Page 24

Hez sat by himself at a table tucked into a corner at Petit Charms, watching the coffee shop’s door. While he waited, he sipped milky chicory coffee and took careful bites from a piping hot apple-filled beignet from the heaping plate in front of him. Winter rain streamed down the window, and it felt good to be warm and inside, especially since Cody had insisted on an unreasonably long business walk half an hour ago.

Hez would have gotten his order to go and enjoyed it in the comfort of his apartment upstairs, but Ed had asked to talk in person, and he’d been vague about the subject. The risk of bugs went unspoken between them, so Hez suggested meeting for beignets and coffee. The odds that someone hid microphones here were slim, and the rain and restaurant noise would mask their conversation.

Ed walked into Petit Charms, collapsing a dripping umbrella as he pushed through the glass double doors. He glanced around the dining area, and Hez waved him over. The waiter came by with a coffeepot as Ed settled into his seat. Hez pointed at the plate of beignets in front of him. “Dig in. I got the apple ones.”

“Awesome, thanks!”

Ed took a long sip of his coffee, holding the blue mug with both hands. “And thanks for meeting with me. I know you’re supposed to take it easy.”

Hez smiled and pointed to the ceiling. “Nothing easier than taking a walk down one flight of stairs, and I’m always looking for an excuse to eat here. What’s up?”

Ed set his mug on the red-painted tabletop. “Remember Hernando Morales?”

“Sure. He’s the guy the Coast Guard caught fishing off the Gulf Coast last year and charged with drug smuggling. I haven’t heard from him since we got those charges dismissed.”

Hez always suspected there was more to that story than Hernando admitted, but the government hadn’t been able to prove it. “What about him?”

Ed cleared his throat. “He, uh, wasn’t fishing.”

“Oh, really? What was he doing?”

Ed took a beignet and picked at it. “Smuggling looted artifacts from Mexico.”

Hez nodded slowly. “That explains why the feds were convinced he was smuggling, but they were never able to find the drugs.”

He paused. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because I just confirmed it a couple of weeks ago.”

Ed lowered his voice. “Hernando is our source inside the smuggling organization.”

“Really? How did that happen?”

Ed grinned. “I called his mom. We had her number in the case file, so I gave her a ring and explained that the man who got her son out of an American jail needed help catching some criminals looting Mexico’s proud heritage. I said Hernando might have gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd and might know something about what was going on. Maybe he could do the right thing and repay a debt of honor at the same time? She thanked me for the call and said she would talk to him. Two days later, he called me. He said he’d help, but he made me promise not to tell a soul—not even you. Sorry.”

“But you just told me,”

Hez observed. “Did he change his mind?”

Ed finished his beignet and took another. “Yeah. When I told him the DA couldn’t get another warrant without his name and some other corroborating information, he agreed. He didn’t like it, but he’s pretty desperate. These guys almost caught him after they stole my phone.”

“They got his number from your call history?”

“Yeah. Fortunately, it was a burner phone. Still, the smugglers somehow managed to figure out the store where he bought it, and now they’re checking out every person who bought a phone from that store.”

Hez frowned. “Maybe they have a local cop on their payroll.”

“Could be. Anyway, he says they’ll find him soon. He’s living on borrowed time—and so are his mom, wife, and baby daughter.”

Hez took a sip of his coffee. “Does he know who’s receiving the shipments in the U.S.?”

Ed shook his head. “This organization is very compartmentalized. Now that the feds know his name and face, he can’t come to America anymore. His current job is to pick up the artifacts at illegal digs and take them to a trucking company in Mexico City. He doesn’t even know the real name of his contact at the trucking company.”

“When he used to come here, who did he meet with?”

Ed shrugged muscular shoulders. “He didn’t know that either. His job was to pick up packages from a ship offshore and bring them to a beach in Pelican State Park and hide them in the seagrass ten feet behind a broken bench. Someone else would pick them up from there. Once he got caught by the Coast Guard, he had to switch to the Mexican part of the operation, of course.”

Hez ate the last bite of his beignet, chewing slowly as he thought. “Well, we can go to Hope now, and this should be enough for her to get a warrant—but the police won’t be able to execute it until another shipment comes through. They might be able to make a referral to Mexican authorities, but that’s it.”

Ed nodded. “That’s what I figured. He says he’s supposed to deliver another shipment to Mexico City tomorrow. He thinks that means it will leave the following day and cross the border the day after that.”

Hez drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “So we have three days to get our act together. And we have to get it right this time—we won’t get a third chance.”

* * *

Monday morning, Savannah sat with Hez, Ed, and Dominga at a back table in University Grounds. The noise of steam wands frothing milk and the din of student chatter would drown out their private conversation. It was ten o’clock and the coffee shop was abuzz with excited voices discussing Sunday night’s basketball game. She spotted Will Dixon’s dark head two tables over with a couple of the cheerleaders and the team’s star center. He waved to them, and Savannah returned the greeting.

She inhaled the rich aroma of espresso before taking a sip of her peppermint mocha. “You have an update, Dominga?”

Dominga nodded and tucked a strand of long black hair behind her ear before she logged in to her laptop. “The smugglers posted another article for sale late last night. The auction ends in an hour, and it will be available for delivery in New York City in three days.”

She turned her computer around to show Savannah and Hez. Ed leaned in close to her side, and a blush ran up her neck.

Ed glanced at Dominga. “We thought about calling last night, but it was after midnight when I dropped her off from the game, and we thought that might be too late.”

Savannah hid a smile at the realization they were dating. She set her mocha down on the table and gasped as she studied the artifact, which would have been used by Incan priests. “This silver appliqué is really rare and looks authentic. Let’s make sure we win, and I’ll book a flight right away.”

Her thoughts ran through what she could wear to impersonate the buyer.

Hez’s hand came down on hers. “It’s way too dangerous for you to go, Savannah. Let’s call Hope and let her send an officer to impersonate the buyer. The smugglers might recognize you, and the whole plan could blow up in your face.”

She frowned and shook her head in spite of his worried expression. “And that’s exactly why it needs to be me. Our target is connected with TGU, and if he recognizes me, I’ll recognize him and the arrest can happen instantly. Besides, a random officer couldn’t impersonate a buyer realistically. I know artifacts. I’ll be able to discuss types of art and time periods. But this smuggler is smart. He’ll recognize a fake in ten seconds and bolt before we can spring the trap.”

Hez fell silent, and his fingers played with the ring on her hand for a long moment. “You’re right, but I don’t have to like it. Who else do we know in the history department we can trust?”

“No one. It has to be me. I can wear a wire like you did last time.”

“We were nearly killed last time.”

He had a point, but she wasn’t going to let anyone dissuade her. Her gaze wandered to Will again, and the sight of Simon’s favorite person reminded her of her promise to her sister. “Jess asked me to watch Simon for a couple of days while she attends to some business. Could you take him?”

“I’m always happy to have our awesome nephew. We can order pizza, play video games, and he can help keep me calm while you walk into the lion’s den.”

He grimaced. “I really wish there was someone else who could do this.”

Dominga turned the laptop back around to face her and Ed, who didn’t move his chair away. “How much should I bid?”

The artifact was exquisite and should command a high price. “Can you see existing bids?”

Dominga squinted. “The high bid right now is just over twenty thousand.”

Savannah took another sip of her mocha. “Let’s double that.”

Dominga nodded and tapped at the keyboard. “Now we wait a few minutes. I wouldn’t mind a beignet.”

Ed jumped up. “I’ll get some.”

He strode off to the counter and got in the pastry line.

Hez still had his hand on Savannah’s, and she could feel his unease. She turned her palm up and laced her fingers with his. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure the meeting place will be public, and they wouldn’t dare to try anything where they’d be caught.”

“I hope you’re right,”

he muttered.

She studied the healing incision on his head. The shaved area gave him a rakish, dangerous appearance, and for the first time since his injury, her thoughts wandered to that wine bottle in his trash. She desperately wanted to believe his assertion that someone had planted it, but the best she could hope for was that he’d had a blackout. And now that the blood was drained off, maybe it would never happen again.

They sipped their coffee and ate beignets while they waited for the auction to end. At eleven o’clock Dominga’s computer dinged, and she pumped her fist. “Yes! We won, and there’s an email.”

She read out loud the directions to meet at Mad Dog & Beans at two on Thursday. “There will be a reservation in the name of Priest.”

Savannah’s pulse accelerated. She toyed with her bracelet, pulled out her phone, and opened her travel app. “I’ll fly in on Wednesday night, and I’ll go to the restaurant early so I can watch for the smuggler’s arrival in case it’s someone I know.”

Dominga was still working on her laptop. “I’ve got the IP address from Bruno’s tracking program.”

She looked up with worried dark eyes. “It’s very close to us. Either right here in Nova Cambridge or at TGU.”

The reality was a punch to the gut. Though it was exactly what Savannah had suspected, she’d held out a smidgeon of hope that the auctioneer wasn’t someone she knew. But who? And why would they do something like this to TGU?