White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense by Kate Fargo Page A

unloading the semi.”
    “Semi now, is it?” He slanted a look at her and winked.
    “Ach,” she chuckled. “That’s a big ten-four there buddy, put yer hammer down.”
    He bit his tongue, almost laughed out loud. Everyone was busy below but the night was still and sound would carry. They’d left the horse about half a mile back and walked in, staking themselves behind one of the low-lying hills near the driveway for the best vantage point.
    There was a large collection of boxes on the ground and he tried to imagine what kind of volume would have been in the capsized trailer. He doubled, then quadrupled the pile in his mind. The pile could easily be ten times what was left in the drive and still not fill the trailer. By his estimate, they’d already loaded a hell of a lot of boxes into the building.
    “But why?” he said. “Jill said something is supposed to go down tonight. I’d be expecting them to be emptying the warehouse, not still packing it all in there.” Not for the first time since they’d started this mission, he wished he had more information. They’d told them so little and yet, here they were, in the desert alone, with their asses hanging out. If things went wrong…
    “Jack told my father that something will happen tonight.” She picked up the binoculars, peered through them. “I don’t see anybody down there that looks like a big boss. They all look like Jack’s worker bees to me.”
    Dal took the binoculars and followed the form of a large man coming out of the warehouse. “Wait,” he whispered. “I think that’s Diego.”
    “From the boat? I thought that bastard drowned.”
    “Apparently not. Must be a helluva swimmer.” He was amazed to see him, too, given how high the seas had been. He shifted the binoculars. “I also see Miguel. Oh, and Rico.”
    “Arseholes,” Emily hissed.
    “ Arse hole?” Dal asked.
    She shrugged. “I was stationed with the Brits for a while.”
    “It doesn’t look like much is going to happen for a while,” Dal said, sitting down. “Why don’t we eat something.”
    “You mean like the tin of tuna we have?” She snuggled in beside him.
    “Yeah.” Reaching into the gear bag, he felt for the rounded tins. “Except,” he said, victorious, “we have two tins.”
    She smiled, then bit her lip. “Maybe we should keep one in reserve.”
    Damn, his stomach growled at the mere mention of food, it had been hours since they’d eaten even a bite, but she was right. “Fine. We’ll share one, keep one and eat what’s left of this chocolate bar.” He groped through the bag again and dropped the misshapen package of mush into her hand. Fortunately, the tuna had a pull top. He peeled it back and grimaced. “What can we eat this with? The dog scarfed down all the tortillas.”
    Emily pulled a Swiss army knife out of her front pocket, opened the blade and passed it to him.
    “Ladies first.” He passed her the tin, his mouth watering as she scooped the tuna to her mouth. When she was halfway through the tin, she gave it to him. He made quick work of it, the protein hit perking him up, the lingering flavor of the tuna on his tongue tasting like more.
    Before he could open his mouth to convince her they should eat the other tin of tuna, Emily shoved half a melted Snickers bar into his hand. He ate it in tiny bites, savoring each one as long as he could, the chocolate dissolving on his tongue. Grabbing the Gatorade, he took a measured drink to wash it all down. Their resources were slim. A bottle and a half of Gatorade left. One tin of tuna. And a lot of hope.
    He shifted against the packed dirt beneath him. He felt as battered as Emily looked. A slight breeze stirred the night air promising a drop in temperature that would bring them some relief. The only thing to do now was wait.
    Emily broke into his thoughts. “I better call Bob,” she said, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. Her face twisted as she stared at her cell. He leaned over for a