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prepared.
    Wait a minute! Hadn’t he decided that pursuing a BP agent invited a troubled relationship?
    I need sleep.

Chapter 5
Give justice to the poor and the orphan; uphold the rights of the oppressed and the destitute.
Psalm 82:3
    On Thursday morning, Danika sped down Old Military Highway in the Tahoe assigned to her for the day. Felipe kicked up dirt in his jeep ahead of her, and Jacob followed behind her. Another truck with two more agents led the convoy. They’d gotten a call from an informer about a safe house filled with illegals and drugs. The caller, a man with a thick Hispanic accent, gave the location and hung up. Later the supes at the station would analyze the voice, but the agents’ job was to make arrests and confiscate the drugs.
    She thought about the illegal who had shot Barnett. She’d dug into the shooter’s records and questioned the other agents who had brought him in for medical treatment. One more time, she’d hit a dead end. Except his knowledge about Toby’s death was in his database. He refused to give his name, but she wouldn’t forget his face or his claim.
    Within seconds, all four vehicles swung in front of a dilapidated one-story house, penning in a ten-year-old van with a dented-in passenger side. Two large dogs, a shepherd and black Lab mix, snarled their reception at the agents. Both animals were lean enough to eat an agent for lunch.
    Danika lived for this excitement—the thrill of danger—in the landscape of her being. Five years ago, she would head into a field of sugar cane for one illegal, but after she got pregnant, she took a few more precautions. After Toby’s death, she curtailed the daredevil tricks.
    Danika opened the door of her Tahoe and gulped in stifling heat to mix with the adrenaline pumping through her body. She doubted if many of the American public understood the danger BP agents faced the moment they buttoned up their uniforms. Sometimes an illegal fought back, and a good agent had to be prepared. When she was fresh out of the academy, an illegal had swung his fist at her, nearly breaking her arm. Jacob had been with her that day and took action. The two became friends, and Jacob had introduced her to Toby, a high school math teacher and track coach. She often wondered if Jacob regretted his matchmaking.
    Most of the illegals were simply hardworking people who risked all for a better way of life. She knew many of them were driven by desperation, believing they had no other options to provide for their families’ basic needs. When apprehended, they wore the cloak of defeat and misery. Some cried. Some swore. Others were silent and fingered a cross or a rosary. The cost of entering the U.S. ranged from two thousand to four thousand dollars, life savings from family and friends. And for what purpose? To be returned with nothing to show for the financial sacrifices of others?
    Guides and drug smugglers were more dangerous. They carried weapons and had no intention of letting a future behind bars jeopardize their current lifestyle. Adrenaline surged through their veins too, but their motivation was pure and simple greed.
    She drew her weapon and approached the parked cargo van. It was locked but empty. Later the agents would check inside. Drugs could be concealed in the floorboard, doors, ceiling, tires, gas tank, or specially constructed compartments. She walked up the driveway with Felipe while other agents spread out to surround the house. All had their handguns drawn. Ready.
    A door thudded shut in the back, and she raced with several other agents toward the sound.
    “Patrulla Fronteriza,” an agent shouted. “Alto.”
    Nine men raced from the rear of the house toward the thick brush of spindly trees and tall grass. Odd, no women or children were with them. Three agents took off after the obvious illegals, while Danika and Felipe made their way to the back door, where the men had exited.
    “Patrulla Fronteriza. Salgan con las manos arriba,” Danika