Chapter Thirty-Four
The morning after the shooting Linc insisted they take a badly needed day off. Late yesterday afternoon, the FBI had shown up at the ranch to take their statements. Taggart had confiscated Carly’s Glock as evidence, since she’d shot two of the rotten bastards.
The good news was the action had clearly been self-defense so she wouldn’t be facing any charges.
The raid was all over the news, the press giving accolades to the FBI for stopping a potential terrorist attack. The death of Al-Razi and the arrest of two radical jihadists were splashed in bold headlines across the newspapers. Since there was an ongoing investigation, there’d been no mention of Linc, Carly, or Zach’s role in the event. Linc hoped it would stay that way.
Zach was back with his grandparents. Taggart had arranged FBI protection for the family until Zapata was arrested or the feds felt sure the man was no longer a threat to them.
The night on the road had been long and tiring, yesterday equally exhausting. At least he’d been able to sleep late this morning, his rest deep and undisturbed with Carly’s sweet little body draped over his chest. Snuggling led to a round of sleepy, very satisfying sex, which led to showering together, which heated things up all over again.
They were both dressed now, Carly in the kitchen, Linc in his home office catching up on e-mail. Work was mounting up in Dallas, but after what had happened, no way was he leaving. He could barely let Carly out of his sight.
Something had changed for him that terrible night on the road. Though he had known the truth deep down, the danger they had faced together had forced him to admit how deeply he cared for her.
Carly was strong and determined. She was loyal and courageous. She was everything he admired in a woman or for that matter, in a man. Carly wasn’t just the right woman for him, the lady he wanted beside him as his life moved ahead, he was in love with her, deeply and without reservation, the forever kind of love he’d never thought to have.
Now that he was certain of his feelings, he intended to do something about them, had already made plans. He just had to convince Carly.
Needing a second cup of coffee, he padded barefoot down the hall, following the aroma of a fresh brewed pot. Spotting Carly at the kitchen counter, Linc walked up behind her, eased her back against his chest.
“Got a cup for me?” he asked.
She turned into his arms, lightly rested her palms on his chest. “I might. You could try bribing me with a kiss.”
He grinned and happily obliged. His body stirred but now wasn’t the time. “Unfortunately we have to behave,” he said, ending the kiss before he was ready. “Tag should be here any minute.”
“I wonder what he wants.”
The ranch was still under heavy security, the reason the guards out front had just phoned. They’d stopped Tag Joyner at the gate and called Linc for permission for Tag to enter the property.
Accepting the cup of coffee Carly poured for him, he wandered into the living room, over to the window. Tag, who had been to the ranch house before, rode his flame-striped, metallic red Harley up in front, jammed down the kickstand with a heavy motorcycle boot, and swung a long leg over the seat.
Settling a black leather saddlebag over one shoulder, he walked up on the porch as Linc opened the door.
“Good to see you, bro,” Linc said, the men leaning in to clap each other on the shoulder in a man hug. He stepped back to let Tag in. “What’s up?”
“Got something for you. It’ll cost you big if it’s real, but it’ll be worth it.”
Carly walked into the room as Tag opened the saddlebag. She smiled. “Hey, Tag.”
“Hey, Carly.” Pulling out a clear plastic Ziplock bag with a paper coffee cup inside, he handed it to Linc.
“What is it?”
“Guy came forward to claim the reward you offered. Rides with the Bandidos. Wants fifty thousand for what’s in that bag. Says the terrorist the FBI killed in that shootout—Hassan Al-Razi?”
“Yeah?”
“Says he’s Raul Zapata’s brother.”
Carly’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”
Tag pointed to the bag. “The DNA on that cup should prove it.”
Linc’s gaze shot to Carly’s, then returned to Tag. “Where’d he get it?”
“Out of Zapata’s house. Apparently our guy worked for him off and on. Mostly protection, nothing illegal, or so he says.”
Linc held up the Ziplock bag. “If what he claims is true, he’ll get the fifty thousand. It’ll take a few days to find out, but if it’s real, he’ll have his money.”
“I’ll tell him.” Tag flipped the saddlebag closed and settled it back over his shoulder. “You think they’ll catch him?”
“They damn well better.” But with each passing day, Linc worried the bastard was going to skip the country and get away. If he did, the threat would always be hanging over their heads.
“Gotta hit the road,” Tag said. “See you at Jubal’s.”
“I owe you way more than a beer,” Linc said, following him to the door. “Figure out what you guys need for the clubhouse and consider it done.”
Tag grinned and waved. Swinging a leg over the seat of the bike, he grabbed the handlebars, revved the engine, and shot off down the road back to the front gate, his shaggy brown hair flying out behind him.
“You think it’s true?” Carly asked.
“Makes sense. Explains the connection between the two men.”
“You know, there was something very distinctive about Zapata’s voice. A gruff, sort of guttural sound when he said certain words. That was the reason I was so sure it was him the night of the gala. If his first language was Arabic not Spanish—”
“That could explain it. We need to know more about Al-Razi’s family.”
“We need to call Taggart.”
He nodded. “The FBI can get the DNA results a lot faster than we can.”
Grabbing his cell, he punched Quinn’s contact number, heard the agent’s familiar voice come over the line.
“I’ve got something for you,” Linc said.
“We could sure use a break in the case. What is it?”
“Physical evidence that Raul Zapata and Hassan Al-Razi are brothers.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly. In return, I want to know what else was in the trailer.”
Taggart cursed. “Not on the phone. I can be at your place by noon.”
“All right. We can meet at the big house. I’ll see you there at noon.” Linc hung up the phone.
* * *
Right on time, Quinn Taggart showed up at the mansion at exactly twelve o’clock. Carly looked up to see Mrs. Delinski showing the blond FBI agent into the study, where she and Linc were waiting.
“So what have you got?” Taggart asked, wasting no time as Linc led him over to the ornate rosewood table and chairs near the fireplace and all of them sat down.
Linc picked up the Ziplock bag he’d left on top. “An anonymous source gave me this, says it came from Zapata’s residence. Says it’ll prove he and Hassan Al-Razi are brothers.”
Taggart’s features tightened. “Could be he’s right. After you called, we went back and took another look at Al-Razi, the father. Seems he had two sons—each by a different mother. Both of them lived with him in Mexico with wife number one. Eventually Hassan, the older sibling, returned with his parents to Saudi Arabia, but the younger boy, Bharat, was still in high school. He had friends there, wanted to stay, so they let him.”
“What happened to him?” Carly asked.
“No idea. Nothing on him after he graduated. He just seemed to fall off the grid.”
“So it’s possible Bharat got into the drug trade with his buddies,” Linc said, “made a little money, then changed his name to Zapata and moved into Texas to build his empire.”
Quinn held up the plastic bag. “If this is Zapata’s DNA, it could link him to Hassan, prove he’s Bharat Al-Razi, and your theory is correct. There’s no chain of evidence, so it won’t stand up in court and it won’t be a perfect match, but it’ll tell us if we’re on the right track.”
Linc’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “All right, now it’s your turn. What was in the trailer besides human cargo?”
Taggart sighed. “This isn’t for publication.”
“Agreed,” Linc said, and Carly nodded.
“There were three heavy wooden crates in the back, each over five feet long. Each held an FIM-92 Stinger infrared homing, surface-to-air missile, along with the launchers, the warheads—the whole enchilada.”
Carly felt the blood draining out of her face.
Linc softly cursed.
“That food processing plant is directly in the flight path of the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport,” Quinn said. “A single, shoulder-fired missile could have brought down a jumbo jet.”
Carly’s stomach rolled.
“Now that they control some of the richest oilfields in the Middle East,” Taggart continued, “these terrorist groups have amazing amounts of money. Enough to outfit an army with top-of-the-line equipment.”
“And buy anything from missiles to nukes,” Linc added, “if they can get their hands on them.”
“Exactly.”
“How was the attack supposed to happen?” Carly asked.
“A lot of the workers in that food processing plant are Muslim, part of the resettlement program. Al-Razi figured a few radicals thrown into the mix would go unnoticed. And they wouldn’t have to be there long. From what we gleaned from one of the men we captured, their attack was planned to occur by the end of the week.”
Linc blew out a slow breath. “Al-Razi’s no longer a threat, but unfortunately, Zapata is still on the loose.”
“We’re after him, believe me,” Taggart said. “Within hours of the raid in Irving, we hit his compound. The place was deserted. It had been gutted and burned out to destroy any possible evidence. We’re hoping he’s still in Texas, but there’s no way to be sure.”
They talked a little longer, tossed out some ideas, all of them hoping new information would turn up soon.
Discouraged by the grim prospects, Carly was grateful when Linc suggested they break and invited Taggart to stay for lunch.
Mrs. Delinski served chicken salad sandwiches on flaky croissants, with potato chips, fresh fruit, and ice tea. Carly had no idea how the lady managed all that on such short notice but the food was delicious.
They ate out on the terrace overlooking the blue waters of the huge, kidney-shaped swimming pool.
Enjoying the mild early October weather, they were almost finished eating when the attack began.