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Caruso scanned the restaurant, looking for any other would-be assassins. These guys tended to travel in packs. He saw no immediate threats, but what he did see was at least five more restaurant patrons with their hands either on the butt of an exposed sidearm or in a purse getting ready to draw one. “FBI,” he said again. “Everyone please relax and keep your firearms where they are.” He chuckled and helped Callahan to her feet. “Texas appears to be a bad place to become an assassin.” The blond citizen who’d saved the day gave a solemn nod, her hands just beginning to shake from the
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