Joe and Steve left in separate cars about 2:00 a.m. and met up at the Denny's on Alameda Boulevard, like they sometimes did. They had no idea that just moments before some two-bit informant they'd dealt with in another case had blown their cover. They had no idea they'd been followed, that Guzman's men sat outside like the patient predators they were. Steve reached the door first. It was sheer dumb luck that Joe was two steps behind, still paying the bill.

The henchmen got to Reba and Daniel before agents could. They'd been executed in their sleep. It was Guzman's way of making his point quite clear: Special Agent Joe Bellacera-and anyone close to him-would never be safe.

Guzman was snagged by agents later that night at an airstrip forty miles out on the mesa. It wasn't the Hollywood ending, but agents impounded the cocaine intended for distribution, arrested twenty-seven Mexican nationals, and took the big man into custody.

It was no comfort to Joe that Guzman now sat in maximum security at the federal prison in Beaumont, Texas. Because he still had his followers. And he'd promised a million dollars to whoever brought him Joe's head.

A million dollars was highly motivating.

That's why Joe had to hide. Why he had to live in Ohio. And if all that weren't enough, he was faced with the ultimate irony: He'd finally found his mystery woman and couldn't go to her.

Joe took a deep breath and smelled the honeysuckle again. The mind could play tricks on a man, he was well aware, but another sniff assured him this was no illusion. He made a mental note to find wherever that tangle of weed existed on this property and hack it to pieces.

Burn it if he had to.