Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  “No, not Denver. The Tijuana task force. If the DEA knew you had killed the drug lord’s son and he was after you, why didn’t they warn you?”

  “A hell of a good question.” He raised his hands as if in surrender. “You want to hear the answer? Last week after an informant told them, the special agent in charge decided to send agents to trap El Águila’s killer when he came for me.”

  “But they didn’t tell you about this great plan.”

  “Bull’s-eye. I’m now out of the loop, a civilian.”

  “And these are the guys you intend to trust with our lives—and Bobby’s?” Wrapping her arms around him, she shivered. She didn’t need much reflection to decide who she’d trust with her life.

  He was right here.

  *****

  When Espie and Bronc arrived an hour later in a two-truck procession, the mystery of Bronc’s disappearance was solved. He’d spent the night with Espie. Holt didn’t seem surprised, but the older couple’s blooming romance left Maddy speechless.

  Agog, she spread her arms for Bobby, who came to her with squealing giggles. She cuddled him and nuzzled his softness, breathed in his baby scent. After last night’s events, she needed to embrace innocence.

  Espie shrugged off her surprise. “My boys had an overnight with the basketball team,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  Bronc stuttered an apology when Holt told him about the break-in and the cause of the fire, but Holt brushed it away. “You might have been killed if you’d tried to stop them.”

  While they checked out the soggy ruin in the brilliant spring sunshine, Holt and Maddy disclosed everything—their reasons for eloping, the killing in Tijuana, their conclusions about the killer’s identity and motives.

  “When I was in the DEA’s Boston office,” Holt explained in conclusion, “we broke up one of El Águila’s smuggling operations in the Northeast. In the middle of that, we got word about his hiding out in Tijuana.”

  “Why’d they send you all that way?” Bronc kicked at clumps of sodden, burnt straw.

  “Since I spoke passable Spanish and knew something of his operation, they sent me to join the task force.”

  “How did this gangster find you?” Espie asked.

  “What happened to that Mexican feller’s body?” Bronc demanded.

  A barrage of questions ensued that made Maddy feel like a politician on Meet the Press. She and Holt answered the ones they could and said they hoped for answers soon for the rest. Finally the older couple seemed satisfied.

  “If you can nail this gangster, it will shut down his dirty business,” Espie declared.

  Maddy jiggled Bobby. He happily gummed his fist.

  Holt shook his head. “Until the next petty drug emperor takes over. The drug and arms smuggling trade is like the mythical Hydra. Every time we lop off a head, a new one grows.”

  Bronc gestured toward the corral, where the three horses were peacefully soaking up the sunshine. “Horses don’t look too stove up from the fire.”

  “Holt got them out quickly.” Maddy regarded Holt’s harsh expression, the way his jaw worked. He stared toward the meadow beyond the corral, but from his expression, he didn’t see the green.

  Espie clucked at the baby’s yawns and whisked him inside for a nap. Bronc headed to the barn to begin his day’s chores.

  Maddy remained beside Holt at the corral. “Something else is eating at you. That note, does it mean El Águila is here?”

  He hooked a boot heel on the lower fence rail. “The way it was folded, it looks like he could’ve mailed it to his man here.”

  “So we still don’t know who we’re up against.”

  He removed his hat and turned it around a few times in his hands. “Here’s how I think it went down. That drifter Riggs was the shooter who killed Rob and Sara. His disappearance the day after the crash can’t be coincidence. Nobody new has signed on at any of the valley ranches. Strangers would stand out like saguaro cactus. Whoever is in El Águila’s pay now has to be local.”

  Their stalker might be a man they knew? She shivered. “But that’s not what’s bothering you.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and resettled his hat. His hard features turned cool and analytical. “This sort of revenge intrigue is unusual. Damned strange.”

  “Because El Águila involved himself personally by sending that note?”

  “That and why a powerful Mexican cartel lord would go to the trouble to concoct such an intricate plot.”

  “I see what you mean. It’s more subtle than you’d expect from guys who blow up judges and whole police departments for no reason at all.” The freshening breeze sneaked down her collar, and she tugged it tighter.

  His gaze, hard and assessing, narrowed. “It’s as if he’s lost his edge and doesn’t command his usual army of thugs.”

  Chapter 20

  Later while the men worked clearing away the barn rubble, Maddy and Espie straightened the house under Bobby’s alert gaze. Insisting that the first room they complete be the master bedroom, Espie carted Holt’s clothing from his old room and stowed it in the highboy. Later they dragged in the dark green plaid sofa and chairs Sara had replaced. A few worn spots marred the wood-frame furniture but the older set was more suitable to the ranch house than the ruined ones.

  The check Maddy’d awaited arrived in the morning mail along with a check from the sale of her dead Rover, and she saw no reason to wait to spend some money. As she stood staring at the check, she speculated on Holt’s attitude. Would he return to his hands-off stance? Or would his eyes smolder with desire, and would he take her in his arms? The mere thought of the heat between them last night had the power to melt her insides.

  He had given her his body and some small measure of affection and comfort, but she couldn’t expect to win his love or trust. He held himself separate from everyone but Bobby, retaining his wariness and distrust as armor.

  No matter the outcome, whatever the DEA accomplished, she had to leave for her calendar gig at the beginning of June. In the meantime, she meant to squeeze out every moment of happiness she could. The footloose life was what she knew best, what she wanted. Wasn’t it? Was June coming too soon...or not soon enough? She huffed a bitter laugh.

  She sought Holt outside the barn, where he was filling the back of the truck with debris. The stench of wet soot accented the breeze.

  He nodded toward stacks of black asphalt shingles on the ground beside a tool shed. “If the barn hadn’t burned to the ground, yesterday’s rain would’ve soaked the horses through the leaky roof,” he said, his expression rueful. “Now I can use these shingles on a new roof.”

  The barn roof was another example of Rob’s neglect. Wiser not to comment. “Could I use the Silverado to drive to Fort Adams? Now that I have funds, I need to buy wheels. And I’m supposed to pick up the enlarged crime-scene shots.”

  Slowly he raised his head, his eyes a wintry blue. He pinned her with a narrowed gaze so full of cold fury that she retreated a step.

  She wasn’t afraid of him, but she should have known what he’d think. She straightened her shoulders and glared right back. “I’m not going to steal your truck and hit the road, Holt Donovan. I promised to stay, didn’t I?”

  “That’s reassuring. Thank you very much.” He rubbed the back of his neck and drew a deep breath, control on his temper clearly tenuous. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “El Águila’s hired killer would be grateful for such a nice fat target.”

  Maddy blinked at him, nonplussed. He was worried not that she might flee but for her safety. For years she’d looked out for herself. The awareness that Holt would shield her fluttered her stomach. Knowing his sense of loyalty and honor, she shouldn’t wonder that he’d include her in his protective circle. If not in his heart.

  He hesitated, hope and apprehension chasing across his taut features. “The DEA team of special agents won’t set up shop here today, so you’re stuck with me. I can’t go. This mess has to be cleared
and ready to start the new framing.”

  “I’ll stay on the main roads. I’ll be careful.”

  “No, you’ll be escorted.” Shaking his head, he marched to the shed door. “Bronc, you finished stowing the grain?”

  The hired man appeared in the opening. “All set. Want some help hauling the debris?” His weathered face wreathed in wrinkles, he looked dubious.

  “I can handle it. How’d you like to ride shotgun for Maddy? You can order the lumber we need for the new barn.”

  Bronc’s eyes twinkled at the prospect, and it was settled. They made the drive to Ponderosa Photo Lab in Bronc’s red Dodge truck, with Maddy sitting on the floor until they put several miles between them and the ranch.

  After a stop at a bank, she found a second-hand black Range Rover one year newer than the other. While the dealer prepared the paperwork, she picked up the eight-by-ten enlargements of the crime scene. Holt’s friend at the lab blushed from his neck to his hair line when she gushed about the quality of his work. She and Bronc returned in time for her to feed Bobby and tuck him in for a nap before Espie left in the late afternoon.

  At suppertime, when she spied Holt striding toward the house, she scrubbed clammy palms on her jeans and geared up for which man came through the door—protective Holt or lover Holt.

  *****

  Holt rolled his shoulders after a long afternoon of physical labor. Clouds roiled in a gigantic pillow fight over the surrounding peaks, but forecasters predicted no more rain. Temperatures rising into the sixties had alleviated some of the discomfort inherent in the demolition job, but he’d rather climb on a horse any day.

  Or on Maddy.

  For the forty-seventh time that day, the image of her naked and warm and soft in his bed branded his brain and sizzled his loins. He’d been an idiot for believing one passionate night could satisfy his craving for her. His desire for her smoothed the pretense that their marriage was real, but it confused the issues. It jammed up his concentration. It distracted him from his real objectives.

  He was right to begin with. Sex complicated the situation too much.

  He’d do better to rein in his libido and back off from her—at least in private. His priorities ought to be catching El Águila and his hired killers and keeping his nephew and the ranch, not sating himself on a female who was leaving soon. Now that she had her own transportation, he trusted her even less to stay.

  Even if she did need his protection at present. Even if kissing her was the tart sweetness of an apple, and holding her was the first warmth of summer. Even if making love to her was soul-deep, mind-blowing sorcery—

  Damn! Sex had never before made him poetic. That wasn’t him. Another reason to keep his hands off her.

  He cleaned up before entering, and once inside the kitchen, sensed her presence in the room. He hung his jacket on a hook and turned to find her at the stove. She wore jeans and her customary souvenir shirt, without a bra like last night. His loins tightened at the faint shadow of her nipples through the cotton fabric. He dragged his gaze up to her amused face.

  She was stirring something in a big pot on the stove. Maybe the scent that teased his nose wasn’t pheromones after all. “What delicacy has Espie left for us tonight?”

  “I’m your chef for this evening, I’ll have you know.” She cocked a hip and winked as she tasted broth from a teaspoon. She licked away the dab of sauce remaining on her lower lip. “Thought it might make me appear more wifely.”

  The sight of her moist tongue seized him by the crotch. He nearly bolted over and grabbed her, but he forced himself to remain rooted by the door. The stiffness in his jaw radiated downward. He rubbed his nape. “Wifely. Maddy, don’t—”

  “Donovan, don’t you even say it.” She shook her wooden stirring spoon at him like a mother shaking her finger. “I’m not presuming anything. I know good and well this is for show. Oh, it’s fine for you to wave the marriage license when it suits you—like last night.”

  “Ouch.” She was right. He’d sure as hell used the marriage bit to lure her into bed. Before he got himself in deep enough to need a shovel, he’d better change the subject. “So Maddy McCoy cooks. Did you buy Hamburger Helper with the grocery money I gave you?”

  She snorted her disdain. “That’s Maddy Donovan to you, Mister Donovan.” The spoon plunged into the Dutch oven. “I don’t cook much, but I do have a few specialties. This is a Turkish lamb stew my friend Karen makes. I found the lamb in your freezer, and Bronc picked up the rest of the ingredients while he waited for me.” She gave him a sassy smile and held out a brimming teaspoon. “Want a taste?”

  The aromas wafting to him, redolent with garlic and oregano, had him salivating. It was Maddy’s tempting mouth he wanted to taste at the moment, but stew was safer. He stepped closer and started to take the spoon. The broth might not be too hot for his mouth, but the brush of her finger singed him.

  “Ah, ah, ah, might spill.” Not relinquishing the spoon, she grinned wickedly.

  First cooking for him, now feeding him. The woman was trying to seduce him. That insight only intensified his desire. He slurped up the smidgeon of stew fast enough to nick a tooth. He shied away like a Pinto pony from a cougar.

  “Too hot?” Her voice was sweet and smoky, sliding down his spine smooth as honey and whiskey.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth to check for chips. All whole. “Delicious.” It was, hearty and flavorful with lamb and onions.

  Still grinning, she wagged her head. “Look around. Espie and I made a few changes.” She spread her arms in demonstration. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Some trained investigator. Until now he hadn’t noticed the china cabinet had been moved to the wall backing on the living room. And in its former location was the old wood cook stove that had ruled there for as long as he could remember. Until Sara redecorated.

  Maddy darted to the old stove. “When Espie and I moved in the original living room furniture, I thought this ought to come back in the house too.” She gazed at him, her smile faltering. Unease crimped the corners of her violet eyes.

  Shaking his head, he crossed to her. “How could you think I wouldn’t approve?” He ran a palm over the cool iron surface of the old griddle top. “The kitchen didn’t seem right without it. Now the stove is home again.”

  “It’s not ready to use, of course,” she rattled on. “It needs new stove pipe, and the flue has to be cleaned, and—”

  He pressed two fingers to her mouth and left them there, enjoying the soft resilience of her lips, the perfume of her breath. “All in good time. Relax.”

  He couldn’t help but glide his fingers over her glowing cheeks, across the impossible softness of her temple. Of their own volition, his fingers trailed upward to soothe the worry lines from her brow. Wisps of hair curled around her face. The scent of shampoo mingled with her own to cloud his senses and make him forget everything but silken skin and her sigh as her eyelashes drifted lower.

  Damn, he had to stop or he’d thrust into her right now. He plucked back his hand and edged around the stove.

  Straining for control, he peered closely at the stove’s rear opening. “Easy enough to attach new stove pipe and clean the flue. This baby’ll come in handy when a winter storm knocks out the power. Generator’s had it.”

  Eyeing him with cool appraisal and a trace of hurt at his withdrawal, she folded her arms. “Rob again?”

  He shrugged. “The old stove hasn’t gotten much use in many years. Dad kept it blacked and polished. Used it to make griddle cakes on Sundays.”

  “Your dad did the maintenance, not Bonnie,” she observed. “I remember Espie did most of the cleaning then too. Seems like Rob inherited the neglect gene from your mother.”

  He began to see just how much alike Rob and their mother were. “Got his temper from her too. I recall some shouting matches. Miracle she stuck around long as she did.”

  “And you keep beating yourself up for not reconciling with her.” Maddy returned to the el
ectric range. After covering the pot, she set the burner on simmer.

  “I never once heard her apologize. Dad was always the peacemaker, the one to make up.” He parked a hip on the old woodstove and worked his jaw.

  “And when she left the family behind, you were a boy. She was the adult. It’s her loss, not your fault.”

  Hot damn, she was beautiful with her dander up. Full of fire and quivering with passion, defending him, of all things. “I didn’t tell you before. I telephoned her. About Rob.”

  “Ha. So you did make the first move. And?”

  “She came to the funeral. We talked for a few minutes.” He didn’t know if he wanted to see her again or not. It had been so long. They were strangers.

  “So it’s up to her to keep communication open.” Cheeks pink with indignation, she stalked closer, brandishing the spoon.

  “If that was a sword, I shudder to think what you’d do if one of our bad guys walked through that door. Thanks.”

  Flushing even deeper, she bowed. “You’re entirely welcome, sir.” Then she planted her feet in the classic fencing stance and circled her spoon cum rapier. “Just let that El Águila walk in here. En garde, you scum of the earth.”

  Giving up his fight, Holt captured the spoon and yanked her between his thighs. “Come here, warrior princess.”

  The pressure of Maddy’s flat belly against the straining bulge in Holt’s jeans assuaged his pain only momentarily. The hell with it. He had to hold her, to feel her against him, to sheathe himself in her. “Maddy.”

  He slid his hand around to cup the back of her head and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her flush against him. He felt her trembling with the same urgency that shafted through him. “Wanting you has tormented me all day. Tell me now if I should stop.” Every muscle tensed, rigid and edgy.

  “No, don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t?” He was so hard he might explode if he didn’t get inside her, and she wanted him to stop?

  “Don’t stop. I want you too.” She clung to him, nipping his neck, laving it with her hot little tongue.