Chapter Ten
Cutthroat Creek
Following the path, Jackson went to the covered pavilion in the camp and sat near one of the firepits.
No one else was around. He laid out Christina’s notes on one of the tables, snapped pictures of the pages and sent them in a text message to Chance Reyes.
He was a lawyer who ran the IPS office in Bitterroot Falls and was also from Laramie.
Their two families were tight. They’d practically grown up together, though Chance was several years older.
After giving it a minute, Jackson called him.
Chance picked up on the second ring. “Who is this?”
“Jackson. Did you get the text I sent?”
“Yeah, but I don’t open strange attachments from unknown numbers. You’re all over the news. They’re saying you fled the scene with a murder suspect and you’re both wanted.”
“I did.” Jackson nodded, and even though his buddy couldn’t see him, his shoulders sagged, the weight of his choices heavy on him.
“They’re also saying she’s a former lover of yours,” Chance said.
Another nod his friend couldn’t see. By the time he and Christina were in a relationship, Chance had been away at college. “It’s true.”
“I know. I spoke to Logan,” Chance said, referring to Jackson’s brother, who also lived in Bitterroot Falls.
“He confirmed it. Mentioned a nasty breakup when you two were in high school. This all looks bad, what’s being reported.
There’s even a special tip hotline for people to call if they have information regarding your whereabouts.
If you don’t mind my asking, why are you running? ”
“Short answer is that there’s a cartel hit man after her, which is really an understatement. He’s the best of the best and it’s personal for him.” Jackson swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “That one man is responsible for the havoc at the Missoula airport and the officers down.”
“Jeez. One guy did that?”
“Christina was an asset embedded in the Estrada cartel, working off the books for my task force. I didn’t know.
My boss, FBI Agent Kirk Kehoe, was her handler and hid her assignment from everyone to protect her.
But her cover was blown. There’s a mole in the task force working for the cartel.
I don’t know who it is. Kehoe didn’t trust any of them.
So, we figure, Christina and I, that Kehoe must’ve told someone else.
Higher up in one of the agencies. Which means there might be two traitors to worry about.
I know this looks bad. I do. There’s an alleged eyewitness claiming he saw Christina shoot three men. One being Kehoe.”
“Who’s the witness?”
“A sheriff’s deputy. Brent Phillips. We suspect he might be dirty, but we need evidence.
Speaking of which, in the notes that I texted you, Christina wrote down her address and the route she took to the location where Kehoe was murdered.
A cartel lieutenant by the name of Hector Ibarra led the way in his car.
She wrote down the details. There has to be CCTV footage of them on the road.
And she had security cameras at her house.
But we don’t know if the cartel wiped it.
I also need confirmation from someone in IPS that Christina was indeed an asset for Kehoe. ”
Jackson believed that Kehoe had recruited her. No more doubts there, but he still had to prove it to several agencies that would have to be involved in the raid on the depots.
“Finally, something easy,” Chance said. “Consider the last one done. As soon as this shootout at the airport in Missoula hit the news, Lockwood called me. Only he and Bobby Quill knew she was working for Agent Kehoe, but he notified someone in your office. An FBI agent named Mirabal. Lockwood thinks of Ortiz as a little sister and wants IPS to do whatever we can to help her. As the owner, he’s throwing the full weight of all Ironside resources at this and that’s considerable.
The guy is talking about flying in. I’ve asked him to stand down for now.
His wife is on bed rest with their second set of twins, ready to pop any day now.
But I can’t predict what Lockwood will do. ”
One thing in their favor, third-party corroboration. Lockwood would have a paper trail, and he was willing to commit IPS resources to this. “Do you know if anyone survived at the airport?”
“A lot of dead bodies. Three members of your security team were taken to the hospital. The names weren’t released.”
Jackson let out a relieved breath that there were survivors. “One of them might be Aiden Yazzie. Takoda needs to know.” Jackson was certain Tak would want to go to the hospital and see him.
“Tak is either on the way to Missoula or already at the hospital. What else do you need from me?” Chance asked. “There has to be more we can do to help.”
“Actually, there is. But it’s asking a lot.”
“Hit me with it.”
“Most of what I sent you in the attachments is information about three depots holding significant cartel assets. We need to raid them and seize weapons, drugs, blood money before the cartel moves everything.”
“How long do you think we have?”
“Twenty-four to thirty-six hours,” Jackson said. If they were lucky, they might get more time, but he didn’t want to count on it. “This is the part that gets tricky.”
“Oh, I thought we already covered the tricky bits,” Chance said. “It gets worse?”
“I’m afraid it does, and personal for you.”
“That means you’re either going to ask me to risk disbarment or involve Winter,” Chance said, referring to his girlfriend, who lived with him.
Chance was right.
“I’d prefer to have some kind of official coverage on this,” Jackson said.
“To make the seizure legal.” Worst-case scenario, they could torch the cash, dump the drugs so they would be unusable, and Chance could make the guns disappear.
But Christina deserved credit if everything panned out as she described.
The line between vigilance and paranoia was blurry where she was concerned. He wanted to raid the depots and needed hard-core proof that his gut instinct about her wasn’t wrong.
After learning someone on the task force, a friend, was likely a traitor, it made him question everything, including himself. And his instincts. He wasn’t blind to the fact that when it came to Christina, he couldn’t be objective.
“What exactly are you asking?”
“I can’t go to the FBI, DEA or DHS. But there are two DCI agents I trust with my life,” Jackson said.
He was talking about Winter Stratton and Declan Hart.
They were both respected in the ranks of the Montana Department of Justice’s Division of Criminal Investigation and could obtain quick search warrants from local judges they knew well.
“Listen, Christina is IPS—she’s one of us,” Chance said, “and I have the resources to help. But getting Winter and Declan involved is different.”
Jackson sighed. That was his Hail Mary to wrap this thing up in a tidy bow. “I get it if you don’t want Winter anywhere near this.”
“Where are you?” Chance asked. “Why don’t you two come to my place?”
“For now, we’re safe. On the outskirts of town.” They were a thirty-minute drive from Chance’s ranch. “I didn’t want to come until you knew everything. Fully understood what our presence means and knew how much you were willing to help.”
“I’ll gather the team and fill Winter in on everything,” Chance said. “She’ll decide if she’s in or out, and I have to abide by her choice. But no matter what, we’ll come up with a solution and I’ll let you know. Is this a good number?”
“Yeah. It’s a burner phone.”
“You’re welcome to come now, if you want,” Chance offered.
“I don’t want our presence to influence any decisions.” They were both wanted. His friends should be afforded the opportunity to discuss it freely and decide without worrying about letting him down in person. This was a big ask that would put everyone in jeopardy.
“Fine, but I want you both here first thing in the morning.”
“Okay.” They were already settled for the night. No reason to rush off. “We’ll stay put for now, but we’ll be there in time for breakfast.”
“I’ll call you back as soon as we have a plan. Or more questions.”
There would probably be lots of questions. Heck, he still had so many for Christina.
“Chance,” Jackson said. “Thanks. I appreciate this. I mean, I know she’s one of you, but thanks.”
“No problem. You’re one of us, too,” Chance said. “Hey, I’ve got to ask. What are the odds that your ex-girlfriend is an undercover asset for a task force that you’re assigned on?”
“Slim to none,” Jackson said. “I think Kehoe recruited me for the task force because he knew about my prior relationship with Christina.”
“Wow, that’s calculated—and, I hate to speak ill of the dead, deceitful.”
That was putting it mildly. “Yeah, it was.”
“I’ve got to go. We’ll talk soon.” Chance hung up.
What were the odds?
Jackson recalled how aggressive Kehoe had been in recruiting him.
The seasoned FBI agent had requested Jackson by name and had him transferred from Colorado.
The only person handpicked for the task force.
Jackson only had three years under his belt as a US marshal, had never worked a high-profile case and didn’t understand why Kehoe was so gung-ho to have him on the team.
But Jackson hadn’t questioned it. The task force was a promotion. Once Jackson joined the team, Kehoe took him out for drinks one night, alone, and got him talking after the third round. Asked him if he’d ever been in love. Not knowing Kehoe had an agenda, Jackson had been honest.
“Once,” Jackson said. “Madly in love with my high school sweetheart. When we were together, it was magic.”
“What was her name?” Kehoe asked.
“Christina. She was incredible. No one else like her.” No one came close. “I thought—” Jackson hesitated, taking a swig of his beer “—I thought I’d marry her.”
“You probably saved yourself from a divorce. But this comes from a guy with four ex-wives. So, tell me, what happened between you two?” Kehoe nudged him with his arm. “What went wrong?”
An old wellspring of pain and regret opened inside Jackson. “I messed it up. She wanted my folks to know how serious our relationship was and I didn’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“They didn’t approve.”
“If she was so incredible, what was there for them to disapprove of?”
“She was an Iron Warrior. Her family was an outlaw motorcycle gang. My parents had justified cause for concern. I figured, why throw our relationship in their faces when they still had the power to take away my phone and car keys and keep me away from her? I guess I thought once we were in college, we could do whatever we wanted. Get married and be together. Then my parents would have no choice but to accept it.” To accept her.
“They could gain a daughter-in-law or lose a son. But I miscalculated. Christina’s perspective on everything was much different. ”
“If you ever saw her again,” Kehoe said, staring at him, hard, “what would you do?”
“Anything.” The word left Jackson’s mouth without thinking. “To have another chance with her.”
“Interesting. Anything, huh?” Kehoe sipped his whiskey. His jaw clenched. “Strong word.”
Strong feeling. “The truth is, I never stopped loving her. And when you know, you know. So, yeah. Absolutely anything.”
Never-ending entanglements and new conflicts collided in Jackson’s head, knocking against his sense of duty and plain ole common sense. He’d fallen for Christina once, so hard it nearly broke him, and that had proved to be one time too many.
Jackson stared at the cell phone and wondered what she’d been doing with the burner when he walked into the tent. He couldn’t push things and ask her again. Not after how he’d treated her. She didn’t even want him to sleep in the tent. But she’d had the burner phone for a reason.
Christina Ortiz.
Twelve years of her as a ghost in his head, haunting his memories, plaguing his thoughts, making him regret every mistake that had cost him her love.
And now she was back in his life.
Not as a ghost, but an off-the books asset for Kehoe. A wanted woman.
Who’d kissed him. Claimed she wanted him, even if it had only been in the heat of the moment, or for some other reason that he’d rather not think about too hard.
He could talk himself into accepting anything she said, dismissing caution. Do anything in his power—just to have her back, even if what they shared now was a lie.
But this was so much bigger than him. So many lives on the line. The chance to do good and finally crush the Estrada cartel was at stake.
Oddly enough, Christina was right. Jackson had to decide.
Trust the woman he still loved. Or alienate her.
But which choice would get him killed?