by Diana Palmer
“One of them seems to be feeding money to his campaign, hoping for better access across the border with his election,” Blackhawk said solemnly. “It’s an ugly business. And we also have reason to believe that the rogue agent has a background in assassination.”
“This just gets better and better,” Tank said, shaking his head.
“What can you tell us?” Grier asked.
“For one thing, your rogue fed posed as a surveillance firm installer and bugged my damned house,” Tank said.
Grier looked around worriedly.
“No worries” came a good-natured voice from the doorway. “I fried them. The chap’s good, but he leaves a lot of nasty footprints!”
Blackhawk glared at him. “Rourke. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Working,” Rourke said with a grin. “You boys are a long way from home.”
“You know Rourke?” Tank asked the men.
“Yes,” they said in unison, and not in a happy tone.
“Now, now.” Rourke chuckled. “I don’t step on your toes. At least, not much.” He sobered. “This chap is quite good. He’s efficient and he has all the aspects of a chameleon. If he has a background in assassination, Cy Parks has a man working for him who might know something about him.”
“Carson.”
“The sheriff?” Tank asked.
Blackhawk shook his head. “Not the same Carson. This one is Lakota.” He made a face. “We have a mutual cousin.”
“He’s Native American?” Tank asked.
Grier nodded. “Damned good at his job. He was employed by the government at one point. But he didn’t fit comfortably in a conventional unit, so they transferred him to spec ops. He worked with us on one job.” He shook his head. “Scary fellow.”
“Bad attitude,” Blackhawk agreed. “Most snipers miss occasionally. This guy—never.”
“We’ll talk to him when we get back home,” Blackhawk said. He cocked his head at Rourke. “I thought you were bogged down in that job in South Africa.”
“I made enemies,” Rourke said shortly, and he didn’t smile. “I hate damned politicians. They’re arming eight-year-old kids and sending them out with automatic weapons, too doped up to care what they shoot.”
“Run for public office and put a stop to it,” Grier suggested.
Rourke made a sound deep in his throat. “Not in that country. All I want for Christmas is to see the rebel leader hung by his entrails.”
“Bloodthirsty,” Blackhawk muttered.
“Not if you saw what he did to a village near the capital,” Rourke replied.
“How do you know Kirk here?” Grier asked him.
“I was on special assignment back in the day when Tank was serving in Iraq.”
“Tank?”
Tank grinned. “I killed one. They stuck me with the nickname and I’ve had it ever since. I came out of the army and landed a job with the border patrol.” He looked at his two visitors. “I never want to wear a badge again.”
“Well, the job does have a few drawbacks,” Blackhawk said mildly, and smiled. He glanced at Grier. “Our wives forget what we look like from time to time.”
“You married?” Grier asked Tank.
“Not yet.” Tank laughed. “Haven’t really thought about it much.” He was thinking about it now, but he wasn’t going to share those very personal thoughts with his guests.
“Can you describe the man who led you into the ambush with the drug cartel?” Grier asked.
“Yes. He was a tall blond man with black hair, short, had a British accent and a Texas drawl and red hair and spoke with a Massachusetts accent,” he rattled off, tongue-in-cheek.
They blinked.
“Same suit, different face, hair color, complexion and accent,” Tank told them. “The guy who came out here to install the surveillance cameras was the same height, but everything else was different. He’s a chameleon.”
“I’m beginning to realize that,” Blackhawk replied. “The descriptions we’re getting of him are just the same. His height seems to be the only constant.”
“No,” Rourke interrupted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “There’s another. He’s a master of disguise. Even in a field of spies, that talent would stand out enough to be conspicuous. That’s your key. That’s where to start looking. And Carson would be your best bet to find a trail.”
“Not to mention the politician who’s lining up to go to bed with the drug cartels,” Tank added. “Might not be a bad idea to put a tail on him.”
Blackhawk pursed his lips. “Not bad at all.”
“Which is why we’ve already done it,” Grier said.
“Way ahead of me,” Tank said. “See why I’m not in law enforcement anymore?”
“What bothers me is why he’s after him,” Rourke said, indicating Tank. “He can’t really identify the man. If he could, the would-be assassin would have no problem just killing him outright.” He hesitated. “And if he was here on your place, why not just shoot you down in your own front yard?”
Tank stared at him. “There were witnesses when he was here. We had several cowboys working in and around the house, and our men go armed in winter. Wolves,” he explained.
“It’s illegal to shoot a wolf,” Blackhawk reminded him.
“Yes, it is, but if a rabid one goes for my throat, I’m shooting him and the charges be damned,” Tank replied firmly.
Both men chuckled.
“He bugged the phones at the Bakers’ home, too,” Rourke reminded Tank.
“The Bakers?” Grier asked.
“She’s a...friend of mine,” Tank said.
“With rather special skills,” Rourke said.
Tank gave him an irritated glance.
“What sort of skills?” Blackhawk asked.
Tank hesitated.
“Tell them,” Rourke said firmly.
Tank sighed. “She’s psychic. I don’t mean like those people on television who charge money to tell you things you want to hear. She’s the real thing. She came over here in a blizzard to warn me that a man was going to try to kill me because of something I didn’t remember. She described the shooting, every detail. She didn’t even know me when it happened, and she sure as hell wasn’t there,” he added firmly. He shrugged. “Spooked me, I can tell you. She told our foreman, Darby Hanes, to take someone with him when he went to cut a tree that had fallen on the fence line. He didn’t want to, but I made him.” He paused. “Tree fell on him and he became stuck. He would have died if he hadn’t taken another hand along.”
Blackhawk just nodded. “We have people in our community in Oklahoma with that gift. Science won’t believe it exists. But it does,” he added quietly. “I’ve seen it work. She might have saved your life.”
“And put herself on the firing line,” Grier interrupted. “If he’s after you and he knows about her gift, she may be in danger, as well.”
“I’m taking care of that,” Rourke told them. “Nobody’s hurting her. I promise you.”
Grier’s eyes were narrowed. “I still don’t understand why he’s after you,” he said thoughtfully. “Sure, you might be able to describe his height, remember something about the way he looked or walked or stood. But he’s paranoid about getting rid of anyone with any sort of memory about him. He had a computer expert killed in Texas for trying to recover an image off a hard drive in Sheriff Carson’s office. He’s gone to great expense trying to bug your house.” He frowned. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What did your friend say again, about the reason?” Blackhawk prompted Tank.
“She said he was after me because of something I didn’t remember.”
Grier glanced at his companion. “Perhaps a hypnotist.”
Blackhawk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Tank frowned. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve done it out of desperation a time or two in murder cases. Sometimes you see things but don’t remember them. Like a license pla
te number or an identifying mark. Little things solve big cases,” Blackhawk said.
Grier nodded. “Would you be willing to do it, if we could get someone up here?”
“Certainly,” Tank agreed. “But I’d already promised Sheriff Carson I’d fly down there to talk to him in person.”
“We could set it up at his office,” Grier replied. “In fact, I know a hypnotist in San Antonio who’s worked with us before on cases.”
“Let me wait until my brothers get back from that conference in Denver,” Tank asked. “I can’t leave the ranch with no one in charge here.” What he really meant was that he couldn’t leave Merissa. The stalker had been in her house. God knew what he might do if she was alone, without Tank’s protection. Mallory and Cane would make sure nothing happened to her, or Clara, in his absence.
“Not a problem,” Grier said. “Think you can make it before Christmas?”
“Yes. I’ll make my arrangements and get in touch with you when I’m coming,” Tank told them.
“That’s a deal.”
They finished the coffee, complimented Mavie on its strong perfection, shook hands with Tank and left.
* * *
“IS SOMETHING GOING on that I shouldn’t know about?” Mavie wanted to know.
Tank shrugged. “A lot, probably, but we don’t keep secrets from you,” he added with a smile. “They want me to see a hypnotist. They think I might remember something about the man who shot me.”
Mavie shivered. “That might not be a good thing, boss. You remember too much as it is.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” He smiled. “I’m going to get some paperwork going in the office.”
“I’ll clean up the kitchen, then I may go watch television before it’s time to make supper.”
“You and your soap operas.” He rolled his eyes.
“Getting harder to find one to watch, they’re cancelling so many of them.” She sighed. “I miss the old days and the old soaps.” She shook her head. “These new ones are heavy on intimate stuff and spare on relationships.”
“Sort of like the movies.” He studied her. “You know, Hollywood producers never seem to notice what keeps drawing people back to movies like The Sound of Music and The Day the Earth Stood Still and Ben-Hur. It’s because they were powerful stories about people, and you could take your children to see them. Except for cartoon movies, what sort of films can you take children to see these days?”
“I loved Star Wars.” Mavie sighed.
“Yes, well there are rumors that they’re going to make the new ones more adult-friendly.”
Mavie glowered. “I can see where that’s headed, if it’s not just rumors. I guess Star Wars will just be for grown-ups now.”
Tank laughed. “They will never do that. Imagine having to give up on all that merchandising for kids.”
“Well, I hope you’re right.” She threw up her hands and went back to the kitchen, muttering about the world in general and modern movies in particular.
CHAPTER SIX
“YOU’RE GOING TO TEXAS!” Mallory exclaimed when he got home.
Tank nodded. “I need to talk to the sheriff down there and compare notes. Maybe we both saw something that we don’t remember and discussing it will pop it out.”
“It’s dangerous,” Cane said quietly. “For you to go alone.”
“I’m not taking Rourke with me,” he told his brothers. “In case you wondered. He’s needed here, to keep an eye on you and the Bakers.”
“But, Tank...” Mallory began to protest.
“Not to worry,” Rourke interrupted as he came into the room. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude, but I’ve got it covered. He won’t be going alone.”
“You’re not coming with me,” Tank said shortly.
“No. But I have someone who’ll be at the airport when you get there.”
“Who?” Tank asked.
“Nobody you know. Nobody you’ll recognize. And nobody will recognize him, either. But he’ll be watching. If you get into any trouble at all, you’ll be safe.”
“Thanks, Rourke,” Mallory said. “I was concerned.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Cane replied.
“I’m a grown man,” Tank protested.
“Yes, but you’re our brother, too,” Mallory said, “and we worry.”
He grinned at them. “Nice of you.”
“We’d miss the piano playing,” Cane said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Even if it is pretty sad compared to Mallory’s.”
Mallory grinned. “Truer words were never spoken.”
Tank threw a napkin at him.
* * *
HE BOOKED A flight online and then he drove over to Merissa’s house to see her.
“I’m going to Texas,” he said while they drank coffee in her kitchen at the little white table. Clara, discreetly, left them alone.
“To see Sheriff Carson.” She nodded.
He laughed wryly. “Nothing gets by you.”
“Not much, anyway.” She sipped coffee.
“Do you see anything?” he asked.
She searched his eyes. The look was long and intent and she blushed and laughed. “No. I mean, I don’t see anything bad.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You know,” he said, “I could really get addicted to that pink blush. It makes me feel dangerous.”
She laughed. “You’re not dangerous. Well, maybe a little.”
He smoothed his thumb over her soft palm. His expression hardened somewhat. “You already know about the way I was shot.”
“Yes.”
He turned her hand over and looked at it instead of her. “There are scars. Some of them are pretty bad. I never wear cutoffs, even in summer. Or go bare-chested.”
“You think the scars would matter to me?” she asked softly. She smiled. “Silly man.”
His eyes jumped up to hers. “Are you sure? Or are you just guessing?”
She started to speak when Clara came to the door carrying her purse. “I have to run to the store. I’m out of walnuts!”
Tank stared at her.
She grimaced. “Well, it’s winter and we feed birds. We feed lots of birds,” she explained. “There’s this gorgeous woodpecker—”
“Yes, he drills on the wall outside every morning until we put walnut halves on the fence.”
Tank blinked. “Walnuts?”
Clara laughed. “We buy walnuts in bulk. The woodpecker loves them. There are two pairs of them. And of course we have the little birds that stay year-round.” She sighed. “But I’m out of walnuts and he’s outside my bedroom window right now. Can’t you hear that?”
They listened. There was a loud drumming sound, like wood being hit with a nail over and over again.
“It’s him,” Clara explained. “He won’t stop until he gets fed, and I’ve nothing to feed him. So I have to run to the market.”
“Be careful,” Merissa said.
“I’m always careful. I won’t be ten minutes.” She waved and ran out the door.
“Don’t run, there’s ice!” Merissa called after her.
“Okay!” Clara called back. There was the sound of a car door opening and closing, and then an engine that eventually fired up.
Merissa winced as the car made it out of the yard. “I had a mechanic check it out for me,” she said heavily. “It starts only when it wants to.”
“I’ll have my mechanic come over and see about it.”
“Oh, no, please. You’ve done so much for us already...!”
He smoothed over her hand. “I have to take care of my best girl,” he said softly. He tugged on her hand. “Come here,” he said softly.
That deep note in his voice melted her. She got up from her chair and let him pull her gently down onto his lap.
“You need to see what you’re getting into,” he said quietly. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away from his muscular, hair-covered chest.
She was so fascinated with this view o
f him that she didn’t notice the scars.
That rapt stare made him laugh. He’d been uneasy about showing her what the bullets had done, but she didn’t seem to find him unpleasant. In fact, her stare was flattering.
He drew her hand to the muscles under the thick, soft hair. “Here.” He drew her fingers over the thick scars where the bullets had gone in. Two had hit him in the lung and collapsed it. Another had passed under his rib cage. Two had hit his legs, in the thighs, and it had taken several surgeries to remove splintered bone and repair muscle.
“I’ve never touched a man like this,” she faltered.
He smiled. “I like that.”
“You do? Really?” she asked softly. “I was afraid... Well, you know, some modern men think it’s really stupid that women don’t pass themselves around like drinks at a bar.”
“I’m not one of them. I’m pretty old-fashioned myself.”
She traced around one of the scars and winced. “This must have been horribly painful, Dalton,” she said.
He liked the way his given name sounded on her lips. She was soft and warm and sweet. He looked at her mouth and ached to catch it under his. The way she was touching him was very arousing.
He bent and took her lips softly under his. “You taste like black coffee,” he whispered, chuckling.
She smiled under his lips. “So do you.”
He drew her head down against his shoulder and looked long and deep into her eyes until she flushed at the intensity. He didn’t smile. Neither did she.
He looked at her mouth, pretty and slightly red from the pressure of his lips. “It’s been a long time since I felt so much hunger for a woman’s touch,” he whispered. “A very long time.”
His mouth pressed down on hers, gently parting her lips, moving under them with a slow, steady pressure that grew harder and hungrier by the second.
He lifted her closer, feeling her soft hand tangling in the thick hair on his chest while the kiss became so passionate that she moaned.
His hand found the hem of her T-shirt and moved under it, up to the frilly little bra that covered her. He unfastened it and found the firm, hard-tipped flesh with his fingers.
She gasped, but she didn’t protest.