been one of the jocks back in high school, like her brother. Now he was a decent sheriff with a good record. He supported all kinds of fund-raisers, was behind the department getting new cruisers a few years back. His department in Pebble Creek wasn’t laying off like Shane’s here in Hullett.

  She wondered what Logan would think of him.

  But even as she thought about Kenny while falling asleep, her dreams were filled with Moses Mann. Oddly, in her dreams, he didn’t come to accuse or frame her. He came to protect her.

  * * *

  ANOTHER DAY, another interrogation room. This one, at the Hullett jail, was bigger than the one at the office trailer Mo’s team used, but the furnishings were older and pretty banged up. Obviously, the place had seen a lot of use over the years.

  Mo rolled his shoulders. He missed Molly Rogers. How stupid was that? He looked across the desk at Mikey Metzner, owner of the Hullett Wire Mill, Dylan Rogers’s partner in crime in human trafficking. He was in his early thirties, a trust-fund yuppie who’d inherited his father’s business. Obviously, he hadn’t been satisfied with all that easy money. Maybe he was an adrenaline junkie.

  He looked pretty confident still, after nearly a week behind bars, two fancy Dallas lawyers flanking him. He’d been questioned before and denied everything. He held the firm belief that his money was going to save him.

  Mo was here to convince him of the error of his thinking.

  “How long have you been in the smuggling business, Mr. Metzner?” He didn’t mince words. He wasn’t in the best of moods. He hated starting his Sunday morning by having to talk to jackasses like the one before him.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” one of the lawyers said.

  “I had no idea something so atrocious was going on at my mill. I’m as shocked as you are,” Metzner said straight-faced, wearing his best pious expression. “I can’t tell you how terrible I feel that somebody would use my mill for something so completely reprehensible.”

  Give the man a golden statue, Mo thought morosely as he leaned forward in his seat. “Your hired men are outdoing each other confessing, blaming everything on you, hoping for a plea bargain.”

  Unfortunately, they had nothing valuable. The handful of underlings his team had caught only knew their own tasks.

  He fixed Mikey with a flat look. “Who else was involved in running things on this side of the border beyond you and Dylan Rogers?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “We have multiple, signed confessions from your goons, naming you the head of the operation in Hullett. Do you really want to take the rap for this?”

  “I was head of nothing.” The man’s shoulders stiffened as he looked from one lawyer to the other, then back at Mo. “You can’t believe anything those people say. They are the ones responsible. I’ll testify against them.”

  Mo shrugged. “We already have all we need for a conviction. We caught them red-handed.”

  The bastard’s face paled. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “What do you want from me?”

  “A name. Who is the third partner?”

  One of the lawyers coughed.

  Mikey straightened and started talking stiffly, as if repeating a prerecorded message. “I wasn’t involved in any smuggling. Whatever was going on in the basement at the mill, it had nothing to do with me. I’m a respectable businessman. I provide several hundred jobs in this community. The public is not going to be happy if those jobs disappear.”

  Mo shrugged again. “Public patience is running out with all the dirty dealings on the border. Local elections are coming up. Results need to be demonstrated. Somebody is going to be made an example of. The higher up in the chain of command in the smuggling ring, the better. So far, you’re the highest we have.”

  He ignored the lawyers and pinned Metzner with a hard look. “Multiple counts of kidnapping, moving persons across international borders, child exploitation, human trafficking.” He paused. “I could go on, but I’m in a hurry.”

  He pushed his chair back and stood. “Better get used to the idea of a maximum sentence. I have two words for you, Mikey—federal prison.”

  Metzner’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s no way I’m going to prison. You can’t scare me. This is police intimidation. This is harassment.”

  Mo held the man’s gaze. “You want harassment, wait till you’re behind bars. You’ve gone soft from office work, Mikey. Life in prison’s not gonna be pretty.”

  The man stared at him, radiating hate. A few seconds of silence passed before he said, “Look, I was brought in because I had the mill and it has a lot of room. Nobody notices a couple of extra Mexicans coming and going. None of this was my idea.”

  “Yeah, sure. Practically a victim,” Mo said dispassionately. He didn’t move toward the door, but neither did he sit back down. “Give me a name.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Give me a name.”

  “Look.” His head snapped up. “I know Dylan was working with someone in town, but I don’t know who. My only contact was Dylan. I swear.”

  Threatening him hadn’t worked before, and it di
dn’t look as if it would work now. He was too full of himself to truly believe he couldn’t beat the charges.

  Which gave Mo an idea. Maybe playing on the man’s ego would work better.

  “I understand. They didn’t trust you. They didn’t think you could handle it. They played you because they figured you weren’t smart enough to know that you were being played.”

  “I’m plenty smart. Smarter than them.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Dylan is dead and I’m alive,” he said, smug-faced.

  “Yet you have nothing to give me to make your life easier.”

  Metzner rubbed his fingertips together. “If you drop the charges...”

  Mo watched him carefully. So there was something. “Not going to happen. You tell me what you have, and it’ll be taken into consideration at your sentencing.”

  Metzner looked at his lawyers. They were scowling, but the older one nodded again.

  “Coyote,” Metzner said in a low tone. “I overheard Dylan a few months ago talking on the phone to someone. He was saying something about the Coyote being pissed because too many of his mules were getting busted lately.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. He grabbed the back of his chair and leaned on it. “You think this Coyote was Dylan’s other friend who handles the smuggling around here?”

  Mikey shook his head. “Coyote is the one who’s sending the mules.”

  The big boss on the other side of the border? Hell, if they could identify him, it would be the biggest break they’d caught so far.

  But no matter how many questions Mo asked after that, that single name was the only thing Metzner could give him. He headed back into the office more frustrated than when he’d left it earlier that morning.

  He was beginning to hate this op. When they were sent in for an overseas mission, there was usually a clear-cut enemy. They were generally in some jungle or on some Afghan mountainside, or in the desert where they could maneuver without fear of civilian casualties. They did rescues, assassinations or intelligence gathering.

  Now they were in small-town America, pussyfooting around fellow citizens who were too stupid to realize that by violating the border, they were weakening national security. He was a low-key guy. He had a pretty good rein on his temper for the most. But he seriously wanted to beat Mikey Metzner’s head into the damned desk back there. He couldn’t stand it when someone was messing with his country.

  “Anything?” Ray, a big chunk of Viking wearing a leg cast, asked as soon as Mo walked through the door. He and Jamie were working from the office that morning, comparing satellite images and analyzing CBP data, looking for likely crossing points across the Rio Grande.

  The team had already discovered two tunnels. Both discoveries had been compromised, unfortunately. One of the tunnels had blown up, injuring Ray. The transfer would happen someplace else. The key was to find out where and let no one know that they knew the location. They wanted the transfer to go ahead as planned so they could apprehend those terrorists and their weapons.

  “Not much,” he answered Ray. “Yet. But we’ll get them.”

  “We’re gonna kick terrorist ass.” Ray grinned. “That’s what we do.”

  The sooner, the better. “This small-town business is more like detective work,” Mo grumbled. “Having to treat dirtbags like Metzner with kid gloves while the tangos are getting a step closer to crossing the border rubs me the wrong way.”

  He’d been made for action, not for investigative detail.

  “Prepare for more of this when you transfer to the CIA,” Jamie put in. “It’s not all fancy gadgets and pretty women like in the movies.”

  He knew that. He wanted it anyway. His foster father, the man who’d pretty much saved his life, had tried out for the agency. He didn’t pass the test because of an old war injury from his Marine days. But it had been his dream. He had been through some bad breaks, had lost close friends in his platoon due to bad intelligence. He’d wanted to do something about that, bring combat experience to the agency.

  He had tried to direct his sons that way, too, but none of them had an interest in the military, let alone intelligence services. Except Mo. He wanted to make the man proud, wanted to make that dream come true. It was such a small thing compared to what his foster father had done for him.

  “Anyway, I did get one thing from Metzner,” Mo said as he headed for the coffee. “A nickname. Coyote.”

  Ray swore. “Could be anyone.”

  “Guy is smart. You have to be to run a billion-dollar business. Still,” Jamie said. “It’s something we didn’t have before. Could be a starting point. We can ask around.”

  Shep strode in just then, coming off border patrol.

  “Anything?” Mo asked, hoping his teammate had better luck this morning.

  “Interviewed a dozen ranchers near the border, border agents, even bird watchers.” He shrugged. “Everybody says the same thing. Barely anyone is crossing these days. They think it’s because of the economy.”

  “Or because the bastard in charge is having everyone lie low while he gets ready for his big move,” Mo thought out loud.

  Jamie pushed to his feet. “I better head out. All we need is one lucky break, catching one guy who knows something.”

  He had been hired as operations coordinator. Technically, he didn’t have to leave the office. But he’d insisted on being put on the rotation, even though walking around with his prosthetic legs had to be exhausting, possibly painful. He never used that as an excuse. If anything, he pushed himself harder than anyone else. If Mo knew one thing, it was this: when they all fell down, Jamie Cassidy would still be standing.

  He had the hardest eyes Mo had ever seen and very few emotions. He had a legendary record within the SDDU, not that he ever talked about past missions. Especially not about the one that had taken his legs. And everybody respected that.

  “Mo got a name from Mikey Metzner,” he told Shep. “Coyote.”

  “Sounds like it could be a gang name,” Shep said as he dropped into his chair and turned on his computer.

  “Makes sense. The man could have started out in the gangs then risen in the ranks.” The gangs were connected to the smuggling, the smuggling was connected to Dylan Rogers, and Dylan Rogers was connected to whoever the third man was that controlled illegal activity in this specific area. The very man they needed. Even if he didn’t know the Coyote’s true identity, he would know how to get in touch with him.

  Mo thought about that for another minute before his thoughts switched to something else. “Did you go by the Rogers Ranch on your way in?”

  “Yeah,” Shep said. “Just the red pickup in the driveway.”

  “Had a police cruiser out last night. The sheriff from Pebble Creek. Forgot to tell you,” Ray added.

  Kenny Davis, Mo recalled. He pushed to his feet. “What time?”

  “Around eight.”

  He didn’t like it. Molly hadn’t called for help. They monitored the emergency services channels. “Wonder what he wanted.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Maybe he’s investigating her brother’s dealings, too.”

  Mo frowned. “It’s not his jurisdiction.”

  Keith was watching him closely. “You seem very interested in this woman.”

  Mo put on his best poker face. “She’s closely tied to the smuggling. Her brother played an integral part.”

  “So you think she’s involved?”

  “No,” he admitted after a long second.

  Ray raised an eyebrow and grinned. “She’s pretty. Fine curves.”

  Mo shot the big Viking a look. “She’s got a kid.”

  “So?”

  “Keep your dirty eyes off her.”

  Ray laughed out loud. “It’s like that, huh?”

  No
w Jamie, too, was grinning.

  “It’s not like anything.” He just didn’t want any harm to come to her or Logan. The idea of those two in danger because of her idiot brother bothered him.

  “Hey,” Ray said to Jamie. “If Molly Rogers and Mo hooked up, would their celebrity nickname be Mo-Mo?”

  Jamie gave a bark of a laugh. “How about just Moo?”

  Mo stepped forward. “How about I knock your heads together?” he offered without heat. They ribbed each other all the time, pretty much part of the op. It allowed for letting off some steam.

  Ray lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “Listen, we’re nothing if not supportive.”

  Jamie’s grin widened.

  Mo gave them a disgusted look, made sure he had his gun and his wallet, and headed for the door. “I’m heading into Hullett. Want to look at Dylan Rogers’s apartment again.” Wanted to talk to the Hullett sheriff about that, too. Why the place hadn’t been released to Molly yet. Maybe the sheriff had found something he wasn’t sharing.

  He was at his car when his cell phone rang. Keith, the youngest guy on the team, was calling in. He’d been gathering intelligence on the other side of the border. The gun, drug and human smuggling in the area all seemed to be connected.

  “Picking up bits and pieces of clues here and there. Not nearly enough.” Frustration laced Keith’s voice. “The human trafficking was set up for Hullett, with the help of the wire mill. But so far everything I have says the drugs are coming through Pebble Creek and distributed from there. I think different crews are running those two businesses.”

  “Makes sense. If one is busted, the other is still running. Probably a third crew runs the guns. Anyone mention the name Coyote?”

  “No. Who is he?”

  “Might be the big boss on that side.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  They talked for another minute before hanging up. Mo drove by the Rogers ranch on his way to town. Nothing suspicious out there. The driveway stood empty.

  Since it was nearly four o’clock by the time he reached Hullett and he hadn’t had lunch yet, he drove down Main Street, considering popping into the diner and grabbing a quick meal. But as he parked, he spotted Molly going into Gordie’s across the street.