But what about the hit man? Who would Fuentes have sent? Could it be Castillo or Marco? Could it even be Rodrigo?

She frowned as she came back to her original worry. What if Rodrigo was mixed up with Fuentes, or the killer? After all, he'd only been in Jacobsville for a little while and n.o.body knew very much about him. He'd hired Castillo, who was a crook of the first order. He and Castillo vanished every Wednesday. Rodrigo had ties to Mexico. He had a cousin who worked in the drug smuggling world. And the Rodrigo who'd confronted Castillo on the porch had been a man she didn't know, a dangerous man obviously used to settling problems with his fists. He could be violent. Castillo had been afraid of him. Rodrigo could be the hit man, or one of the bosses involved in drug smuggling.

She almost groaned aloud. Her life had been so simple when she was helping convict gang members and drug dealers back in San Antonio. Why hadn't Marquez left her where she was safe? At least she'd have been sure that Marquez would keep an eye on her. Down here, she had to hope that Cash Grier was telling the truth when he said he had somebody watching out for her.

She felt sick when she realized how reckless she'd been. What if her office had to prosecute Rodrigo? How would she cope with that? He'd have a great comeback-he could tell the court just how involved she'd been with him. It would damage her credibility, maybe enough to get Fuentes an acquittal. Life, she thought, was not fair.

GLORY WAS CURIOUS ABOUT where Rodrigo went with Castillo on those Wednesday jaunts. She caught a ride into town with Angel Martinez. She didn't want anyone to see her car parked in front of Barbara's Cafe, which was where she went as soon as Angel deposited her on the square. There, she phoned Marquez and told him about this new development.

"You should tell Grier," he replied.

"I did. Now I'm a mushroom."

He laughed. "They keep you in the dark and feed you bull..."

"Never mind," she interrupted pristinely. "Why don't you drive down here and we can tail Rodrigo and Castillo and see where they go?"

"Why should I take you along?"

"Because I'm going to be the one prosecuting the case, that's why."

"I was afraid you'd say that. When do they usually leave?"

"About five in the afternoon."

"And how are you going to get away from Consuelo long enough to ride around with me?"

"She leaves just before five every Wednesday to go to church," she said smugly. "And she takes her son with her."

There was an odd pause. "She does?"

"Yes. Isn't it curious that he'd voluntarily set foot in a church without being put in a casket first?" she returned, tongue-in-cheek.

"Maybe he walks in the front door of the church and out the back door," he mused.

"Who knows? Are you coming?"

"I'll pick you up at five. If anyone asks, we're on a hot date."

"In that case, I'll wear something conspicuous."

"Better make it something that will blend in," he countered. "You don't track people wearing flamboyant clothes."

"So much for the hot date," she murmured.

He laughed. "This isn't the time."

"That's what they all say."

"See you."

"Yes."

Barbara came up to her, frowning. "What's going on?"

Glory, who knew her, only grinned. "I'm luring your son to my house with promises of lurid wickedness."

"Hallelujah!" Barbara exclaimed. "If ever a child needed a push into seamy luridness, it's my straitlaced, puritanical son!"

"Well, it's not really that seamy," she confided in a whisper. "We're going tracking."

"Deer?" Barbara exclaimed, stunned.

"Not deer. Drug dealers."

The amused look went into eclipse. "That's dangerous territory. You should let him do that on his own."

"I can't. I'm up to my neck in this case already."

"Somebody should take Fuentes for a walk in the woods and push him down an abandoned well!"

Glory gaped at her. "You bloodthirsty cook!"

"Count on it! I hate drug dealers."

"So do I," Glory replied. "Especially Fuentes. He's more dangerous than Manuel Lopez or Cara Dominguez ever dreamed of being. He needs to go away for years and years, with no hope of parole."

"After which we can round up his smuggling ring and put them away, too."

"Exactly what I think. But first, we have to have evidence that will stand up in court."

"Spoilsport," Barbara chided.

"Yes, well, I'm an officer of the court," she reminded her. "I have to abide by the rules, even when I don't like them."

"Rick will help you get the evidence," she said.

Glory smiled. "I know he will. He's really very good at his job. But don't tell him I said so."

"I won't breathe a word."

"Thanks."

"If you ever need help, and you can't call anyone directly from the house, call me and order a sweet potato pie. I'll call Cash Grier, or Rick if he's down here, and get him right over there."

"Have you ever thought of becoming a secret agent?" Glory queried.

"All my life. But it's more fun thinking about it than doing it. At least, I think it is."

"You're probably right." She glanced out the door to the statue of old John Jacobs, the founder of Jacobsville, where the ranch pickup with Angel at the wheel stood waiting. "There's my ride. I have to go."

"What's wrong with your car?" Barbara asked.

"It's the same one I drive at home," she replied quietly. "I keep it in the shed on the farm. I thought someone might recognize it."

"Good thinking."

"Oh, I could go into the secret agent business myself, after this," Glory said, and she wasn't really teasing. "I'll be in touch."

"Wait!" Barbara drew her to the counter, produced a sweet potato pie, bagged it and handed it to Glory. "Your cover," she said, "in case anybody wanted to know why you came in here."

"I'll see if I can find you a trenchcoat," Glory chuckled. She hugged Barbara. "Thanks."

"I'm not being altruistic. I want you to marry my son and give me lots of grandchildren," Barbara chuckled.

The mention of babies made Glory uneasy.

Barbara grimaced. "Sorry. I'm really sorry, that was uncalled for..."

"Don't be silly," Glory replied. "I'm not offended. Rick is a dish. But I have high blood pressure and I don't know if I can have a child. You see, there's never been any reason for me to ask a doctor about having children."

Barbara was noticing things that Glory wasn't aware of. The owner of a public cafe learned a lot about body language from observation. "Lou Coltrain is one of our best doctors, and she's still keeping secrets from grammar school. If you ever wanted to talk to a doctor in confidence, Lou would be your woman."

Glory frowned. "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"Honey, it's a small town," she said gently. "You were dancing with that dishy manager on the farm, and from what we heard, it was so steamy between the two of you that people were dragging out fans."

Glory flushed. "Oh."

"You should remember how it is around here," Barbara continued softly. "We all know each other's business. But it's because we care about each other. You had it rough as a child, but you've turned into a fine, responsible woman. Your father would be so proud of you, Glory."

Tears stung the younger woman's eyes. She wasn't used to kindness. Not this sort, anyway.

Barbara nudged her toward the door. "Go home before you have me in tears, too. And if you want to seduce Rick, I'll loan you a hot red negligee."

Glory's eyebrows arched. "What would you be doing with a hot red negligee?"

"Hoping for an opportunity to wear it," Barbara chuckled.

Glory laughed back. The woman was truly a kind person.

"You be careful," Barbara added gently, as she went to put up the Open sign for the lunch crowd. "These guys play for keeps."

"I noticed. Thanks again."

"Any time."

GLORY DELIBERATELY IGNORED Rodrigo at lunch, talking to Consuelo about her recipe for apple b.u.t.ter.

He felt bad about what he'd said to her, but she'd asked for it. She had a sharp tongue and she didn't bend. He wondered how she'd managed to fit into a temporary agency back in San Antonio with that att.i.tude. It was as if she felt she had to be more aggressive because of her handicap. Not that the limp slowed her down. She worked as hard as Consuelo and never complained. She was as conscientious an employee as he'd ever known, and despite the physical abuse of her traumatic past, she didn't back down from the threat of a man. Castillo had been out of line.

"Remember why I hired you," Rodrigo had told the other man. "Don't make waves."

"h.e.l.l, she's pretty to look at," the man replied curtly. "Any man would try his luck."

Rodrigo's eyes had blazed at that remark. "Any man who tries his luck with Glory will end badly."

The way he said it sent chills down Castillo's spine. He held up both hands. "Hey, I understand. She's yours. I won't poach on your preserve again, I swear. I was just pa.s.sing the time until we can do our job."

Rodrigo nodded. "Remember how Fuentes deals with people who mess up."

The other man swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"Back to work. I'll meet you at five to go to the warehouse."

"I'll be here."

RODRIGO GLANCED AT Glory as he left the kitchen. He saw her eyelids flicker, but she wouldn't look at him. It was just as well, he told himself. He was grieving. He didn't want to rush headlong into a relationship with a glorified cook. She had a pretty figure and he'd enjoyed her in bed. But there was more to life than s.e.x. There was no room in his life for a simple country woman with cooking skills. He wanted a woman like Sarina, who had brains and courage. If only Colby Lane had never shown up!

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. A deep voice answered.

"We're on our way," he said.

"We'll be waiting," came the reply.

He cut off the connection and dialed another number, this one local. There were two rings before it answered.

"Culebra," he said in Spanish. "Snake."

"You're on."

He pocketed the phone with a smile that Castillo didn't see.

8.

WHAT RODRIGO WAS EXPECTING didn't arrive on schedule. He was cursing a blue streak when the sun went down. They were in a deserted manufacturing building in Comanche Wells, a small town ten miles west of Jacobsville. The little town only had six hundred citizens. It didn't even have a policeman or a fireman, depending on the county for those services. A clothes manufacturer had tried to set up shop here and failed miserably. But the deserted building was a blessing to drug dealers. It provided a safe, defensible, private place for deals to go down.

Comanche Wells was in the center of the ranching industry of Jacobs County. Several cattle barons occupied the surrounding area and only came to town because of the feed and mill store. There was a bar, not as notorious as Shea's Roadhouse out on the Victoria highway, but it made money. There was also a small company that manufactured computer chips. A Mexican restaurant was the only eatery and there was a single doctor and one drugstore. If there was an emergency, the ambulance had to take Comanche Wells citizens to Jacobsville General Hospital. They pulled the sidewalks in at dusk.

So now it was dark and the street that ran beside the deserted manufacturing building was bare of cars and people.