The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  With the lights behind him, Jake’s eyes were in shadow, but the light still managed to find all that buried gold in his hair, then slide forward to stroke some of that gold along the strong, smooth jaw line. It also threw into sharp relief the strength and grace of his body.

  Longing slid through her veins, a semi-painful tingle of life returning to a sleeping limb. Why him? Why was he the one to make her feel what she shouldn’t? For a brief instant the fog in her head cleared and Pathphinder got a clear view of the two courses available to her. One, bright and enticing, leading directly to Jake. One, dark and dangerous, leading away from him forever.

  Only the choice was an illusion. She was already on Phagan’s path, and there was no way to leave it. There was no way to get to Jake from where she was. Her choice, if she could call it that, had been made long before this day. She’d see this game to its finish and then disappear into Phagan’s shadow world again, leaving even her memories behind. If she survived.

  She lifted her chin, straightened her back and walked toward Jake, but she was really walking away from him. It hurt more than she’d expected, but her mind, her body was already adapting to the loss and the pain.

  She’d had plenty of practice.

  With Jake’s gaze on her, she dug deep for resolve and approached him.

  Jake let her come to him, noting with concern the brittle quality that hadn’t been there earlier. It put his senses on alert as she stopped, her gaze meeting his for a long moment that put the heat on under his heart.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded, then looked at the guys. “It’s late. Let’s get this over with.”

  “You’re a hard woman,” Mert grumbled good-naturedly as he lowered himself from his piton perch.

  “You got that right,” she said, sounding as if she were passing sentence on herself.

  It didn’t take them long to get their instruments ready, once a broken guitar string had been replaced and the amp fiddled with. Jake noted the store logo on the bag Phoebe pulled the replacement string from—it was in Denver—even as he admired the comfortable confidence with which she mobilized her boys. Chet came in with his radio on, playing a Wynona Judd song. He quickly turned it off, but the band picked up the tune, and turned it into their warm up song. The segue was smooth between radio and real life. Too smooth. Close his eyes and he couldn’t tell the difference between Phoebe and Judd. The band switched gears, and it happened again. This time she sounded like Martina McBride. In quick succession she crossed a wide range of the voice spectrum of female singers. It was uncanny. It was…enlightening, and made him feel a lot less crazy about suspecting Phoebe of being Pathphinder.

  They stopped to let Jesse work on his C-string, and Jake knew he had to probe a bit. “Is it just me,” he asked, carrying his soft drink closer to their tiny stage, “or did you just sound like Martina McBride?”

  Phoebe’s head came up, like that of a wild thing scenting danger, but her eyes showed no fear, no emotion, when Toes grinned and said, “Our Phoebe is a first-rate mime.”

  Leg looked up from his keyboard. Jesse shook his head as he explained, “Kid’s young.”

  Toes looked around. “What?”

  “A mime,” explained Mert, “is what Phoebe almost slugged in New Orleans that time.”

  Jake looked at Phoebe, who shrugged and smiled. “He made an obscene gesture,” she explained.

  “Oh.” Toes looked crestfallen. “So what’s Phoebe?”

  “I think,” Jake said, holding Phoebe’s gaze with his, “the word you’re looking for is mimic. Phoebe’s a very…good…mimic.”

  Phoebe smiled, her eyes neither denying nor confirming his suspicion. “Only very good? You’re a tough critic.”

  Jake managed a slight grin, but inside he was wishing everything was completely different. Next to her, Jesse’s long-fingered hands pulled a gentle ballad from the strings of his guitar. The others filled in the holes, loosing love’s lament into the big, empty hall.

  Phoebe tried to resist the song’s invitation to give in to feeling and failed. With a fatalistic shrug, she put down her instrument and leaped from the stage, landing a few feet from Jake. There was harm in it, but not too much, what with the guys watching her every move. Of their own volition, her feet started her toward him. The closer she got, the more fluid she felt. The pain melted away, leaving only anticipation. She wanted to be in his arms. She had to be in his arms or die. It was as simple as that. She had to clear the huskiness from her throat before she could get the words out. “Dance with me, Curious Jake.”

  Jake’s throat went dry at the husky-voiced invitation. She stood motionless, but the air around her pulsed with an ancient, unmistakable need.

  “I never get to dance,” she said.

  It would have been easier to stop breathing than say no. He couldn’t do either, so he held out his hand, felt his breath catch as her fingers meshed with his, her other hand settling on his shoulder like a pigeon come home. He pulled her closer, leaving a single important inch between their bodies to salve his conscience as his hand cupped her waist, half on cotton, half on skin left bare by her brief top.

  It felt right to have her in his arms. Like she’d always belonged there.

  They began a shuffle that could be taken for dancing by someone on drugs. No one led. No one followed. He didn’t look at her. Knew she wasn’t looking at him.

  As the song wound toward a climax, he couldn’t stop his gaze from doing a slow slide in her direction. He breathed in her scent, felt her body heat arc that single inch that separated them. His gaze found hers, dark with longing. On some level his brain registered that his nostrils smelled a lingering trace of expensive lawyer mixed with her usual clean scent. Another link in the evidence chain toward her, but he didn’t care. His arms were full of woman. The right woman. The only woman, he was afraid, for him.

  The music died away. They stopped shuffling. He stared at her, wanting to say something, but before he could think of anything, her lashes drooped, shutting her longing from his view. She stepped back, her hand sliding free of his.

  He wanted to hold on, to pull her back. He didn’t.

  “You out there, Phoebe?” Jesse asked, trying to peer past the footlights to their shadows.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She turned and walked away from Jake.

  He wasn’t sure what was worse—that she could do it or that he could let her.

  * * * *

  Stern stood staring into the dark, smoking and thinking, while behind him Harding argued with someone on the phone. The smoke soothed as he mulled the situation.

  The sun was setting over the city and, it seemed, on Harding. It was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to hold it together. It was a pity. He had the right stuff to be a serious contender in the political power game. Charm, ruthlessness, native wit and “vision.” A pity he had that dark side that so many of the bright ones seemed cursed with.

  Power, real power, was a balancing act that required the holder to never let one factor overwhelm the others. Once balance was gone, a long fall was inevitable. Stern had done well with Harding, but he wasn’t about to go down with him. Not for something as stupid as a sexual addiction the asshole couldn’t control. Not to mention the nasty temper. Behind him Harding slung the phone back on to its cradle the rest with a mumbled curse. Stern turned and found him sprawled in his chair looking like a sulky teenager.

  “So, Billy thinks the woman could be Nadine?” Harding asked.

  Stern nodded, lifting the cigarette and inhaling deeply.

  “Go get her. I want…to see her with my own eyes. Be sure. This time I want to be sure she won’t ever be a problem again.”

  Sure, that’s why he wanted to see her. And I’m blind, deaf and stupid. Stern stubbed out his cigarette. Smoke spiraled up from the stub where an A/C current caught it and dispersed it—not unlike the chilling reality bringing his association with Harding to an end. He’d bring the girl back, not because
Harding wanted her, but because, by messing with Harding, she’d messed with him. No one messed with him without paying a price. Harding would settle part of the bill. And when Harding finished with the girl, she would beg him to kill her.

  He would. Eventually.

  He headed for the door, feeling an odd sense of anticipation at the coming meeting. Been a long time since he’d had an adversary this talented. Should be an interesting encounter.

  “Stern?”

  Stern stopped at the door but didn’t look back. He knew what was coming.

  “No more waiting. We go tomorrow night.”

  We? Stern bit back a pointed reminder that Harding would be sitting it out safely on the sidelines. Asshole already knew how Stern felt about pushing up the timing, so there was no point in arguing it further.

  As if Stern was arguing with him, Harding said, “I never did like the idea of having RABBIT get grabbed the night before we were supposed to turn it over. General Hadley’s sure to smell a rat.”

  “You think a couple of days is going to affect his sense of smell?” Stern turned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ill-made suit. He could pull his guys together, but they wouldn’t like doing it as a rush job any more than he did. “Bromfield might still get the thing to work.”

  “No,” Harding shook his head. “He won’t. He’s as big an idiot as the others. Make him disappear. He knows too much.”

  “People who know things are dangerous.”

  Harding looked sharply at Stern. Stern met his with look kept carefully blank, before spinning on his heels and striding out.

  Harding waited until he heard the distant swish of the elevator before saying softly to himself, “Yes, they are, my…friend.”

  Did Stern think he hadn’t noticed the way he’d been watching him? Or the vibrations of unease between them? He hadn’t gotten this far by not knowing when to trust. And when not to.

  He unlocked a drawer of his desk and pulled out a handgun. He checked the clip, making sure it was full, then shoved it back into place and returned the gun in the drawer.

  “People who know things are very dangerous, my…friend.”

  * * * *

  Now that she was committed to making the move on TelTech, Phoebe was aware that her life as Phoebe Mentel could be counted in hours. Twenty-four, to be exact.

  With sharpened clarity, she picked up her guitar and looked out at the foot-stomping, hand-clapping patrons waiting for the first twanging note. She couldn’t call them friends—she couldn’t have friends—but they were familiar strangers who had been a part of her life for several years. She would miss them, and she would miss her guys. She would miss singing with them, climbing with them, laughing with them, even fending off their occasional advances. They’d made her feel real when grief had left her hollow and wanting. They’d filled her with their buoyant life force and let her hide in their shadows. They’d been her family, and it grieved her to leave then without explanation or farewell. They deserved better, but they couldn’t know anything and would never understand if they did. The Feds on her tail would come down on them hard but would eventually have to admit the guys didn’t know anything and let them go. As long as none of them hit anyone.

  Did she dare give them a hint, a warning not to lose it? It worried her, wondering how they would manage without her, but they would learn. Even if she did stay, she wouldn’t be around to help them. She’d be in jail. And, knowing them, they’d try to bust her out and end up behind bars, too.

  And then there was Jake.

  She didn’t want to look at him through jail bars. For the brief now, she could see him across the sea of heads, see him watching her from the bar. When he caught her gaze, he lifted his can in a discreet toast. It hurt to think of never seeing him again. She didn’t know how it had happened that he’d come to matter so much, but there was nothing to be done now but live with it.

  She’d had lots of practice at living with things.

  Leg gave her a discreet nudge and she realized the guys were all looking at her, wondering why she didn’t start the set. She gave the nod for the last time, and they launched into their opening number, her fingers flying across the strings with angst-driven precision. Luckily the song was fast enough and loud enough to make thinking near impossible. After a time, the music smoothed over the rough edges and carried her along. It was easier to ride the sound, to ride the surface. Just this once, she took the easy way. Hey, there was no one to tell her she couldn’t. Besides, it wouldn’t last. Nothing seemed to, except maybe the pain. That outlasted everything.

  * * * *

  Other than a brief run during the last set to bring back Chinese food, Jake watched the whole show from his seat at the bar. Chet didn’t push him to buy drinks, as if sensing that something bigger than drinks was on the line. There was an air of finality about Phoebe that no one but Jake seemed aware of.

  She was getting ready to move, to act. But on what? All night he sat discarding plans to stop her from going so heedlessly into the danger zone. He knew in his gut that he didn’t have the power to stop her. God probably couldn’t stop her, he decided. She was one hell of a woman.

  He knew he was losing her, either to the shadow world or to jail. It might be a body blow he couldn’t recover from. There were, he believed, people who were meant to be together. Like his mom and dad. Like Matt and Dani. Like Luke and his Rosemary that he’d lost to cancer. A perfect fit was rare in this world of disposable marriages. If you found your perfect fit, you sure as hell didn’t let her go.

  Just his tough luck to find his perfect match singing in a honky-tonk and involved in some kind of high-tech heist on some rich asshole who might be under observation by Bryn and her FBI cronies. If Bryn did know the target, as he suspected, then she had a good chance of catching Phoebe in the act. Captivity would, he knew for sure, be hell for her, a hell she might not survive. If the sad in her eyes were any indication, life had already given her some good, hard kicks. Did it have to administer the final, soul-killing blow? Did he have to watch?

  The music called him from his dark thoughts. She’d never played better. Somehow he knew that, though his days with her could be counted in the single digits. No one left the bar until the final note sounded, and then they left in reluctant bunches. Jake waited until the stage and room were clear to commandeer a table for the Chinese food. He spread it out and then took a chair where he could watch for her. He didn’t have a lot of memories to take with him into the future. No sense passing up even one.

  * * * *

  “It won’t be long now,” Stern said. With his two best guys, Harley and Farley Hicks, he sat in his car in the shadows cast by two huge evergreens, watching as the full parking lot emptied until only two vehicles were left. The SUV, he knew, belonged to Phoebe Mentel, who might or might not be Nadine. The other was the Fed’s truck. He didn’t like messing with a Fed, but when you were already screwing over the military, it seemed nit picking to worry about it.

  He didn’t mention it to his boys, though. The thought of a death sentence if they got caught might mess with their aim.

  A bag crackled as Farley stowed it, wiped his hands on his polyester pants and checked his weapon. Farley was a large man, partly because of his passion for junk food and partly because of his gene pool. His father had been a pro wrestler who married his mother after she whipped his ass in a mud-wrestling ring. Evidently his family liked to be dominated, which made him the natural choice for lieutenant in Stern’s private army.

  His brother, Harley, was his younger duplicate in everything but IQ, which made him a good soldier. Harley finished a bottle of Yahoo and got out his gun.

  Stern screwed a silencer onto the end of his. “There’s a rear entrance and one window on the right. Farley, you take the back door. Harley, you get the window. There’ll be one guy with her. Take him out, but not the girl. We need the girl alive.” He checked the clip before adding, “Bruising is optional.”

  * * * *

&n
bsp; Phoebe found Jake waiting for her by a table cluttered with distinctive white cartons. The odors of the evening retreated in the face of his personal, oh-so-male scent that filled her nostrils and her insides with painful desire.

  “I hope you like Chinese,” Jake said. His voice was husky, as if they were already ripping each other’s clothes off.

  The vision was so real, for a moment she wondered if she’d acted on it.

  “What’s not to like?” She cleared her head before she said, “Let me lock up.”

  Her looking had to last a lifetime, so she walked backwards reaching behind her to snap the lock into place and reduce the lighting to one beam on the table and Jake. In the shadows, she let her eyes be hungry and longing, then reined it in for the walk back to him. At least she thought she’d reined it in, but the closer she got to him, the more her body throbbed for him, for the painful peace of passion acted on. She wanted him so bad it hurt like a sore tooth not to do something.

  She stopped on the opposite side of the table. If somebody didn’t do something—

  Somebody did.

  In the heated silence, they both heard the sound of a silenced gun fired into the flimsy front door lock.

  NINE

  Passion made an abrupt departure as Jake’s training took over. Before the sound of the lock giving faded away, he had his gun out and was taking aim at the light. Phoebe shook her head. “Wait.”

  She was right. No reason to warn the intruders they were armed.

  “Is there another way out of here?”

  Before she could answer, they heard glass shatter from the direction of her office, followed almost immediately by the sound of the back door being kicked open.

  “This way,” she said, heading for the dubious cover of the bar.

  The front door gave just as they reached the bar. Jake crouched down beside Phoebe and realized she was still one step ahead of him when she opened a panel to reveal the breaker box. He only had time to grin at her before she took out the lights. That left only a triangle of light just inside the door.