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“Wow, I’m so sorry.” Her heart was breaking for him. She couldn’t imagine losing Justin. “Is that why you became a DEA agent?”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he said, then shook his head. “Enough of this depressing stuff. Tell me about your family.”
Naomi took a sip of her beer, straight from the bottle. “I hope you have awhile.”
Stockdale, Texas
Late Wednesday Night
By the timeGomez got to the hotel with Raven and Ridge in tow, the Stockdale P.D. was already there in full-force. After today, they’d probably never take another one of his calls again. All day, he’d sent them from one potential crime scene to the next. Gomez wasn’t sure what was happening today, but he had a feeling they were on to something big.
At some point, every scumbag messes up, he thought.
He didn’t realize how true those words were.
The officer in charge informed him that they had knocked on the door of the man in question, but he had refused to open it. Two officers had gone around back, and they caught the guy climbing out the window in his plaid robe. Since he’d run off, that gave them implied consent to search the room. They had found two bricks of cocaine, several cell phones, two suitcases full of cash, and about six handguns with the serial numbers filed off.
“He said his name was Mr. Brown and he was from Brownsville, Texas,” the officer said. “We did find an ID for a Horace Brown, but I suspect it’s a fake.”
Agent Gomez turned to Raven and Ridge and asked them to wait in the car while he went up to talk to the man in question. He found the guy sitting in his robe and slippers on the edge of the bed, his hands cuffed behind his back. Gomez couldn’t place it, but he was sure he’d seen the guy before, particularly the scowl of contempt the man bore.
“Mr. Brown, you were in a bakery in Stockdale this afternoon with a tall Mexican-American man.”
“I was?” the man said, trying to sound naïve.
“I’m almost positive you were. All we came for was the man’s name. Now look at all the trouble you’ve gotten into,” Gomez prodded, indicating the cocaine, cash, and guns they’d found.
“I think perhaps I should seek counsel.”
“As you wish,” Gomez said. “Take him away.”
As the man was being led down the stairs in his robe and slippers, Raven stood near the back of Gomez’s car with Ridge. She studied the culprit carefully before revealing, “That’s him.”
Gomez walked up to her. “You’re sure?” he asked.
“Positive,” she said. “Who is he?”
Gomez looked up, watching as the techs brought the evidence they had found out of the room.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m sure he’s not one of the good guys.”
Pendale, Texas
Naomi and Corbettmoved into the living room after dinner. She made a large pot of coffee. Corbett looked wiped out, definitely too tired to ride the bike back to San Antonio without some kind of pick-me-up. She clicked on the TV but left the volume down. While they drank their coffee, she told him more about Justin. She talked about the good times when they were young. The times before their life had fallen apart. She also brought up her dad’s shop, which clearly reminded Corbett of something.
“Was there a vault in the shop when you or your dad owned it?”
Naomi hesitated, momentarily looking down at the floor. She hated this! With no choice, she looked Corbett in the eye and said, “I’m still his attorney, and as much as the man disgusts me, I still have a moral obligation to keep his confidence.”
“Okay, so it’s something bad?” he said with a grin.
“Is there anything good about Aydan Styles?” she fired back.
His attention suddenly diverted to the TV. “Turn the volume up,” he said hastily.
She did as he asked, watching as the news showed a picture a sketch artist had drawn. Corbett couldn’t take his eyes off the image. Naomi wondered what about it captivated him so. The screen then flashed to a scene at a hotel in Stockdale. He leaned in closer as the police led a man in a robe to the back of a car and put him inside. It took her a minute to realize the man being arrested was the one the sketch artist had drawn.
“That son of a bitch!” Corbett exclaimed, sitting straight up. “I’ve worked undercover for seven years. I recognize fake blonde hair when I see it. I can’t believe this! I’m sorry, Naomi. I have to make a call.”
