Dead Aim(48)
And she would, blast him.
She drew a deep breath and went past him into the house. “You have to chop onions under cold tap water. I'll show you.”
He followed her and hung up his coat in the closet. “Always glad to profit from someone with experience. Teach me.”
“I don't think you need anyone to teach you anything.”
“Then share the experience.” He headed for the kitchen. “That's always more fun anyway.”
Morgan's phone rang when he was breaking the eggs for the omelette.
“Scott just called,” Galen said. “He struck pay dirt at the hotel in Fairfax. The desk clerk recognized both men in the sketches. The shooter is Thomas Powers and the other man is Calvin Decker.”
“He's certain?”
“About eighteen months ago Powers and Decker were in and out of town almost every week for an extended period. They told everyone they were designers for the textile company. The townspeople doubted that was true, but the money was good so they turned a blind eye.”
“They thought they were into drugs?”
“There were all kinds of stories about what was going on at the plant. Fairfax is very close to the border. Drug running is rampant in South Texas.”
“Had the clerk seen Powers any time lately?”
“Negative,” Galen said. “But the last two weeks of his stay, he paid for the room rent by credit card. Scott bribed the clerk to look up the records and give him the credit-card number. I'm checking it out now. Scott's going out to the plant tonight to look around.”
“There's a hell of a lot of security there.”
“Not anymore. The plant closed down six months ago. It's deserted except for a night watchman. Scott said he'd call me from the plant.”
“Call me when you hear from him.”
“I'll do that. How's Alex? Putting up with you?”
“Barely. I've got to hang up. I'm making an omelette.”
“You?”
Morgan looked at Alex. “I'm discovering all manner of skills and qualities I never knew existed. Let me know as soon as you do.” He hung up. “The shooter's name is Thomas Powers. The other man is Calvin Decker. Galen is checking out one of Powers's credit-card receipts right now.”
Alex's expression lit with excitement. “Hot dog.” Then she frowned. “It could be an alias. It probably is.”
“Or it might not be. Anyway, it's a lead.”
“Yes, it is. At last something's going our way. I was getting discouraged.”
“I'm still discouraged.”
She tensed. “Why?”
He smiled. “You haven't chopped those onions for me. I'm afraid you're going to make me do it.”
“I'll make coffee, you turn on the television,” Morgan said after supper. “We need to see what the opposition is up to.”
“I can hardly wait.” She went into the living room and flipped on the television set. “Just what I need for indigestion.”
She glanced up when Morgan came into the room carrying a tray with coffee cups and a carafe. “They're still searching Colorado for us. They're having trouble identifying the helicopter because the numbers on the aircraft were phony.”
He poured her coffee. “Imagine that. Anything else?”
“Not about us. There's been another embassy bombing. This time it was in Quito. Same MO as the last one in Mexico City. The Matanza terrorist group. Same threats to President Andreas.” She shook her head wearily. “Won't it ever stop? I used to feel so safe, and now I'm looking over my shoulder all the time. Hell, I wonder how Andreas feels. His neck is on the line twenty-four/seven.”
“He's got a tough job.” Judd sat down opposite her. “But he can handle it. I'd bet he's got guts to spare.”
“I remember you said you liked him.”
“I think he's honest. That elevates any politician to automatic sainthood.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “We may have to have Logan try to get to him. I don't know who else we can trust.”
Her eyes widened. “The President?”
“Galen says Logan has some pull with him these days.”
She shook her head. “Without evidence we wouldn't have a shot.”
“You may be right.” He took the remote from her and turned off the TV. “That's enough news. You're getting depressed. Lean back in the chair. I'll get my sketchbook.”
“Lord, you must have dozens of sketches of me now.”
“I like your face.” He sat back down and started to sketch. “It's a very special face.”
“You like wimps?”
“That's what you saw, not what I drew.” He stopped sketching and looked at her. “Why are you so afraid that I see you as a weakling?”