Wyoming Bold (9781460320891)

by Palmer, Diana

  Tank shook his head. “I have no idea. But he’s good at what he does. I had a friend of mine, Rourke, come up and check my place for bugs. It turns out that the surveillance company I hired was bogus. Their consultant, who was supposed to plant surveillance equipment, bugged everything, too.”

  Hayes shook his head. “I can’t remember a case like this, not in my whole life.”

  “I wasn’t in law enforcement that long, but neither can I,” Tank said. “There hasn’t been another attempt on your life?”

  Hayes shook his head. “Well, that’s not quite true,” he added with a short laugh. “It seems El Ladŕon, before his untimely death, hired a new assassin to come after me.”

  “And...?”

  Hayes’s eyes twinkled. “He hired a guy who worked for my father-in-law briefly. He’s gone back to Houston, but he still keeps in touch, just in case the assassin wants to take me out.”

  “They didn’t know who he was?” Tank exclaimed.

  “Nope.”

  “It wasn’t Mr. Parks’s employee, the other Carson?”

  “No. Now there’s an interesting case,” Hayes mused. “He actually blew up El Ladŕon with a couple of hand grenades down in Mexico. The Mexican government did take a brief interest in the case, but we have a DEA agent who’s related to the former president. He made a couple of calls for us and they dropped the inquiry.”

  Tank just shook his head. “This is one odd case.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “I understand that Carson doesn’t carry ID and can’t be found in a database anywhere,” Tank replied.

  “He’s an enigma. I owe him my life. So does my wife.” Hayes shook his head, too. “He has some unique skills. In fact, he just went on our honeymoon with us before he went to shepherd you down here. In a separate room,” he added with a chuckle. “He’s thick with Cash Grier, which leads to an assumption I probably shouldn’t make.”

  “That he works, or worked, for the government in covert assassination,” Tank said, nodding at Hayes’s surprise. “I happened to mention to him that I noticed his gait. It’s one I saw in spec ops people in Iraq. Men who hunt men walk that way.”

  Hayes nodded. “I know. If you ever see Cash Grier walk, it’s an experience. He’s still skilled with a sniper kit. In fact, a couple of years back, he took out a kidnapper who was holding a DEA agent’s child hostage. Did it from an astonishing distance, in the dark. Amazing.”

  “His wife was a movie star, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded. “They have a little girl, so he’s not so much into dangerous occupations as he was. They have Tippy’s younger brother living with them also. He’s just fourteen. He and Cash go fishing together and they game online. They’re best friends.”

  “Nice for him. For both of them.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said she sees things,” he began.

  “She has premonitions,” Hayes told him. “They’re uncanny. Saved Cash’s life a time or two.”

  “My...friend,” he said hesitantly, “sees the future, too. But she’s never certain exactly what she sees. Sometimes it’s clouded. Like the guy who’s stalking me. She saw him sitting in front of a mirror trying on wigs. We concluded that he’s good at disguise.”

  “That reminds me. I had Rick Marquez ask his father-in-law if he could check into that for us.”

  “His father-in-law?”

  Hayes nodded. He grinned. “Runs the CIA.”

  Tank whistled.

  “Anyway, he found a whole list of undercover agents from several agencies who have a reputation for their use of disguises. So I’m afraid it’s going to take a long time to narrow it down to even a handful.”

  “Another dead end,” Tank agreed. He sighed. “I could stand in the center of town and wait for him to come shoot me.”

  “From what we’ve been able to put together, he avoids crowds when he’s planning a hit.”

  “Which would explain why he didn’t just shoot me in the front yard of my own ranch when he came out to put in the surveillance devices,” Tank told him. “He did seem disconcerted that we had so many armed men just standing around.”

  “Good thing,” Hayes said. “I don’t think he’d have minded killing you face-to-face.”

  “Nor do I. But if it hadn’t been for Merissa, I wouldn’t have been expecting it.” He shook his head. “She didn’t even know me. She came walking up to the back door, in a blizzard because her car wouldn’t start, to tell me I had to be careful. She said it was because of something I didn’t remember.”

  Hayes frowned. “Was she more specific than that?”

  “Not really. It comes and goes with her. She said that I knew something that I wasn’t aware of knowing, and it posed a risk to the man.”

  “Nebulous.”

  “Yes. But even so, it probably saved my life.”

  “What do you remember about the man, the supposed DEA agent, who led you into the ambush in Arizona?” Hayes asked.

  Tank sighed. “I remember that he wore a suit. It’s still sort of hazy. He was medium height, nothing remarkable about his features. He was the sort of guy you wouldn’t even notice on the street.”

  Hayes was remembering. “Yes. The guy I remember was pretty much the same. But he had a marked Texas drawl.”

  “I think it was the same guy, after I was shot, who was giving a drug mule hell for calling 911 for me—he had red hair and a Massachusetts accent. But he was dressed the same.” He shook his head. “I thought I was hallucinating.”

  “Nice of the mule to call for help.”

  “Yes. Unexpected. I don’t even know who he was. I owe him my life. I hope they didn’t kill him for it.”

  “You never know. I’ve heard of whole villages wiped out just for revenge against one man who lived in it.”

  “So have I.”

  “My wife and I saved one man from El Ladŕon,” Hayes recalled. He laughed. “My wife held an AK-47 on him and never knew if it was even loaded—but she bluffs well. Anyway, he didn’t want to hold us hostage, but his bosses knew his family and threatened to kill them if he stepped out of line. Carson, who works for Cy Parks, got his family out of Mexico.”

  “So he does have at least one soft spot?”

  “Not sure about that,” Hayes said. “He doesn’t seem to care about much. Although, he does have something of a reputation with women.”

  “Deserved.” Tank chuckled. “I saw him in action at the airport. He draws them like flies to honey.”

  “Draws them, yes. But he’s not a sentimental man.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, either.”

  “How about your brothers?” Hayes asked. “This must be hard on them, too.”

  “They worry. My older brother Mallory has a new son.”

  Hayes smiled. “I like kids. My wife has a little brother and sister who live with us. They light up the place. We’re hoping to have one of our own.”

  “You said something about Cash Grier’s secretary having a photographic memory, and that she saw the rogue agent,” Tank said. “Any help there?”

  Hayes shook his head with a long sigh. “She had a police artist draw the man she remembered. But the nose was different, the hairline was different...” He grimaced. “The only thing familiar was the ears.”

  “Now ears are a pretty good identifier,” Tank replied. “You don’t usually try to disguise those, even if you use makeup or wigs.”

  “That’s true.” Hayes agreed. “Maybe we should issue a BOLO for a pair of ears.”

  “It’s not so far-fetched,” Tank assured him. “I’d really like to have a look at that sketch.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come down here. Just a sec.” Hayes picked up the phone and called Cash Grier. After a brief
conversation, he hung up. “He’s got a few free minutes. Let’s go over to his office and have a look at that sketch.”

  Tank smiled. “Now you’re talking.”

  * * *

  CASH’S SECRETARY, CARLIE Blair, had wavy dark hair and green eyes and a pert smile. She greeted Tank as if he’d been her neighbor all her life. She pulled the sketch out of a nearby filing cabinet and handed it to him.

  “That’s the best the artist could do,” she explained. “It’s not perfect. I think the nose was a little longer and thinner, and the chin had more of a square look.”

  “How about the ears?” Tank asked.

  She blinked. “The ears?” She looked at the sketch and slowly nodded. “Yes, he certainly got those right. I remember because he had sort of a notch in one, as if he’d been cut and it had healed but left a scar.”

  Tank’s jaw was clenched. “Yes,” he said. “I remember now. It was his left ear. And he wore an earring in it, a small gold circlet.”

  “Yes!” she agreed.

  “I remember the earring myself,” Hayes said. He frowned. “Odd, I’d forgotten that.” He scratched his head. “It was overshadowed by the shirt he was wearing. It was paisley, I think.”

  “I remember the shirt, too.” Tank laughed. “It must be a favorite piece of clothing, if he was still wearing it when you saw him.”

  Carlie was frowning. “It was gold paisley,” she recalled, closing her eyes so that she could focus better. “With beige and brown patterns.”

  “Yes,” Tank agreed. The memory came back along with the pain. He was looking at the shirt when the bullets hit.

  “Well, I’ve got a favorite shirt,” Carlie remarked. “I wear it at least twice a week. Of course, it’s not paisley. It’s a black T-shirt with a green alien face and it says, They’re Coming! under it.” She grinned.

  “She likes to wear it if we get visits from feds,” Cash Grier remarked as he joined them, glowering at his secretary. “She’s unconventional.”

  “But I can type, I have a pleasant phone personality and I can find anything you lose, Chief.” She grinned even more broadly.

  He shook his head. “Yes, and you can spell. It’s just that mouth...”

  “What do you mean?” Tank asked.

  Carlie looked past him and her face took on a sarcastic expression. “Well, look what walked in the door. I need to start a fire out back. Got any spare hand grenades on you?” she added.

  The newcomer was Carson, Tank’s shadow on the plane.

  He gave Carlie a glowering stare. “Something wrong with matches?” he asked. “Or don’t you know how to use them?” he added with a bland smile.

  “I can use a Glock,” she retorted. “Wanna see?”

  “She cannot use a Glock,” Cash Grier interjected. “The last time she tried, on the firing range, she hit two windshields and a tire, and the cars weren’t even parked on the range.”

  “It was a horrible accident,” Carlie defended herself.

  “Yes, it was. You picked up a gun.”

  “Your coffee will have salt tomorrow morning in place of sugar,” Carlie assured Cash.

  “If I fire you, your father will make me the subject of his next two sermons,” Cash said grimly. “But I’ll risk it.”

  “Sermons?” Carson asked, frowning.

  “Her father is a Methodist minister,” Cash explained.

  Carson’s expression was indescribable. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Carlie, who avoided him and went back to the drawing on her desk.

  “Don’t worry, religion isn’t contagious,” she told Carson without quite looking at him.

  “Thank goodness,” Carson drawled. He looked at Tank. “Did you recognize the face in the drawing?”

  “Not so much,” Tank replied. “But we’ve all agreed that the ears are the one thing we all remember about him.” He turned to Hayes. “You should talk to those two feds, Jon Blackhawk and Garon Grier...” He frowned and looked at Cash. “Grier?”

  “My brother,” Cash said. “He’s always been FBI. I worked with, shall we say, less structured government agencies.”

  “Covert,” Carson said with a mock cough.

  “Look who’s talking about covert,” Cash said pointedly.

  “Takes one to know one,” Carson shot right back. But he grinned. So did Cash.

  “I’ve already talked to Blackhawk and Cash’s brother,” Hayes told Tank. “Which reminds me, they wanted me to tell you that they can’t set up that hypnotist they wanted you to see. He had a family emergency and is out of town. Maybe another time.”

  “Another time,” Tank agreed, secretly relieved.

  “It turns out that he—” Cash indicated Carson “—worked with an associate of mine from Brooklyn, New York.”

  “Should we ask what sort of work?” Hayes mused.

  “It would be safer not to,” Cash told him.

  Tank shook his head. “I’ve never been in a place where so many people were ex-feds.”

  “Or ex-mercs,” Cash added. “We’ve cornered the market on them.”

  “It’s a good place to retire, or that’s what Cy Parks always says.” Hayes chuckled.

  “He’s a nice fellow,” Tank remarked. “I was perfectly happy to stay in a hotel, but he insisted.”

  “He knows you’re in the market for a new bull,” Cash said with a big grin.

  “Well, I am, actually,” Tank had to agree.

  He went back to Carlie’s desk and took another look at the man. “He really is a chameleon,” he remarked. “But why is he so worried about what we might remember? I couldn’t pick him out on the street. Well, maybe that scarred ear would give him away, but there’s nothing else really memorable about him.”

  “Maybe it’s something that doesn’t readily show,” Carson remarked, joining him. “Or maybe he’s just paranoid.”

  Hayes shook his head. “He killed a computer tech who tried to restore his image on my computer.”

  Carson’s black eyes narrowed. “Yes. He was a friend of mine,” he said tautly. “Sweet kid. Never hurt a fly. Knew everything about computers.” His face set in hard lines. “I’d like to meet the man who popped a cap on him.”

  “He feeds people to crocodiles,” Cash said in a mock whisper, jerking his head toward Carson.

  Carson glared at him. “It was hungry. Poor old thing hadn’t been fed in days.”

  “So it was an act of charity. I see,” Hayes mused.

  Carson shrugged. His expression went even tauter. “The man tortured Rourke’s friend, a female photojournalist covering the assault on Barrera. She’ll carry the scars for the rest of her life.”

  “I don’t doubt that Rourke helped you feed the croc,” Cash replied.

  Carson’s black eyes met his. “Sometimes you do what feels right, even if it’s not quite legal.”

  “Well, it wasn’t in my jurisdiction, so I’m not concerned,” Cash told him. He wagged a finger at him. “But you feed anybody to a crocodile in my town, you’re looking at life behind bars.”

  “No problem,” Carson said. “I like whiskey.”

  “Life...behind...bars. Whiskey.” Tank burst out laughing. It was a play on words that almost got by him.

  Carson actually grinned.

  “And it would be nice if you stopped wearing that damned knife in public,” Cash told the younger man, indicating the huge Bowie knife strapped to his hip. “It makes people nervous.”

  “Makes her nervous, you mean,” Carson replied, jerking his head toward Carlie.

  “I don’t like knives,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Men with guns walk around in here all the time, you don’t mind them,” Carson retorted.

  “I’ve never seen a gunshot wound. I have seen
the result of a knife fight.” She gave him a long look. “I had nightmares...”

  He frowned. “When was this?”

  She averted her eyes. “My father was attacked a few months ago by a man with a knife. We don’t know why. He was lucky, because it went in just at the waist and didn’t even nick a vital organ.”

  “Who would attack a minister?” Hayes asked, shocked.

  “We don’t know,” Carlie replied sadly. “Just some crazy guy, we think. Sometimes, I think the whole world’s gone mad.”

  “It does seem so, from time to time,” Tank had to agree. “Did they catch the man?”

  “Not yet,” Cash answered for her. “But we’re still looking.”

  “I don’t like knives,” Carlie reiterated, glaring up at Carson. “Especially that sort.” She indicated the Bowie. “It’s scary.”

  “I’ll start wearing a suit so I can conceal it from you,” Carson promised dryly.

  “Why would you carry something that big?” Hayes wondered.

  “Snakes,” Carson said, deadpan.

  “Good luck going after a sidewinder with a knife,” Tank told him. “You’d get bitten before you could reach him with it.”

  “Not if it was thrown,” Carson returned. He looked so confident that the others just shrugged and let the subject go.

  “Do you remember anything else about the man?” Tank asked Carlie as he studied the sketch. “Anything you didn’t tell the police artist?”

  She was thinking, hard. “I’m not sure. That’s basically what he looked like,” she added, nodding at the portrait. “He was very friendly. Personable. I remember he talked to me about sharks.”

  “Sharks?” Tank probed.

  “He said that they were misunderstood, that people just assumed they were dangerous. But that they really weren’t. It was just when they were hungry, they killed.”