Weariness tugged at her and she glanced at the clock. 11:46. Morning would come early. But work beckoned. So did the swim.
Choices.
She thought about Brock’s comment about choices in life and smiled. Sometimes you chose what you had to do, not what you wanted to do.
The swim would have to wait.
Gisella picked up her cell phone and punched in Levi McDonnell’s number.
He answered on the third ring. “McDonnell.”
“Hey, it’s Gisella.”
“Yeah, I recognized the number. What’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late. I wanted to ask for a quick update.”
“It’s been kind of quiet. There haven’t been any new threats against the Alamo celebration coming up, but we don’t know if that’s good or bad. Have they stopped sending threats because they realize they’ve made their point? Or have the threats stopped because of something else? We just don’t know.”
She blew out a sigh. “Right. Anything else?”
“Nope.” His voice softened. “Get some rest, Gisella, you’re going to need it. We’re getting closer to getting these people, I can feel it.”
“I sure hope so, Levi.”
“Talk to you soon.”
They hung up and Gisella decided Levi was right; she needed to get some rest.
But first, she was going to get her swim in.
Grabbing her towel and the one-piece black bathing suit she never left home without, she slipped into her heavy coat, hat and gloves.
Should she tell Brock what she was doing?
Maybe.
Then again, he already had his doubts about her ability to be here on this case by herself. If he thought she felt the need to report in to him to take a swim, he really would think she was in over her head.
Gisella scoffed. She’d been doing just fine all alone. She didn’t need him as a keeper. She ignored the small voice that said perhaps it was just common courtesy to let him know where she was going and assured herself that she was only going to be a few minutes. Besides, it was late. She didn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping.
She was quite confident in her ability to take care of herself—and she didn’t plan on staying long.
Opening the door, she made her way down the sidewalk and headed toward the office, keeping an eye out for the pool sign.
As she walked, out of habit, she scanned the area, taking full advantage of the meager lighting the hotel offered. With surprise she noted how neat everything was. The trimmed bushes, the overpowering smell of freshly-spread mulch. She paused. Who laid mulch in January?
Interesting.
The silence tickled her ears.
Nothing moved in the darkness.
A room door clicked shut somewhere behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Her stomach twisted as she took in the quiet night. At home, she tended to enjoy the darkness, the quiet peacefulness that came with the setting sun.
Here, she felt exposed in the openness, wishing she had some kind of cover to hide behind. Hugging the building, she hurried along. She wondered if she should have brought her weapon with her. But she’d left it in the room, not wanting to leave it lying out of reach while she was in the pool.
Now, she was thinking that leaving it behind might not have been a good idea.
Sudden laughter spilled from the balcony above and she felt her muscles relax. Slightly. The two college guys had the door to their room open allowing bits and pieces of conversation to drift down to her. Absently, she thought they must be crazy to have the door open on a cold night like tonight, but to each his own, she supposed.
The feeling of being watched lingered and she shivered. Looking around netted her nothing new.
Taking the sidewalk in front of the office building, she saw the sign indicating the pool facility. A concrete structure, it had small horizontal windows running along the length at the very top. The double glass doors that led to the interior were tinted and—she tried one—unlocked.
Slipping inside, she saw she was the only one there. She supposed those who had come to swim had done so earlier in the day.
There weren’t that many people in the small hotel. She and Brock had done their homework on the ride over from the restaurant. The other occupants consisted of a family of three who had one room at the end of the building, an elderly couple in the room above hers and a couple of college kids passing through Boot Hill on their way to a family funeral. And that was it. Which suited her just fine.
Gisella found the changing room. Chlorine assaulted her nose and a tingle of anticipation crept up her spine. At home, she had an inground heated pool that she used at every opportunity.
If she was home, that was daily. If she was on a case, she found the nearest pool to work off the stress. If she couldn’t swim, she’d go for a run, but she preferred the peaceful feel of the water.
With one foot, she tested the temperature.
Perfect. Who would have thought this small-town hotel would have an adequate pool like this?
Gisella walked to the deep end and looked down. More meager lighting, she thought ruefully. There were underwater lights, but they didn’t do much more than offer a faint glow. She didn’t care. With a push of her feet, she plunged into the warm depths.
With each stroke she felt the stress of the day slide from her. Her strong arms ate up the distance and soon she flipped and pushed off from the other end.
Brock Martin. DEA. A bit on the rough side. A risk-taker.
A good-looking man that made her heart do things it hadn’t done in a really long time. Not since Andre. A mistake she’d promised herself she wouldn’t repeat. He’d been a hard worker, a fellow Highway Patrol.
And he’d hated that her goal was to become a Ranger. He’d felt threatened by her skills and her determination to achieve her goals. So, he’d left her. But not before Gisella had learned a lesson. Steer clear of men whose egos couldn’t handle a woman in her position. And don’t be sucked in by a pretty face.
Brock definitely fell into the pretty-face category.
But was there more to him than his looks?
She had a feeling she would be finding that out during the course of the investigation.
Lord, keep us safe. Help us find Greg’s murderer and stop more innocent people from dying.
As she swam, she prayed. A habit she’d started in her teen years before her brother, José, had died. After his death, she’d been mad at God for a long time, but found swimming and praying helped. Soon, she’d made her peace with God, but not with the drugs that killed José.
His death had made her what she was today.
Finally, she tired and decided to call it quits.
Just as she reached the side to pull herself out, she felt something encircle her wrist.
FOUR
Adrenaline spiking, she twisted her wrist, grasped the hand that held her and yanked. She was rewarded with a resounding splash behind her. Sputtering, her feet touching bottom, she whirled to see Brock treading water, his jaw tight, his face grim.
“What in the world is wrong with you?” she gasped.
“You could let a partner know where you’re going.”
Gisella