Page 55 of Fatal Strike
His mind rolled over methods of fighting fires. Remove the oxygen and starve the beast. How did he equate extinguishing a blaze to taking down a gang of killers? Was this even the work of a gang?
Jon opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of water. In this case, the oxygen could be the source of income, a hidden agenda the trio had stumbled upon. So what crime was feeding this blaze? Not one stinking bit of evidence pointed to arms dealing, prostitution, or illegal drugs.
But theyhadfound strong indications of prescription drug theft.
He grabbed his laptop and sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter. After entering his secure password, he searched for unsolved gang-related activities in the Houston area with an emphasis on prescription drugs. Considering the Venenos’ presence in Dallas, San Antonio, and Austin, he contacted the FIG to cross-reference related incidents in all four cities. They’d have an answer for him in a fraction of the time it would take him to make an analysis. In the meantime, he navigated to where his curiosity led him and learned that nine months ago, Molston Pharmaceuticals in Beyero, Texas, reported a theft with a street price of over sixty-five million dollars. Jon requested the details.
Closing the laptop, he leaned back against the stool. Transferring illegal goods in and out of Galveston wouldn’t be a problem for someone determined to do so, but until they figured out what those things were and who, investigators were just spinning their wheels.
Clasping his hands behind his neck, he let his thoughts dwell on Leah ... more than a great partner. He’d be a liar ifhe didn’t admit her looks, brains, and personality had him in overdrive. Dark wavy hair and those incredible copper-colored eyes that softened in one breath and lit up with fire in the next. Working with her had taken his heart to a place he’d never been. She had a secret, and he sensed it when his comments touched on some pain disguised as sarcasm or teasing. Oddly enough, he didn’t think it had a thing to do with snakes.
How would she feel about him if she knew his secret?
Hanson’s and Chip’s deaths were Jon’s fault. His daredevil attitude. Poor judgment. Nightmares stalked him—the raging flames, crackling as though scoffing at all they devoured, shouting victory over every living thing. At times, he would swear he could hear Hanson speaking to him, calling for help.
A counselor told him he had survivor syndrome, a condition Jon had seen in others but not himself. The instructions were to accept the guilt, get involved with something constructive, and embrace his feelings—sounding like advice for a women’s self-help group.
A Bible sat on the counter, a reminder of his promise to Hanson. Most days Jon read a few chapters. He’d gone through the book once and was now in the Gospel of John in the New Testament. Hanson said the answers to life’s problems were in God’s Word. Jon had doubts. But he owed it to Hanson to keep searching.
37
LEAH JARRED AWAKEASher phone alarm blared. She and mornings were no longer friends—but with much to accomplish on her and Jon’s list, she should start the day at 4a.m. Should. She groaned. She wanted optimism to lace her thoughts, but the lack of progress on the murder cases made any positive thoughts difficult.
While whipping through her hair and light makeup routine, she scrolled on her phone and considered popping onto Facebook where she could catch a glimpse of her family.
Sixteen years had slipped by since she’d seen any member of her family, and not a day passed without a memory to prompt her to make contact. Sometimes she pressed in Mom and Dad’s number, but she always lost her nerve after a few rings or one of them answered. A sniper and an agent who worked violent crime but didn’t have the guts to call home. Sad.
For a moment, the idea once again tempted her. Dad used tomake a pot of coffee every morning at 5a.m. He’d serve Mom a cup in bed to wake her up. But he was older now and habits changed. Waking him with a blast from the past might defeat her thoughts of reconciliation.
Why had they chosen not to tell her about her great-great-grandmother, her namesake? She’d escaped slavery in Alabama through the Underground Railroad and made her way to New York. There she’d started an orphanage and helped countless children find love, purpose, and an education. Leah learned this five years ago when she decided to examine her ancestry. The courage of the woman inspired Leah to be a better person, made her so proud she wanted to burst.
Years ago, her dad’s brother suffered a childhood accident, leaving him to spend his days in a wheelchair. As a child, Leah thought her uncle’s condition led her parents to adopting hard-to-place children. But they hadn’t been honest, and if they’d taken the time to explain the family’s heritage, life might have taken a different slant. She’d have better understood the chaos and craziness of her family.
Leave it alone.
Shouldering her bag with a change of clothes for the prayer service, she locked her apartment on the way out. This morning she’d buy the coffee. In the darkness on the way to her car, her phone rang. Terri.
Leah trembled. But still she didn’t answer.
Her phone rang again.
She started the car engine.
Three times.
She missed Terri, a true sister-friend.
Four times.
The phone stopped ringing.
A moment later, she heard the ding of a voice mail.
She and Terri had met soon after she’d started at the Houston FBI office. Terri laughed easily, and other than putting cuffs on bad guys, she loved all things girlie from shoes to earrings. Leah learned more than she ever wanted to know about fashion and loved it. Yet, while Terri chatted on about her life, her goals, strengths, and challenges, Leah let little pass her lips about life in New York.
Leah’s thoughts hammered against her brain. She could outshoot almost every man or woman in the state of Texas, but she couldn’t talk to her best friend.
Before pulling out onto the street, she dialed Terri’s number, pressed Speaker, and laid the phone in her lap. “Hey, I missed you earlier.”
