White Hot: Patrick & Steeves Suspense Series, #2

By Kate Fargo

What would you do if your boss was dirty, nobody believed you, and the cartel wanted to kill you?

 

While investigating an arms smuggling operation in Mexico, ex-military Emily and suspended firefighter Dal fall into dangerous hands. As they fight for their lives and the cartel closes in, they have no one to count on but each other…

 

Can they bank on the growing trust and love between them or will they pay the ultimate sacrifice?

 

Don't miss this fast-paced romantic thriller set South of the Border with intriguing characters, witty dialogue, danger and plenty of twists and surprises.

 

 

PRAISE FOR WHITE HOT:

 

★★★★★ "Action-filled thriller! All I can say is WOW! This fast-paced, action-filled thriller had my heart pumping and adrenaline rising with strong characters, mystery, danger, and so much more. I loved the sizzling chemistry and dynamic between Emily and Dal as they worked together for the NSA in Mexico. White Hot is a must-read for fans of romantic suspense. Kate Fargo is a very talented author and I look forward to the next Patrick and Steeves adventure." 

 

♥♥♥ "Loved the book! Action packed and it kept me pinned to the book pretty much from start to finish!"

 

♥♥♥ "I loved it had a hard time putting it down when I needed to--Dal and Emily are amazing--the adventures just keep getting better---I can't wait to read the next adventure---GREAT JOB Kate fargo!!!!"

 

♥♥♥ "A well developed suspenseful read!! Well written as it pulls you in to where you can't put the book down until you find out how it ends!!"

 

♥♥♥ "This couple is so cute together, they make each other laugh in the most stressful situations."

 

READING ORDER FOR PATRICK & STEEVES SUSPENSE SERIES:

 

Red Hot

White Hot

Blue Hot  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Footloose Publishing
• Release date: Dec 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781738820412

Book preview

1

Traffic was heavy. The driver of the large tractor trailer Luis was following southbound tapped his brake lights twice and slid into the exit lane leading to the rest area on Highway 5. Luis checked the time display on the dash of the nondescript rented charcoal Nissan and continued down the highway, one eye on the speedometer, careful to stay under the posted speed limits.

The day had dawned hot and humid, the temperature rising each hour. Bright and relentless, the sun beat through the windshield, and he cursed the decision to go during peak hours. Even with the fan full blast, the air conditioning in the little car was barely making a dent.

Approaching the border, he slowed behind a long line of crawling traffic, veered into the Nexus Lane and inched forward until he reached the checkpoint. Holding his card over the reader, he waited for the beep, and when the barrier gate lifted, let the vehicle roll slowly forward. He discreetly looked into the Inspection Area, to get a sign from their guy, but he couldn’t see him.

He checked the clock on the dash again - he was precisely on time - and had been assured last night their guy would be there. Several custom agents milled about, but he didn’t recognize any of them. Damn it, their guy was not in place. The car behind him had been tagged for inspection and was riding his bumper. If Luis didn’t get out of the way, he’d start to attract attention. The wrong kind. Any attention at the border was always the wrong kind.

Nudging the gas pedal down, he accelerated slowly, pulling past the Inspection Area. No question, the fucker was not there. Now what? He merged back into the crawling traffic - everyone always seemed so relieved once they’d passed the checkpoints - and continued on until the rest area came into view. He pulled into the last spot available, got out of the miserable hot box he was driving, slamming the door almost off the hinges for good measure, and stepped around the side of the washrooms into a thin slice of shade. Fuck, fuck and double fuck.

Luis dug into his shirt pocket for a pack of smokes, shook one out, lit it and took a deep draw, huffing out the smoke with a small sense of satisfaction. He’d tried to tell them to do this at night, when it was quieter, but no. Did anybody fucking listen to him?

His rank had dropped lower than a snake’s belly recently and he had no idea why. He was still alive, he could be grateful for that, but this little hiccup wasn’t going to help things. Never mind he’d thought it was a shit idea from the start. His suggestions had fallen on deaf ears and, when the shit hit the fan, all anybody would remember was that he was in the damn middle of it.

He ground the stub of his smoke into the dry dirt beneath his boot, dug out his phone and hit redial.

Yeah? We good to go Luis?

Luis shook his head, then found his words. That asshole my brother assured me would be there, wasn’t there.

What the fuck are you talking about? growled the truck driver. Luis could picture the gigantic fucker shifting in his seat. Most men appeared dwarfed next to an 18-wheeler, this asshole looked like an action-figure made to go with it.

Our customs guy wasn’t there. He slumped against the wall, shaking his head.

Dead air, then, Are you sure?

What the fuck … Of course I’m sure. I was exactly on time. The fucker wasn’t there.

Tap, tap, tap came through the receiver. Luis hated the driver’s nervous habit of tapping his pen against the wheel. The one time he’d had to drive with him, he’d been tempted to break the man’s fingers to stop the noise. He’d settled for throwing the pen out of the window. So, the driver said, what do you want me to do?

You’ll have to wait, while I figure it out.

You gonna call the boss?

Sucking air through his teeth, Luis held it in his lungs before huffing it out. Yeah. I’ll let you know. He hit the button and stared at the phone in his hand. No point putting it off. He punched in the numbers and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Luis? came the curt response.

Yeah, boss, it’s me.

"Todo bien?"

Luis kicked at the dirt. "Tenemos una problema."

"Diga me."

Keeping his voice level, Luis relayed the information, his monologue punctuated by grunts and huffs from the other end.

"Cabrón. We were assured he’d be there."

Luis held the phone out from his ear while his boss ranted, then yelled to someone in the background.

Where’s the truck now?

Rest stop on Highway 5.

Fuck. I need that truck south in the next five hours, or … His voice trailed away. You have a plan?

Can we wait—

I just fucking told you it can’t wait. I’m working on a deadline here. What’s your damn plan?

Whatever you think is best, boss. Luis spat into the straw-dry grass. Fucked if he was going to suggest a plan and have it blow up in his face.

Remember how we ‘modified’ the truck last month?

I do, he said, mouth dry. The driver won’t like it.

The driver’s being paid to do a job. He’ll do it or he won’t drive again.

Won’t breathe again is more like it. Saying no was never an option with these assholes. He almost felt sorry for the driver.

You hear me, Luis?

Yeah, boss. I’ll set it up.

Get it done and be quick about it. Meantime, I’ll see if we can’t get our customs guy to show up. But if not, the driver goes across anyway.

Luis bit his tongue, thankful he wouldn’t be anywhere near that damn truck when it crossed the border, but not looking forward to facing the freak giant of a driver to explain what he had to do. I hear ya, boss. I’ll get it done.

With that he ended the call, slumped against the wall, and rolled his eyes skyward. A useless gesture, he knew. Neither God nor country was going to help him out of this mess.

2

Emily Patrick turned her face away from the early morning sun streaming through the windshield of Dal’s truck as he pulled into the Hotel 21 Express near the airport. His hand rested easily on top of hers on the console. He’d been so delighted to pick her up that morning she’d almost felt guilty about insisting that she sleep at her own house last night, alone. Almost.

There was nothing like a little air to help fan a fire, she knew, and besides, she’d needed a hot bath, a cold glass of wine, and a long chat on the phone with her best friend. Too bad her best friend was dead, but two out of three wasn’t bad. There was too much going on at once for her to get her head around it all.

It had been barely two days since they got back from Mexico, at times she swore she could still hear the helicopter rotors in the background. New job, new man in her life, and now this clandestine meeting with the Senator and her Embassy State Department boss in the middle of freaking nowhere? She’d been on enough missions in Afghanistan to have her spidey senses tingling on full alert as Dal navigated the big truck into a spot near the end of the lot. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Sandal Steeves, all-American firefighting hero, drove a big-ass Dodge Ram truck that was practically the size of her studio apartment. At least it wasn’t tricked out. Basic black and, aside from the plush leather seats, it appeared to be stock off the lot.

Here we are, he announced, twisting the key out of the ignition. Our first ‘assignment’ together. He threw air quotes around assignment and winked at her.

She laughed and took a long drink of her coffee. Yeah, I’m curious. You?

Damn right. I mean, when the ‘country’ decides they need me more doing this than fighting fires … Who does that anyway? Pulls somebody out of one job to do, well, whatever this is?

Emily squeezed his hand. They’d been over this several times during the weekend. While they were walking, while they were eating, while they were laying down. Her stomach flipped a little as she flashed back to being stretched out beneath him on the couch in his den, dappled evening sunlight playing against his shoulders.

They knew you were on leave at the firehouse. It’s not like they pulled you off a ladder to go do this, she said, raising her brows. Would you rather be pacing around your house waiting to go back to work?

Hardly, he laughed, plus, we get to spend more time together. His thumb drew circles on the back of her hand. I missed you last night, he said, head down, his voice so husky it sent a shiver straight down her spine.

Biting her lip, she tried to suppress her grin. She was delighted, of course, but there was work to do and she needed to keep her head in the game. You’re sweet, she said, brushing her lips across his cheek. We better get in there.

Emily climbed out of the truck and started across the lot toward the lobby doors with Dal close on her heels. Situational awareness had been drilled into her during her time in the military and, by habit, she discretely took in her surroundings.

They’d arrived early enough for this meeting that most of the cars in the lot probably belonged to guests from the previous night. She expected most to be still noshing on croissants and jelly donuts served up during the free continental breakfast advertised on the large neon sign out front. Sixty-nine bucks a night, including continental breakfast and a free shuttle to the airport.

If she never saw another Hotel 21 Express in her life, she would still, decades from now at ninety years old and half-senile, be able to draw up a clear picture of the lobby in her mind.

Dal fell into step beside her, slowing his gait to match hers. The heat rolled off the asphalt under their feet leaving no question that today was going to be another scorcher. As they neared the door, she took a second look over her shoulder at something that had caught her eye. There. The car across the lot looked like her father’s. It was the same make and model, she was sure, and even the same year and color. Should she go back and check? But why would he be there?

Brushing the thought away, she remembered she needed to ask him to loan her a vehicle. Funny how the mind works when you’re focused on other things.

Stepping through the main doorway into the climate-controlled red and gold lobby, grateful to be out of the sun, she found everything exactly where she’d expected. Reception desk ahead, lounge to the right, now being used for the ubiquitous continental breakfast, and stacks of luggage on a dolly waiting for the airport shuttle. She strode through the open expanse in the middle of the lobby toward the elevators.

Wonder why we’re meeting here? Dal said, taking in the breakfast buffet on the other side of the beige latticed wall.

Under the radar, she replied. No one that matters would ever see us here. She chuckled. He leaned closer as the elevator doors opened, shepherding her into the small space and hitting the button for floor number four.

She wrapped her fingers around his when he took her hand, and breathed air deep into her lungs, holding it for a few beats before letting it out slowly. Beside her, Dal did the same.

A small ping sounded overhead, the doors slid open. In the hall she checked the plaque on the wall for the room number. With Dal at her side, she walked with purpose down the hall to the T-section, then to the very end of the next hall to the west. As she lifted her hand to knock, Dal rested his hand on her shoulder, but before she could turn toward him, the door swung open.

3

Dal let his hand slide off Emily’s shoulder as the door swung inward and Senator Green’s bulk filled the opening. Damn, he’d wanted one last second with her before going into this. She’d insisted on sleeping at her own house last night, which was reasonable enough, he guessed. Except, when he’d returned home, her absence created a huge sucking vacuum in his space. Ridiculous. He’d only just met her but there was something different about how he felt about Em.

To be honest, he was always more than a little relieved when his women friends went home. Most of them overstayed their welcome, leaving him craving his privacy, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty trying to hurry them out the door. A man could only have so many early morning meetings. Thank goodness for brunch had always been his mantra. Suggest a fancy brunch on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and it seemed like an invitation,