Many trucks had crossed the line but none that were refrigerated. Every time a truck approached the border, Reese had to hold back from going to the Mexican agents and demanding to search every vehicle himself. It wouldn’t do any good—the agents had already refused his help. Darkness closed in and Reese dragged his hand down his face. His entire body ached from being wound so tightly. The accident had a hand in the aches and pains he felt, but for the most part he ignored it all. His thoughts were focused on Kelley. John stared out the window as a rusted Blazer with a broken taillight approached the border. Reese’s phone rang. He picked it up off the seat, glanced at the caller ID, and saw a number he didn’t recognize. “Detective McBride,” he answered and heard the tiredness and frustration in his own voice. “Reese.” An urgent whisper came over the phone and his heart jerked as he realized it was Kelley. “Kelley.” Reese straightened in his seat and glanced at John whose attention had swiveled to him.
