Curiously, the blunt pronouncement lightened something inside Joe. “Feel like it, too.” He tried to recall the last time he’d had eight hours of sleep. Or even six. He gave up the task as useless after a moment. The last twenty-fours he’d been running on adrenaline alone, but he was about to crash, physically, and he wanted to be in the comfort of his home when he did.
Arnie pressed Save and rose. “You’re right. We may as well go home. Everyone else has.” Mitchell had left an hour ago. Even Tapahe had finally exited the NTP station forty minutes earlier, and it was rare to be in the building without the other man being in his office.
The two men walked out together, calling a goodbye to the skeletal crew that made up the night-shift. “Do you think Graywolf was blowing smoke earlier? With the crack to Mitchell about never looking at one of your own?”
“I don’t know. Graywolf isn’t known for his honesty, but even he has to realize that making claims he can’t substantiate won’t get him anywhere.”
“You think he’s saying they had some Customs or Border Patrol official in their pocket?” Arnie’s words seemed to mirror the direction of Joe’s own thoughts. “That would explain them getting away with this business as long as they did.”
“He’s probably trying to sweeten the deal he’s working. I believe him about one thing, though. There’s someone above him calling the shots.” Joe stopped at his Jeep, his hand on the door. “Someone had to have the contacts in Mexico not only with the cartel, but also to become known as a guide who can get people safely over the border.”
“Which could have been Graywolf and Lee.”
“Sure.” Joe rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Lack of sleep had them feeling grainy. “But once up here, who had the slavery contacts? Lee? He spent more than half his time living in Mexico. From questioning Martinez, the driver, I have him figured as strictly muscle. And it sure wasn’t Graywolf. He’s got the drug background but no one is going to trust a young punk like him in an underground slavery ring. He doesn’t have the credibility.”
“So that leaves…who?”
Joe shrugged. In his mind he’d eliminated the three, but he was no closer to figuring out the identity of their superior. He was too tired right now to try, at any rate.
“Want to stop somewhere and get something to eat?”
“I need to get home while I can still function. Food can wait until tomorrow.”
Arnie pulled open the door on his SUV. “You really going home?”
Ready to turn down another dinner invitation Joe replied, “I’m really going home.”
“Because I thought maybe you’d be stopping by to see your little belagana.” Arnie grinned at his narrowed look. “She wasn’t any too happy with you when she was here yesterday, but you weren’t exactly showering her with gratitude, either.”
He didn’t want to recall that scene, or the way the hours had passed with interminable slowness until she’d walked into the NTP headquarters. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know what I saw. And the sparks coming off the two of you were enough to heat the whole office.”
Joe got in his vehicle. “Sounds like you’re getting hot flashes. Better go home, Arnie.”
“I’m just saying. You might sleep a whole lot better if you first deal with what’s really bothering…”
It gave Joe a measure of satisfaction to shut the door on the rest of his friend’s words. But the action didn’t prevent them from echoing in his thoughts as he pulled out of the NTP lot. He could be thankful for the break in the case that had allowed them to intercept the smugglers while still damning the way it had come about. And if that made him a hyprocrite, he had only to recall his first reaction when Tapahe informed him about Delaney’s suggestion.
Anger had been a much preferable emotion to the sick fear that had twisted through him from the moment he heard of the plan until he’d seen her safe again. The relief that had hit him then had weakened his knees and ignited his temper.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. No strings meant no emotions, didn’t it? He’d been as eager as she for a casual relationship without expectations or promises. The last thing he needed or wanted was involvement with another woman who couldn’t hope to understand how interwoven he was in the fabric of his culture.
But he’d gotten her understanding. The memory slammed into him as he pulled into his driveway, of her soft voice full of disbelief. She didn’t know you very well, did she?
That perceptiveness made him edgy. She saw things other women didn’t, from a perspective of suffering few others could imagine.
How could a woman who was supposed to mean nothing to him so quickly become a raging hunger in his blood? How could he, a man of innate caution, have failed to see the risk she presented? Or recognizing it, failed to take heed of the warning?
He stared at his darkened house without really seeing it. The smartest thing to do was stumble to his bed, lose himself in sleep for the next twelve hours.
Which didn’t explain why, moments later, he shifted the vehicle into Reverse, and headed toward the town limits.
Delaney stared at the rough outline of the book, mentally adding photos to the future chapters that would accentuate the oral histories and narrative. The actual writing always proved to be the easiest part for her. When it came to choosing the appropriate photos, or worse, limiting how many would make the final cut of the project, she’d agonize for weeks.
But she was a long way from that point. Right now she needed to begin sorting through the photos she’d already shot, putting them in picture libraries according to subject matter so that she could find them easily, deleting the pictures that weren’t of the highest quality. She had very exacting standards when it came to her art. In this area, at least, she could control her finished product in a way she wasn’t always able to control events in her own life.
Her reaction to Joe Youngblood, for example.
Delaney’s blood simmered anew recalling his expression when she’s seen him at the NTP station. She’d read the temper in his eyes. His gaze had been as scorching as a laser, and she’d been left with little doubt as to his reaction to her involving herself in his case.
Which was too damn bad. She punched a command into the keyboard with a little more force than was necessary. No man had ever been allowed to dictate her actions and if this was all about tiptoeing around his ego, well, then he had some hard lessons to learn about her.
By the time she heard the knock on her door her temper had gone from simmer to a boil. It was late and she really hadn’t expected to hear from Joe, so she took the precaution of checking the judas hole. Recognizing him she pulled open the door and unlatched the screen, spoiling for a fight.
“Can I assume from your visit that you’ve come to thank me for my help?” she said with mock sweetness. “Oh, wait, I forgot. Joe Youngblood doesn’t need anyone’s assistance. He’s the Navajo’s answer to Superman. Tell me.” She cocked her head challengingly. “Did you bust that operation you were investigating all by yourself, or did you let your partner help?”
His lips tightened at her sarcasm, but his voice was even when he answered. “There was an entire task force deployed to make the arrests.” He walked by her into the room, leaving her to follow.
“A whole task force?” She widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Well, don’t feel too bad. Even superheroes occasionally let their sidekicks in on the action.”
The muscle in his jaw was clenched tightly. “They were all law enforcement. Professionals trained to handle dangerous situations.”
“Is that what this is about? That I’m not a cop?” She gave a short laugh. “Be honest. It’s because I’m a woman.” She ignored the dangerous glint in his eyes, to continue. “I’ve got a news flash for you-I’ve been making my own decisions for a few years, now. I even manage to dress myself daily without help.”