“I’d been in about a year.” Rodriguez opened his door. “I’m going to walk to that bodega at the turnoff. You want something?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” Kelly said. She watched him limp away.

Kelly froze at the sound of an approaching engine. In the rearview mirror she saw Rodriguez duck into the dusty scrub lining the alley. She slid down in her seat and hoped they wouldn’t be noticed.

It was a navy truck with a white shell on the back. No name on the side, two guys in the front seat. Kelly wrote down the license plate as they parked at an angle outside the Franciscan warehouse. Both wore cowboy hats and sunglasses, jeans and tank tops. They walked to the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. More big white guys, like the ones at the bar. Of course, they could be furniture makers, but something made her doubt it.

The passenger door opened and Rodriguez slid inside, carefully easing the door shut so it wouldn’t click.

“Welcome back,” she said wryly.

“Watched pot never boils, right? Should have left sooner,” Rodriguez said. “So can we go in?”

“Not unless you saw some evidence of illegal activity that I missed.”

Rodriguez tapped a finger on the dashboard. “Then what now?”

“Now we wait,” Kelly said calmly. “At least we know the warehouse is being used for something.”

“Maybe they’ll come out with guns,” Rodriguez said hopefully. “Or drugs.”

“Or a machete and a sign saying, ‘We Killed Duke Morris,’” Kelly said. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

What they did come out with was far more interesting. Ten minutes after entering they rolled up the metal door, revealing the loading dock. They backed the truck in and popped the hatch on the shell. Kelly watched as they dragged an oversized duffel bag out. Hard to tell from a distance, but it looked like a body.

“That doesn’t look legal,” Rodriguez commented. “Call for backup?”

Kelly debated. She hadn’t contacted the Laredo cops yet, figuring it was best to keep this visit quiet until she knew if they were onto something. But the last thing they needed was a repeat of the bar debacle. “Give me your cell,” she said, holding out a hand.

He passed it to her.

Kelly dialed 911 and motioned for him to be quiet. “I’d like to report a break-in. Three-thirty-six Muldoon Avenue. That’s right. Thanks.” She handed the phone back to Rodriguez. “Five minutes,” she said.

“Not bad,” he said begrudgingly. “’Course, now we get to explain to a trigger-happy deputy why two FBI agents are responding to a robbery on their turf.”

“We happened to be in the area working a case,” Kelly said.

“And if it comes back to us?”

“It won’t come back to us. Worst-case scenario, it comes back to you.”

“Hey-”

Kelly grinned. “Relax, Rodriguez. I’m doubting Laredo P.D. has the technology to trace a cell call. Besides, if they get a good arrest out of this, they won’t be complaining.”

“You better be right.”

Ten minutes later a cop car with Laredo Police on the door rolled past. Two cops got out, one young and lean, the other older and stocky. Abbott and Costello, Kelly thought. They parked in front of the loading dock. The younger cop sauntered over, ducked his head in and called out.

“Wow. Looks like a real crack team,” Rodriguez said.

Kelly furrowed her brow. Their behavior was odd. The older cop leaned against the hood of their car, arms crossed in front of his chest. Not exactly how most units would respond to a B and E call.

One of the cowboys emerged from the building, the younger cop at his heels. He strolled over to the police car. The older cop straightened and shook his hand. They exchanged a few words, then the cop bent double. Kelly’s hand tensed, ready to go for her gun, until she realized he was laughing at something the cowboy said.

“Oh, shit,” Rodriguez said. “Now what?”

The younger cop had obviously noticed their car and was headed straight for them. The other two watched him. The cop’s hand rested by his holster.

“Jones!” Rodriguez hissed.

The cop ducked low to peer in their car window. His eyes were concealed behind tinted Ray-Bans. “Get you folks to step out of the car, please.”

Kelly kept her hands in view as she slid out, saying, “FBI. I’m going to reach for my badge.”

The cop nodded slowly, watching her. Rodriguez kept his arms up.

She handed over her credentials and he examined them. “You’re pretty far from home, Agent Jones,” he said, handing them back.

“We’re following up a lead on a case,” Kelly said.

“Funny, at roll call they didn’t say anything about Feds coming to town,” the cop said. His hand was off his belt but he still looked wary.

“I didn’t want to trouble your department until I found out whether or not it was a solid lead,” Kelly said, reading off his name tag, “Officer Rowe.”

“So I don’t suppose you know anything about a 911 call.” The way he said it wasn’t a question.

“Nope,” Rodriguez answered.

The cop’s gaze shifted to him. “I’m guessing you’re a Fed, too?”

Rodriguez moved to hand over his ID, but the cop waved it away. “That lead have anything to do with what happened to your face?”

“Not directly,” Rodriguez grumbled.

“Then it’s got something to do with this alley?”

“Actually, with that warehouse,” Kelly said, nodding toward it.

“Yeah? Well, Travis and I patrol this area all the time. Everything there looks good. Just checked it out myself.”

“Really? Because about ten minutes ago Agent Rodriguez and I saw two men loading a suspicious item in their truck.”

Rowe turned and waved over the cowboy. He approached slowly, jaw working a piece of chewing tobacco. His eyes skittered over both of them before returning to the cop.

“Hey, Jim. Got some federal agents here think you’re up to no good,” Rowe said, making it sound like a joke.

Jim laughed weakly. “That right?”

“Yup.”

“What was in the duffel bag?” Kelly asked.

Jim shrugged. “Supplies.”

“Supplies for what?”

He glanced at Rowe as if seeking approval before saying, “Carpentry. My brother and I are contractors, use this place to store our stuff.”

“Seems like a lot of space for a few hammers and nails,” Kelly noted.

Rowe and Jim exchanged a look. The cowboy shrugged.

“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around?” she continued.

Jim’s mouth opened and closed a few times, then he spit a long stream of tobacco juice in the dirt at their feet.

“Jones,” Rodriguez protested as she started walking toward the building. Kelly didn’t turn back, and after a minute he fell in step beside her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he said in a low voice, glancing back.

Kelly could hear Rowe and Jim following them. “You have a better one?”

“There are four of them, and the cops are armed. I say we go back to the car, get the hell out of here. Check out the other address.”

“We’re on their radar now,” Kelly said. “Watch my back and we’ll be fine.”

Rodriguez muttered something about being dumped on the other side of the border, but she ignored him. Crooked or not, she doubted any cop would risk two dead FBI agents turning up on their watch. For all Rowe knew, their boss had their exact coordinates.

Kelly placed her hands on the loading dock and hauled herself up. Rodriguez muttered something about his injuries, and Jim went to unlock the side door. While she waited, Kelly let her eyes adjust to the dark. The inside was cavernous, large enough to house a 747. The entire room was empty save for a circle of chairs. Two small Quonset huts were hunkered down against the far wall.

“Offices,” Jim said, following her gaze.

“So only you and your brother use this place?” she asked.

“Rent was cheap,” Jim said, following her as she crossed the warehouse floor.

“Lots of empty places around here,” Rowe explained.