“What an odd thing to say,” Hayes remarked.
“I thought so, too,” Carlie agreed. “He said that he liked to swim with them in the Caribbean, in the Bahamas.”
“Now that might be interesting,” Hayes said.
She laughed softly. “I’d forgotten, until just now.” She glared at Carson. “He reminds me of a shark. That’s why I thought of it.”
Carson’s eyebrows arched. “A shark? Me?”
“Dark and lithe and stealthy and dangerous,” she returned. “Attacks when you least expect it, from cover.”
“An apt description. Not of you,” Tank told Carson with a grin. “But it would fit the perpetrator.” His expression became grim. “He led me into an ambush that almost cost me my life. And he did it so easily, with such finesse, that I never suspected a thing. She’s right about his personality,” he added, alluding to Carlie. “He put me at ease the minute he walked into my office. He seemed just like one of the guys.”
“I got that impression, too,” Hayes said. “He put himself right in the middle of a drug bust.” He frowned. “Something else I remember, I had two armed deputies with me. They came up unexpectedly when they heard the call go out over the radio about a traffic stop involving narcotics.” He looked at Tank. “He was shocked to see them. That was just before the other feds showed up.”
“He might have been planning the same thing for you that he did for me,” Tank suggested.
“Yes, but there was no reason for him to want me dead.” Hayes tried to make sense of it. “He was in on the arrest. He went to my office with me and waited while I filed the report on my computer, along with a photo my deputy took at the scene of the arrest and one of all of us with the drug haul and the confiscated gold-plated weapons. I wasn’t the only law enforcement officer at the bust.”
“I don’t think he meant to kill you. Not then, anyway,” Carson interjected with narrowed eyes. He perched himself on the edge of Carlie’s desk, to her obvious dislike. “I think it was something that happened after both shootouts. Something connected, but apart from them.”
“He was obviously in with the drug cartel,” Hayes replied. He nodded slowly. “He was trying to protect his people from arrest. He failed in my case, but not in yours,” he told Tank.
“Yes, but he has no reason to come after me now,” Tank said slowly. “I haven’t even spoken about the case since I gave my last report, just before I resigned from the job.”
Cash Grier leaned against the wall, arms crossed, deep in thought. “Attempted assassination,” he said, nodding toward Hayes. “Kidnapping, for no apparent reason.” He glanced at Tank. “Armed assault, followed much later by stalking and surveillance. He’s after something that happened as a result of both shootings. Maybe not the shootings themselves at all.”
“What?” Hayes asked.
Cash shook his head. “I don’t know. But there is a feverish political race going on right now for a congressional seat vacated by the unexpected death of our senior Texas U.S. senator. There’s a special election coming, although someone will be appointed to fill out the rest of his term, which ends this year. There are rumors that the leading candidate has ties to the cartel over the border, and that at least one rival candidate has been blackmailed to quit the race.”
“I had heard about that,” Tank said. “You think there may be a connection?”
“There just may be,” Hayes said. “Especially if the man we remember could be part of the drug cartel.”
“We know he is,” Cash replied. “The problem would be proving his connection. If he’s close to the candidate, that might be enough incentive for him to get rid of any witnesses. Also, he was a rogue DEA agent, a mole. I’m sure he was passing sensitive information to his cronies.”
“Maybe somebody found him out,” Tank guessed.
“Yes,” Cash replied. “But who he is—that might be the heart of the problem. If we find out his identity, and it can link him to the cartel and the candidate for the Senate...”
“That would be a motive for murder,” Hayes agreed. “A very good one.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I HAVE A strange feeling that all this is somehow connected to that special election in the Senate race,” Cash said with narrowed eyes.
“So do I,” Carlie piped in.
Carson gave her a mocking look. “Now you’re psychic?” he drawled.
She smiled blithely. “If I was, you’d be wearing the hilt of that big knife in your mouth,” she said sweetly.
He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a look that made her blush. Her antagonism hit him on the raw and he retaliated. “Sorry,” he said. “But if that’s flirting, it won’t work. I like my women—” he gave her a cool stare “—prettier, and more physically perfect.”
Carlie’s face fell like a rock, although she didn’t lower her gaze. She gave him a belligerent stare.
“That was uncalled for,” Cash Grier said coldly to Carson. “Apologize. Right now.”
Carson seemed to realize that he’d stepped over a line. “Sorry,” he told Carlie with a face like stone. “He’s right. It was uncalled for.”
Carlie averted her eyes. She was painfully aware of her lack of attractions. Her sense of morality wouldn’t let her play around with men, and she had less than visible assets, physically. She was more sensitive about her body than most women, for reasons she wasn’t sharing in a public venue. It shouldn’t have bothered her that Mr. Womanizer there didn’t like her. She should be grateful not to be a target. Still, it stung to have her deficiencies pointed out in public. Especially in front of men. She mumbled something and excused herself to go make coffee.
“Dammit!” Cash snapped at Carson with blazing dark eyes. Tank saw immediately the danger in the man that was carefully concealed most of the time behind a pleasant personality. The anger seemed oddly out of proportion to what Carson had said. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded.
Carson shifted restlessly. “Wasn’t thinking,” he said through clenched teeth. It was a rebuke he wouldn’t have taken from any other man. But he respected Grier.
“Obviously,” Cash replied tersely. His eyes narrowed. “There are a lot of things you don’t know. Snipe at her again and you’ll deal with me. Understood?”
Carson jerked his head up and down, once.
“When is the special election?” Tank asked, to break the tension.
“In the spring,” Hayes remarked.
“That does give us a little time to investigate,” Cash said, apparently over his anger. “But not a lot.”
“I’d wiretap every damned Texas DEA agent’s phone,” Carson interjected with cold eyes.
“Great idea,” Cash said. “You go find us a judge to sign the warrant.”
Carson sighed. “Okay. I get the point.”
“Besides that, we don’t know if he’s still with the agency in some satellite office somewhere,” Hayes added. “There’s a good turnover in every agency these days because of funding. Maybe he even quit the agency once he realized we had a photo of him on our computer.”
“There has to be some way we can trap this chameleon,” Tank said curtly. “Listen, we know he’s targeting me, even though we don’t know why. We know he’s targeting you, too.” He indicated Hayes. “But you have powerful connections. Maybe he’s not willing to tangle with your new father-in-law. But I’m on my own. I don’t have a network behind me.”
“You do now,” Cash said.
“Indeed,” Hayes agreed.
“Thanks,” Tank said, smiling.
“You’re also forgetting that the late El Ladŕon’s men hired your father-in-law’s temporary employee to kill you,” Carson told Hayes. “If they’re plotting anything, he’ll be the first to know.”
“Assuming they haven’t rumble
d him,” Cash told him. “Never underestimate an organized network of criminals.”
“Good advice,” Hayes seconded.
“But the point is, regardless of by whom,” Tank interjected, “I’m being actively targeted. Rourke’s got my back. But it wouldn’t hurt to bring in a little help. Do we know somebody in the FBI or Eb Scott’s group who has some free time and would like to hire on as a cowboy in Wyoming?”
There were amused glances between the other men.
“I can ride a horse,” Carson said surprisingly.
“You’d need to talk to Cy Parks about that,” Hayes remarked.
“Like Mr. Parks would miss him,” Carlie said under her breath, and she didn’t look at Carson when she spoke. “Coffee’s up,” she added as she sat down at her desk.
“Why don’t you go?” Carson shot at her, embarrassed by his former outburst and angry that she’d made him look like an idiot in front of the other men. “You seem to know how to do everything. Can you ride a horse?” he added sarcastically.
She glared at him. “Yes, I can,” she said. “And use a lasso and even shoot a gun if I have to.”
“No more talk of shooting guns, please,” Cash groaned. “First you have to learn how, especially after the last fiasco at the firing range.”
She glared at him, too. “I could learn if somebody would teach me!”
“Don’t look at me,” Carson drawled with pure venom. “I’m not teaching you anything.”
“Mr. Carson...or whatever your last name actually is...I was not speaking to you,” she said icily.
“You couldn’t pronounce my last name,” he returned, dripping even more venom. “It’s Lakota.”
She flushed and averted her eyes.
He saw that, frowning. Why should his heritage provoke such a reaction?
“Lakota?” Tank asked softly.
Carson nodded. “I grew up on a reservation in Kyle, South Dakota,” he said.
“No wonder you’re so good at tracking,” Hayes remarked.
Carson glared at him.
Hayes held up both hands. “I’m not stereotyping. I mean, growing up in relatively rural places, like Jacobsville, or rural South Dakota, people learn to use their senses more, and most rural men hunt and track.”
“I see.” Carson relaxed a little.
“Touchy,” Cash Grier remarked with narrowed eyes.
“You don’t know me,” Carson replied quietly. “Or you’d understand why.” He turned to Tank. “You can hire me on for a few weeks. I’ll do some checking, make some inquiries. In your part of Wyoming, I won’t even raise eyebrows much. There are communities with native people all over the place.”
“Not so many as you might think,” Tank began.
Carson smiled. “That’s because you don’t know where they are. I do. I have Cheyenne cousins.”
“In that case, I’d love to give you your very own horse and a new rope.” Tank chuckled.
“A new one? Gee, thanks,” Carson said sarcastically.
“You can stretch it between a tree and the rear bumper of a truck and it’ll work really nicely,” Tank assured him.
All the men laughed.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Parks about it tonight,” Carson assured Tank. “But I don’t think he’ll mind. He has plenty of other employees to look after things. And it’s Christmas in three days. He can call it a holiday vacation.”
“I’d better get back there, it’s late,” Tank said, glancing at his watch.
“I’ll drive you,” Hayes said.
“We’ll talk again,” Cash said, shaking hands. They wished each other a Merry Christmas. Cash smiled and went back into his office. Tank and Hayes said their goodbyes to Carlie and walked out.
That left an embarrassed, heartsick Carlie at her desk alone with a ravenous wolf.
Carson stood over the desk looking down his straight nose at her. “Well done,” he said coldly. “I felt like a slab of meat on a grill.”
She looked up at him without her usual tartness. Her eyes showed the wound. “Don’t you have something earthshaking to do elsewhere?” she asked in a subdued tone and pulled out a file from her lower drawer. It humiliated her that her hands were shaking.
He saw that and felt even smaller. He hated her. It was so odd; he didn’t usually dislike women, even plain ones. But she antagonized him. She confused him, unsettled him. He didn’t like having his calm shattered. Besides that, she looked a little like Jessie...
His face closed up. His black eyes narrowed, stabbing at her.
“Do you mind?” she gritted. “I have work to do.”
“You could always call the chief out to protect you,” he drawled.
She looked up at him with quiet pride. “I can defend myself, thanks.”
He had sharp eyes. He was used to dealing with hazardous situations, with dangerous people. He saw more than most people did. His eyes strayed to her shoulder, where the T-shirt was a little tight, just over the fleshy part of her arm. Odd, the way the shirt fit. There was a wrinkle, as if the flesh underneath wasn’t quite smooth...
She put her hand over her shoulder defensively. “Was there something else you wanted?” she asked harshly.
His eyebrows arched. “No. There’s nothing here that I want, or ever will.” He even smiled. He turned and walked out the door.
Carlie shivered. She’d seen where his eyes were. She rubbed the scar self-consciously. She’d really have to go back to button-up shirts. Or make sure her T-shirts and sweaters were big enough not to draw attention to certain things.
She turned on the computer and focused on the task at hand.
* * *
TANK WAS ON his way back to Wyoming the next morning. He didn’t like being away from the ranch. More specifically, he didn’t like being away from Merissa. He’d missed her like crazy. He couldn’t wait to get home, to see her, to touch her, to kiss her...
Across the aisle, Carson had yet another admirer, a blonde flight attendant with a smile so big that it seemed to go from ear to ear. He really did know how to lure women. But it was a shame he’d been so cruel to Cash Grier’s little secretary. She might not be pretty, but she had a livewire personality and a good sense of humor, and she seemed to be a person of faith; that alone was rare in this jaded world. He wondered why Carson was so antagonistic toward her. So he liked pretty women. That was no excuse to make cruel comments about a woman who wasn’t.
Carson was an odd duck. He never seemed to fit in anywhere. He was a maverick who hated authority. But it had amused Tank to see how much he respected Cash Grier. One word from the police chief and Carson had shut up immediately.
The men had something in common, probably a covert background that gave them a point of reference as well as a mutual respect. It had occurred to Tank that Carson didn’t seem to mind leaving Texas for a while, either. He wondered if it had anything to do with Cash’s secretary.
* * *
ROURKE MET THEM at the airport. His blond eyebrows met above the black eye patch over one eye, and the brown eye twinkled.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” he asked Carson as he shook hands with Tank.
“Hunting.” Carson grinned.
Rourke chuckled. “Welcome, then. I could use the help.”
“He’s my latest hire,” Tank said meaningfully. “I have a lot to tell you.”
“Let’s go back to the ranch. I have a few things to tell you, too,” Rourke said, and that wasn’t a pleasant tone in his voice.
* * *
“WHAT’S UP?” TANK asked when they were in the double-cabbed ranch pickup on the way to the ranch.
“It’s Merissa Baker,” Rourke said.
“What the hell...!” Tank burst out. “Is she hurt? Is she all right?”
“No,” Rourke said.
“Then what...!”
Rourke pulled the truck over into a convenience store parking lot and turned to Tank. “Some things have happened since you’ve been away. Clara’s ex-husband showed up at their cabin. He claims that it’s his and he has the papers to prove it.”
“Does he?” Tank asked coldly.
“It’s up to her to prove he isn’t the owner,” Rourke said. “And somehow a whole file of her important papers went missing.”
“I thought he’d been gone for years,” Tank said. “Why would he come back now?”
“That’s a very good question” was the reply. “I don’t know. He moved into the house with them. Clara’s terrified of him. Merissa is trying to stay out of his way. I went over to check on her and he literally blocked the door and refused to let me speak to her.”
“Head that way,” Tank instructed. His expression and tone of voice was harder than Rourke had ever heard from Tank.
“Now that’s amazing,” Rourke said as he pulled back onto the highway. “You know, that was exactly what I was going to advise.”
“You packing?” Tank asked him.
“Always,” Rourke replied.
“So am I,” Carson said from the cramped backseat.
“Bowie knives don’t count,” Rourke jibed.
“They do if you know how to use one,” Carson said haughtily.
The two men in front laughed, but there was no real amusement. Tank was worried. He knew what the man had done to the women in his family, and it disturbed him that they were at his mercy. Well, that was something he was about to fix. Right now.
* * *
THE TRUCK PULLED up at the front of the house and the three men got out. As they approached the house, a tall, powerfully built man with thinning black hair and a mean expression came out to meet them.
“I came to see Merissa,” Tank said pleasantly.
“I’m afraid she’s not available,” the man said with an arrogant look.
Tank went right up to him. “You don’t know me,” he told the man with a cold smile. “My name is Dalton Kirk. My brothers and I own the Rancho Real. We have a whole damned team of corporate attorneys with a little time on their hands. If I don’t get in that house, right now, I’ll have my private investigator do some digging. You say you own the place, right? Prove it!”
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