Body Heat. Brenda Novak

woman didn’t seem to understand English. But she recognized the pistol Sophia made with her thumb and finger. Muttering something unintelligible, she grabbed her companion’s hand and scurried away.

      The coyote whirled around to confront Sophia. “Hey, you’re costing me money!”

      “Twelve people are dead,” she said. “Twelve of your countrymen and -women. If anyone gives a damn, it should be you.”

      The man who spoke the best English was openly scornful. “Why should we care? They’re just wetbacks.”

      “You make your living off those wetbacks!”

      He shrugged. “So?”

      “If this killer keeps going, people will be too frightened to cross. Even with a reliable coyote.”

      Flexing, he looked pointedly from one bulging bicep to the other, showing off for her. “I can get anyone across. For the right price.”

      Since the U.S. had strengthened security along the Naco border, coyotes had a much more difficult job. They had to avoid the stadium lights that were spaced every three miles and equipped with cameras and infrared sensors monitored by agents at central command. They had to figure out ways to circumvent or slip through the Virtual Presence and Extended Defense System, which included the feared ground sensors. And they had to escape the notice of an additional two hundred agents posted at various lookouts. The services of a knowledgeable guide had gone from three hundred dollars to eight hundred dollars. Smuggling undocumented aliens was becoming so lucrative that the Mexican Mafia was beginning to traffic in humans, as well as drugs.

      “Money is all that matters to you?” she challenged.

      “That and a good fuck,” he said, and everyone burst out laughing.

      Sophia refused to flinch at his crude language. She was hardly impressed with his attempt to shock her; thanks to Starkey and his friends, and her job, she’d heard much worse. “Good luck finding a woman who’s willing.”

      “Oooh…” his friends moaned, mocking him.

      Eyes glinting with a dangerous light, he swept his gaze from her head to her toes. “Maybe I won’t bother getting permission.”

      “You’re not worth my time.” Jerking the pictures out of his hand, she turned away as if he didn’t scare her in the least.

      She’d taken only two steps when a man from the same group hailed her. “I’ll see what I can find, señorita,” he said, and nodded respectfully when she gave him the pictures.

      “Puta,” the other man spat.

      Sophia felt like drawing her gun. The cocky, sexist pig deserved to have a woman get the better of him. But she wasn’t in Mexico to start trouble. She was here to get answers.

      She ignored him.

      “Two hundred U.S.?” The one who was taking the assignment asked. Short and stocky, with a jagged scar on his cheek and an elaborate snake tattoo on his arm, he appeared to be much older than the others, probably in his late forties.

      “If the information is accurate,” she clarified, and with another nod, he strode off.

      5

      It wasn’t a cheap system. What with all his money going to support his wife and kids—two households now—Leonard Taylor had had to sell his riding lawn mower and all his saws and power tools. That was the only way he could get enough to purchase the listening devices he’d found on the Internet. He’d spent nearly two thousand dollars at that spy site. But he was extremely happy with the quality of what he’d been sent. The UHF transmitter camouflaged as an outlet adapter looked just like the real thing. No way would Sophia or anyone else be able to tell it from any other adapter. And the two pens looked every bit as genuine. Even better, the receiver he’d bought, together with the transmitters, wasn’t very big. He’d easily be able to carry it in his pocket or his truck, where he could hide it under the seat if he had to. By the time he finished placing the transmitters, he’d be able to pick up anything Sophia did or said, as long as he was within range, and she’d never have a clue.

      He’d never dreamed he’d have such a golden opportunity to plant them. Detective Lindstrom had called him on her way home from work to complain about Sophia and to tell him she wished she could be working with him instead, and she’d mentioned that Sophia was going to Mexico tonight. The second those words were out of her mouth, he’d known that it was time.

      Under the guise of saying hello to Officer Lawrence, who was dating a distant cousin of his, he’d stopped by the station first. He’d had to sit around shooting the bull with Grant for more than an hour before Grant finally excused himself to go to the restroom. Then he’d stepped into Sophia’s office and set the pen on a ledge under her desk. Even if she found it, that pen would look as if it had somehow fallen out of one of her drawers.

      Bugging her office had taken all of five or ten seconds. He was back in his seat before Grant could flush the toilet. When Grant returned, Leonard casually said he had to be at work early in the morning and should be getting home.

      From there, he’d driven down Sophia’s street to make sure her neighbors were in bed, parked a good distance away and walked to her house. He’d been prepared to break in; he’d brought the tools. But that hadn’t been necessary. He’d found her spare key under a decorative turtle in her front planter. Maybe, because she carried a gun, a baton and a Taser, she wasn’t as worried about safety as another woman might be. Or, more likely, she left that spare key where it was for Rafe’s benefit. She loved Starkey’s boy. He knew that from how much she’d talked about him when they’d worked together.

      Now he just needed to figure out where to place the pretend plug adapter. He wanted it somewhere central. That would increase his chances of picking up most of her conversations. So, tempted as he was by the bedroom—simply because that seemed like even more of an invasion of privacy, which she deserved—he avoided it. The transmitter should go in the living room, he decided. The living room was between the kitchen and the bedroom, plus the screened-in porch at the back. He’d be able to listen in on more conversations there than anywhere else.

      Turning in a circle on her living room rug, he searched for the outlet he wanted and spotted one behind a table that held nothing but framed photographs. If he had his bet, this outlet never got used. She’d probably forgotten it was even there.

      “Perfect,” he murmured once he’d had a chance to test the device using his transmitter. “And now for the car.”

      Striding into the kitchen, he checked the keys hanging on hooks near the cupboards, identified the set that went with the cruiser sitting out front and walked outside to unlock it and put the pen under the dash. This was the trickiest part, since he could be spotted by any neighbor who happened to get up for a drink of water, so he made quick work of it. Then he locked up and headed back down the street.

      He was whistling by the time he reached his vehicle. Maybe it’d taken a while to collect the money he needed, and it had taken even longer to catch Sophia on a night when she was out of town…

      But his patience had been well rewarded.

      It was after midnight and the man who’d walked away with her photographs of José and his wife hadn’t returned. Sophia wasn’t sure how long she should wait. Had he given up and gone home? Was she sitting here, wasting time? If he hadn’t been able to get any information, there was no guarantee he’d come back to tell her….

      The cantina was beginning to empty, but the table at the front was still occupied. The man who’d called her a puta and one of his friends had followed her into the bar and seated themselves close to the door. They’d stayed there ever since, brooding, drinking and glaring at her. Sophia knew they were trying to intimidate her. What she didn’t know was whether they’d act on the not-so-subtle threat in their eyes.

      Feeling the pressure of her Glock against her calf, she glanced at her watch and decided to wait another fifteen minutes.