The Millionaire Cowboy's Secret

by Karen Whiddon

  She regarded him curiously. “Is today his day off?”

  “No.” He grimaced. “He didn’t show up this morning.”

  “Maybe he’s sick.”

  “He didn’t call.”

  Frowning, she cocked her head, considering. “He could be too sick to call. That’s one possibility.”

  “And the other?”

  “He could have run off with the twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “True. Or, since twenty-five grand isn’t a lot in the scheme of things, maybe the cartel got to him,” he countered. “He’s in some kind of trouble. He’d have called me if it was anything else.”

  She eyed him, clearly trying to determine whether he was normally so paranoid or if he had reason to be. Finally, she nodded. “If you’re that concerned, let’s drive over to his place and check it out.”

  Taking action—any action—felt a lot better than sitting around wondering. He snatched his car keys off the ring in the kitchen and hurried back outside.

  The moment he reemerged, she stood. “Let’s go.”

  Though he wasn’t sure how José would feel about him bringing Skylar to his home, Matt wanted her company. Her presence helped quiet the jangling sense that something had gone very wrong.

  She waited until they’d left the ranch and reached the blacktop heading into town before speaking again. “Look, I know the cartel is messing with people on this side of the border. Look what happened to those people they burned alive in the car in Arizona. But that was on the direct drug route, and the victims were most likely involved with the cartel.”

  He glanced at her. “And your point?”

  “I need to know if José is involved with the Mexican cartel.”

  “I like your directness,” he said, stalling.

  “Do you? That’s not an answer.”

  Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he sighed. “As I’m sure you’re aware, José did have a relationship with one of the cartels in the past. He was arrested, convicted and served his time. Since he’s been out, he’s been clean.”

  “You’re positive of that?” She sounded skeptical. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

  “He works for me, Skylar.”

  “Even so, what about since he was released? Any contact?”

  He sighed, seeing no way around it. “Yes, he’s had contact with a few members of the cartel.”

  “Old friends?”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “The truth is, anything he’s done has been on my behalf.”

  “Because of the revenge thing.”

  “Exactly.”

  She went silent for so long he wondered if she’d nodded off. But no, a quick look revealed her staring off into the darkness, clearly thinking.

  “I hate to say anything.” When she finally spoke, her voice was troubled. “Before I do, what’s your reasoning as to why the cartel has been targeting you—shooting at you, burning down your barn, et cetera?”

  Jaw tight, he answered, even though he believed she already knew the answer. “We have ammunition. More than one warring faction wants it. Each of the two cartels who are in the know don’t want me to sell it to the other.”

  “I disagree.” She shook her head, sending her thick hair swirling around her shoulders. “If that were the case, I believe they’d have been more direct. These people are accustomed to taking what they want without asking.”

  “Exactly.” He pounded the steering wheel for emphasis. “That’s why they were shooting at us. They’ve been sneaking onto my ranch trying to find out where I’ve hidden the ammo.”

  Now she sighed. “I’ll let you have that, even though I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than that. Are you certain you trust José?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t even have to think about it. “He’s like my brother. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Then I guess you’d better hope you’re wrong. If the cartel took him, he’s a dead man.”

  They both fell silent for the rest of the drive. José lived in town, in a neat frame house a few blocks from the railroad tracks.

  Pulling into the empty driveway, Matt killed his engine and shut off his headlights.

  “The place looks deserted,” Skylar pointed out. “No lights are on inside and there’s not even a car or pickup in the carport.”

  José’s truck was gone. Matt’s stomach clenched. “Damn it.”

  They got out together. He wasn’t surprised to see that Skylar had drawn her Glock. He did the same.

  “Do you have a key?” she asked in the clipped, law-enforcement tone she sometimes used.

  “No.” He shook his head. “José’s personal life is private. As long as he checks in with his parole officer and passes the drug tests, I don’t worry about him.”

  She nodded. “Stay close to me.” Keeping to the side of the front door, away from any windows, she rang the bell. They both could hear the chimes echoing through the small house.

  But no one came to the door. With a sinking heart, Matt realized he hadn’t actually expected anyone to. After all, José’s truck was gone.

  “Let’s go around back,” she whispered. He nodded in agreement.

  Hugging the side walls, they made their way to the back of the house, which was not fenced.

  José’s back door was wide open.

  Matt swore. Skylar stopped, though she kept her pistol out, apparently assessing the situation. She looked capable and yet still as sexy as hell. He’d never realized he had a thing for strong women.

  But then, he hadn’t known many before her.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, jerking her head toward the door. “We’ll go room by room.”

  He nodded, hoping like hell they wouldn’t find José’s body.

  “Now!” She leaped forward. Keeping close to each other, they dashed inside the dark house. He went for the light switch and flicked on the lights.

  “Clear,” she said, coolly professional, barely glancing at him before she moved into the kitchen.

  He headed for the bedrooms. Both of them were off a small hall off the main living area.

  The first bedroom, the smallest of the two, José had made into a study. “Clear,” he called out, barely registering the scattered papers before heading toward the master bedroom.

  Skylar had beaten him to it. “Clear,” she told him, holstering her gun. “There’s no one here.”

  “And no signs of a struggle.” Putting his weapon away, he turned back toward José’s study. “It looks like someone has been searching for something in here.”

  But as they gathered the paperwork, he realized they were only José’s credit-card statements, bank-account records and mortgage statements. Nothing to do with Matt or ammunition or drugs.

  “Except that there’s another deposit of twenty-five thousand dollars in his bank account.” She held up a deposit slip. “He made the deposit yesterday, in cash.”

  Matt tried to think, but came up with nothing. “I have no idea. I pay him every Friday, but he doesn’t make anywhere near that much money.”

  Her expression seemed carefully blank, which told him she was thinking the worst and trying not to show it.

  “He’s not selling drugs,” he protested. “I’d know if he was using.”

  “Maybe not drugs,” she said softly. “But how close of a tab do you keep on your ammunition stores?’

  “He wouldn’t do that to me.” His gut twisted at the thought.

  “You do keep some sort of inventory, right?” she persisted.

  Defeated, he let his shoulders sag. “José takes care of that. All the records are at my house.”

  “Would you know if he’s updated them?”

  “Of course. But José wouldn’t—”

  “I know, I know.” She put a gentle hand on his arm. “He’s your best friend. I understand. If it’s any consolation, it would take a lot more than fifty thousand dollars to go on the run.”

  Unless... Matt didn’t voice the thought ou
t loud. Unless José was setting things up for an even bigger payoff and the cartel he wasn’t selling to had grabbed him in retaliation.

  Even the thought of his best friend backstabbing him felt wrong. Not to mention disloyal. But it wouldn’t go away. “Why would anyone have taken him?” Matt asked, frowning and hoping she could come up with some other, more acceptable scenario. “Especially if he took some sort of bribe. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe he failed to deliver,” she said. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she watched him, cool and calculating, more of her ATF persona than the Skylar he’d come to know.

  “I’ll check the stores,” he said, holding up a hand when she started to speak. “And no, you can’t come with me. The fewer people who know where I keep the ammo, the better.”

  Still staring hard at him, finally she gave a reluctant nod. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m with you on that one.” They each climbed into the truck and buckled up. He reached to put the key in the ignition, when she put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

  “What about Chantal?” she asked quietly. “Do you think she knows something about this?”

  “Chantal?” He didn’t get how she could go from rational ATF agent to this. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  Skylar swallowed hard. “She and José are...together. I saw them in the ranch office.”

  He wasn’t sure he understood. “I haven’t seen Chantal or even talked to her since we broke up—mutually, I might add—last year. So when you say they’re together, what do you mean? Together how? Working together?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “Um, no. Together like a couple. I walked in on them in the barn office. They were having sex.”

  Even in the dim light of the single streetlight, he could see her fair skin had turned a fiery red. “That’s impossible,” he said. “José would never...”

  “Steal your girlfriend?”

  “No, not that.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he struggled to make sense of this latest revelation. “José knows Chantal’s not my girlfriend. But he would have mentioned it to me, if only to make sure I wouldn’t take issue.”

  She watched him gravely. “Would you have? Taken issue with them dating, I mean?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Of course not. Chantal means nothing to me. José knows that. What bothers me is the fact he felt he needed to keep that hidden.”

  “Like he kept hidden the two twenty-five-thousand-dollar deposits in his bank account?”

  Clenching his jaw, he nodded. He felt angry, true, but also confused and, well, frickin’ hurt. José was his best friend.

  “Pretty incriminating,” she said.

  “There’s got to be more to this than we know,” he finally said, aware she’d think he was a fool, but not caring. “I refuse to give up on José until I hear the truth from him.”

  “Okay.” She gave a decisive nod. “Then we need to find out what happened to him. I can contact the local authorities and put out an APB.”

  “No.” Inserting the key in the ignition, he started the truck. “Let me see what I can find out before we do that. If it was the cartel, I don’t want to give them a reason to kill him.”

  Neither one said what he knew they both were thinking. If José had been grabbed by the cartel, he was probably already dead.

  Chapter 13

  Once they returned to the ranch, they parted ways. Though Skylar had offered to keep vigil with Matt, he’d turned her down. He wouldn’t be good company, he’d said.

  She’d tried like hell not to let his rejection hurt.

  Another restless night, then. Unable to face more tossing and turning, around midnight she whistled for Talia and went for a walk. Up at Matt’s house, lights still blazed yellow from the windows, letting her know she wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.

  If she had more nerve, she’d go up there, knock on his door and seduce him. Her body came fully alive at the thought. But she couldn’t go through with it. She was too afraid of how she’d feel if he turned her down.

  Yet again, she had to wonder when she’d become such a coward.

  Reaching the old barn, she opened the door, flicked on the hall lights and slipped inside. A few of the horses nickered sleepily, but none of them came to the stall door.

  Breathing in the unique scent of horses, manure, hay and grain, and leather, she felt a sort of peace steal over her. Though this wasn’t her place, she felt a sense of home. This notion was so foreign, so wrong, she gasped out loud.

  She’d learned the hard way that home wasn’t a place, but rather where the ones you loved were. She hadn’t felt this way since she’d lost her family.

  Was this because of Matt? Did her feelings for him, so new and unsteady, run that deep?

  Matt. And once again, she’d come full circle. He was on her mind, always on her mind, and she wanted to be with him more than she wanted anything else.

  Foolish.

  Still, she glanced at her watch, wishing she could shake this absurd and completely bizarre need to be with him. At first, she’d felt like a teenage girl with a crush. Now that they’d made love, now that he’d given her a glimpse into his true nature, she ached for him with a need that was almost physical and blotted out everything else.

  Completely unacceptable for an ATF agent and totally wrong for a widow who should still be consumed by grief.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure up Robbie’s face. To her horror, she could only get as far as his blue eyes and blond hair. The rest of the details were shadowy, at best.

  Hell, it had been five years. Still...how could she forget?

  Digging in her purse, she found her wallet. There, in the section where other people kept credit cards, she had three pictures. One of Robbie, one of their son, Bryan, and the third of them all together.

  It was this last one she pulled out to stare at. She and Robbie had looked so young, so happy. Bryan had been so fiercely independent that the moment before the photograph had been snapped, he’d been scowling at the camera. The photographer had managed to coax a smile with a toy robot, the very same one she’d had to buy Bryan the following day. It had been his favorite toy—he’d slept with it, and it accompanied him everywhere.

  She’d buried his tiny little body with that robot.

  Raising her head, she waited for the tears—she always, always, always, always cried when she looked at this photo. To her shock, not this time. She felt sad and the familiar aching sense of loss, but she did not weep.

  One more thing she wished she could share with Matt.

  “Is that your family?” Matt’s voice, as though he’d felt her need pulling at him.

  She narrowed her eyes. He’d come up behind her without her noticing. More proof she wasn’t 100 percent on her A game.

  Plus, she hadn’t told him anything about her past.

  Maybe it was time.

  “Yes,” she told him, resisting the urge to put the picture away. “They’re both gone now.”

  “Let me see,” he asked, holding out his hand.

  Heart skipping a beat, she gave it to him, noting the solemn, reverent way he examined it. This warmed her heart and—she was almost ashamed to admit it—gave her hope.

  “They’re beautiful,” he said, handing it back. “You must have loved them very much.”

  “I did,” she said. Again to her surprise, her voice sounded steady, sad but unbroken. “I miss them every day. Even though it’s been five years, I’ve never stopped longing for them.”

  He nodded as if he understood. Remembering what had happened to his own family, she realized he probably did.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” He swallowed, his gaze far away. “Believe me when I say I know how that feels.”

  Again, almost as if he’d known what she’d been thinking.

  Under any other circumstances, with any other person, she might have concurred and changed the subject. But this was Matt and he wasn’t just mo
uthing platitudes. He truly understood the gnawing ache of loss.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  So she told him. “I was running late for a meeting. My husband, Robbie, had taken the day off and was going to take our son, Bryan, to the park. I needed to cash a check, so I asked him if he’d mind stopping at the bank for me on his way home.”

  Now fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Ignoring them, she continued, “At least they had their day at the park. They even stopped for lunch at Bryan’s favorite hot-dog place. The last stop they made was at the bank.”

  He covered her hand with his, offering comfort. She swallowed hard, willing herself to continue. She hadn’t managed to make her way through this story in its entirety even once without breaking down, even with her psychiatrist.

  But continue she did. “They were waiting in line for the teller when the robber came through the door. Just one, and he was high on crack or crystal meth. He shouted for everyone to hit the floor. I’m guessing they did, but the bank guard made a move the robber didn’t like and he sprayed the bank with bullets. Seven people lost their lives that day. Robbie and Bryan were among them.”

  When she’d finished speaking, letting her words trail off, she waited for him to talk, to offer condolences or to comment that he remembered hearing about that horrific bank robbery on the news, or some other banal attempt at making her feeling better.

  Instead, he took her picture from her and gently placed it on the table. “Do you still cry over them?” he asked gently.

  “Not as much as I used to,” she admitted. “It’s probably the same with you, isn’t it?

  He gave a casual shrug that didn’t fool her one bit. “I never cry.”

  Guy talk, and she wasn’t buying it. “Surely you did right after you lost them.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “Not even then. I focused on the rage instead of the grief.”

  This so saddened her that she felt her eyes fill. Seeing this, he took her into his arms and held her. Tight, as if he never wanted to let her go. Offering her comfort, when she should have been the one to offer it to him.