End of Secrets

Chapter 1 Sunday Four weeks had passed since FBI Agent Ben Tinsing’s cold-blooded murder, and his boss, Nathan Thomas, woke up once again covered in sweat. Trembling, he sat up and glanced over at the alarm clock. Two-forty-two a.m. He ran his hands over his face, then back through his hair before he pulled back the covers. Beside him, he heard Bella sigh and felt her roll from her back to her side. He paused, listening, and once he was certain she was still sleeping, he got out of bed as quietly as he could. He grabbed his cell phone from its charging station on the nightstand and took it with him as he left the bedroom, moving down the dark hallway to the kitchen to start the coffeepot. While he waited for his first cup of what he knew in his core would be fuel for an exceptionally long day, he glanced at his phone and noticed he’d missed a text from DEA Agent Hank Myers a little after eleven the night before. I’ll be back in Dallas this week. Thought we’d grab lunch. Have some updates for you. Sounds good, Nathan typed in reply, then set the phone down to retrieve a mug from the cabinet. The ping of a new message startled him. Can’t sleep either, huh? Hank asked. Nope, not much at all lately, Nathan typed back. “And I’m not sure I ever will again,” he muttered to himself as he filled his mug, then headed back down the hallway to the bathroom for a shower. * * * In Tulsa, a restless Annie Adams finally gave up any further attempts at sleep around five-fifteen. She sighed, threw back the covers, and stood. Great. Now what? As she reached for her robe the same conversation started up again in her head, but this time, she didn’t deflect it as she had for the past month. Where do I go from here? She already knew on some level that her retreat to Tulsa was meant to be a respite, not a permanent relocation. She’d spent the time since her arrival reconnecting with her parents, and she was grateful for their love and their unconditional support. But it didn’t fill the void. Not by a long shot. More worrisome, lately the grief that surrounded her like a dark cloud had become increasingly rage-filled, as well. She wanted closure. No, not closure, her inner voice immediately corrected in a steely tone. Retribution. And I can’t do it from Tulsa, she realized. I cannot just run away and hide from my life forever. Deep in thought, she slipped on her robe and left her room, and as she padded down the carpeted stairs, Annie sighed again. She took the last step down to the first floor, turned right to walk into the bright and airy kitchen, and was surprised to see her father already sitting at the table with the day’s newspaper. “Morning, sunshine. You’re up early.” “Hey, Daddy. Yeah, couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well get out of bed.” He folded his paper and set it aside. “Want to talk?” She shrugged. “Come on, Annie-bug,” he coaxed, and patted the seat next to him. “Let’s talk it out.” She smiled at the loving nickname and joined him at the table. “Let me guess. Trying to figure out if you should go back,” he said gently. She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Not just that,” she confessed. “I’m trying to figure out if I even still want to be an agent, Daddy.” “Do you like what you do?” “Yes, very much.” “Then you should keep doing it. Ben would want that for you, honey.” “I know. I just… I don’t know if I can, Daddy. I don’t know if I can handle being back there. So many memories…” He wrapped an arm around her in silent understanding. “But at the same time, I’ve just got so much anger. You know? And I feel like unless we find Ben’s killer and put him away, I will never be able to let that anger go.” “Makes sense. And from what you’ve shared with your mom and me, you have a great group of teammates, Annie. You don’t have to do any of this on your own,” her father pointed out. “True,” she admitted. “Then it sounds to me like you already know what you need to do, kiddo.” She sighed once more. “Yeah. I do. I need to get back to Dallas.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll help you load the car, Annie-bug. In the meantime, want to help your old man whip up some breakfast?” * * * Up in Seattle, Hank Myers finished packing, then checked his watch. It took ten trips down to his truck to load it all, after which he made one last trip through the furnished apartment he’d called home for three years to ensure he’d left nothing behind. He locked the door for the last time, worked the key off his keyring, sealed it in the envelope he’d prepared, and trudged down to the complex’s office to slip it through the mail slot. The moment the envelope left his grasp, he felt something wash over him that he never expected – an overwhelming sense of freedom, like the last wisp of web entangling him had melted away. Grinning in surprise, Hank returned to his parking space and climbed into his truck. “Twin Falls, Idaho. That sounds like a good place to stop for the night,” he murmured aloud as he logged his ultimate destination of Pantego, Texas into his GPS, then looked at the map that showed the most efficient route. He started his truck, backed out of the parking space, and pulled out of the lot and into the waking dawn. As he made his way onto I-90 East to begin his 2,100-mile pilgrimage, his mind drifted, recalling the past four weeks that had been the hardest of his life. He’d left Dallas after Ben Tinsing’s funeral service to head straight into another grief-filled event – escorting Cruz Delgado’s remains home for burial. The time he’d spent back home in Del Rio, Texas had almost been a blur; he’d reinforced his walls to try to keep the pain from eviscerating him as he’d upheld the promise he had made long ago to his best friend. But seeing Cruz’s parents again and hearing their wails of sorrow had pierced through to his soul, and in Cruz’s brothers’ eyes he saw the same heavy grief that threatened to drown him. He’d stayed long enough to watch as his friend’s casket was lowered into the earth. But the distinctive sound of freshly turned soil drumming steadily against Cruz’s coffin as the hole was filled in was too much. Hank had abruptly turned on his heel, walked to his rental car parked along the thin strip of pavement adjacent to Cruz’s final resting place, and fled. When he returned to Seattle, he felt restless and unanchored. Hank spent the following two weeks in solitude, and he’d returned to work the week after that. He’d no sooner walked into his office when the power-hungry branch director immediately summoned him to a disciplinary session. Hank sat across from the man, who began the meeting by announcing Hank’s formal reprimand for daring to travel to Dallas to search for Cruz without prior clearance. The more the director spoke, the less of a damn Hank gave, until he finally reached his limit. The smirk Hank wore as he stood, loudly announced his immediate resignation, and slammed his badge and his agency-issued weapon on his boss’s desk grew into a wide, satisfied smile when he saw the man’s stunned and panicked expression. After that, he’d gone back to his apartment and made some calls to further develop the seeds of an idea that quitting the DEA had sown in his mind. And now? Hank thought as he cranked up the radio and drove toward the rising sun. Now, I’m free to chase my future. * * * “Hey girl,” Lizzie Zimmerman said when she answered the phone a little before nine a.m. “Hey Lizzie,” Annie replied. “I need a favor.” “Name it.” “I’m coming back, and I need a place to crash for a few days until I get my living arrangements lined out. I’d ask Grace but she’s on that cruise this week.” “Like you even have to ask me. Get yourself to my house, Annie. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.” “Thanks, I appreciate it. Should be there by five.” Lizzie disconnected the call and glanced over at Donny, who was in the process of bringing a stack of pancakes and the syrup over to the table. “I don’t mind at all, you know that,” he reassured his wife, knowing by her expression what she was about to ask him. “Because I know that Annie is more than your co-worker, Liz. She’s part of your family.” Lizzie grinned. “Yes, she is. Guess I’d better go make sure the guest bedroom is ready for her.” “Not before you let me feed you, you’re not. Pancakes are better warm.” * * * In Reynosa, Mexico, Estoban Cortinas’ top henchman paused outside his master’s bedroom door and mentally braced himself for the impending storm, then took a deep breath and knocked loudly. “What?” came the surly snarl. “Your father, Patrón. He’s sent a car for you.” The man held his breath and waited, steeling himself not to flinch when the door was flung open and a furious Estoban stared him down. “He thinks to summon me, like some commoner off the street?” Estoban growled. The man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he held Estoban’s stare. But his sharp gaze noticed the subtle traces of white residue under his boss’s nose that confirmed he’d jump-started his day once again with chemicals. “We’ll see about that. Dismiss the car. Tell them I’ll go visit with dear old Papa when I’m good and ready,” Estoban intoned, his face scarlet with anger as he stepped back into his sanctuary once more. “Yes, Patrón,” came the neutrally toned reply as Estoban slammed the door as hard as he could in the man’s face. As the man newly appointed by Silvadore Cortinas himself to protect the cartel king’s oldest son walked away to do Estoban’s bidding, he could clearly hear the tempest of destruction raging behind the closed door. He stepped back into the front foyer to relay Estoban’s message to Silvadore’s personal driver and kept his expression purposefully blank as he watched the chauffeur gulp at the news. Estoban’s coke habit is out of control, and he is becoming more unstable by the day, he acknowledged silently as the nervous driver left empty-handed. He moved swiftly into a room just off the foyer, closed the door behind him, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. With a deep exhale, he dialed, and waited. * * * Once he’d finished trashing everything within easy reach, Estoban Cortinas snorted two new lines, then paced back and forth in his debris-filled bedroom and struggled to tuck his rage back into its box for safekeeping. How dare he send a car for me, like I’m some nobody, he fumed as he paced. He was on his fourth circuit when he stopped abruptly, and his lips curved into a feral smile. Time to pay the old man a visit – on my terms. A determined Estoban wheeled around and marched through his destroyed bedroom to take a shower and line out his plans. * * * An hour away, in Matamoros, cartel head Silvadore Cortinas hung up the phone and frowned. He picked up the perfectly prepared cup of coffee that his butler had brought to him and strolled across the study of his sprawling, luxurious estate to sit by the fireplace and contemplate the difficult road ahead. Perhaps I should have done this sooner, he thought to himself as he sipped, then watched the flames dance in a hypnotically soothing rhythm. He is my firstborn son, and I love him. But I can no longer stay my hand because of it.