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Pressing her lips into a thin line, she nodded. After a moment, she put her hands on her hips and watched the paramedics wheel the gurney carrying the shooter towards the ambulance. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Just give me five minutes alone with that bastard. That’s all I ask.”
“I get it,” Cal said. “But you can’t let it eat at you. These assholes are a dime a dozen.”
“He took Azul’s life. He’s who I want.”
He crossed his arms on his chest. Vic needed to talk. “Azul? That was her name?”
“Yes. I looked in her room before I came out here. She’s the same age as my little niece. Looks like her, too. I couldn’t keep calling her ‘the little girl.’ God, I hope they have relatives to bury them.”
Her voice trembled, and he realized how badly she was hurting. “Hey, let’s get out of here when this is over. Grab a coffee.”
“I’ll take you up on that. I’d like to talk to the guy who was first on scene right now, though.”
Cal nodded. “Me too.” He held up the car keys. “Then we just might hit the jackpot.”
“You got the shooter’s keys?”
He grinned.
“Oh, hell yeah. Let’s talk to this guy.”
Ten minutes later, they unlocked the doors to the older-model gray sedan. After a quick scan of the interior, they popped the trunk.
Vic gave a low whistle. “Well, would you look at that.”
The trunk was filled with bricks of cocaine. The cracks and crevices were stuffed with bags of brightly colored pills—one of the new ways of packaging fentanyl to target young Americans.
“These drugs definitely came through a tunnel. No way something this obvious got through border patrol,” Vic said. She knew from experience that an elaborate tunnel system was one of the hallmarks of the Sinaloa Cartel. She got on her phone then, notifying her boss.
Cal called El Paso. With a bust like this, he’d be here for a while. And he’d bet the shooter would wake up soon. He’d be damned if he wasn’t there when the bastard was ready to talk.
It took more than four hours to clear the scene. Vic, as DEA, took the lead on the car full of drugs, arranging for two other agents to transport it back to El Paso. She’d rescheduled her meeting at the station to the following day.
Once the drugs were on their way, Cal walked over to Vic. “Shall we check in at the hospital before we have that coffee?”
She gave him a grim smile. “You bet. Maybe the asshole’s awake now.”
Since she knew the way, Cal followed Vic to Pecos County Memorial Hospital.
At the information desk, they couldn’t find out any information, which was as it should be with a prisoner under police protection. Hands on hips, Cal waited while Vic stepped away and made a quick phone call.
A moment later, she waved him over. “He’s already in a room. Didn’t need surgery. Number 114.” She headed down the corridor at a brisk pace.
Cal smiled. Grass didn’t grow under that woman’s feet. At least, not when it came to the shooter.
They stopped at the nurses’ station. Vic said quietly, “We’re here to talk to the patient in 114.”
The woman at the desk nodded. “Just a minute. I’ll get his nurse for you.” She made a short call, then said, “She’s with a patient. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“We can just go on into the room and she can find us there,” Vic said, not bothering to hide the impatience in her voice.
The woman frowned. “I’m sorry. This is a special case.” She glanced at Vic’s DEA shirt, which she’d obviously changed for a clean one en route, and said, “As I’m sure you’re aware.”
Cal touched Vic’s shoulder and said quietly, “How about we have dinner instead of just coffee when we leave?” He didn’t blame Vic for being all wound up over the guy. A child dying in your arms did something to you that nothing else could compare to. But pissing off the hospital staff wouldn’t get them anywhere either.
She turned to look at him and seemed to get his message. After a deep breath, she said, “That sounds good.”
A few minutes later, a middle-aged nurse with her hair up in a clip came bustling over. “I’m sorry for the wait. You’re here to see the patient in 114?”
