by Addison Fox
Because none of them were Annabelle Granger.
The damned truth of his life lived in that lone, miserable fact.
“Come see what I marked over here.” Julio’s command penetrated the unsettling rush of thoughts and Tate followed, pleased to get out of his head for a few minutes. They followed the old tracker from the initial area Belle roped off and on over to the impressions he’d discovered by the fence. Belle kept up a steady line of questions as they walked, from size of the imprint to the relatively few marks in the dirt, sharing her theories with Julio.
“Do you think it’s the work of a coyote? They’re paid to help people cross the border. This would be as good a spot as any and it could be their payment or a payment the coyote made to whomever helped him cross.”
“It’s a good theory, but this is the work of few, especially since there aren’t a lot of footprints. A coyote would take more people, Bella.”
Tate saw her subtle frown and suspected the question was for his and Ace’s benefit. It was a long shot question, designed to stave off the inevitable, and there was no way Belle really thought a late-night crossing on his land was the work of illegal immigrants. While they did have border crossings through Midnight Pass, the town’s core problem was drugs. The trade had flourished over the past decade, a stark reminder of what troubles lurked beneath the quiet facade of the Pass.
Businesses on Main Street prospered right alongside the marijuana, cocaine and heroin trafficking that followed in the dark of night. She and her fellow officers worked tirelessly to keep up with it, along with the increasing cadre of federal agents who’d set up shop in town, but they’d had relatively little success in stopping it.
Other than his time on the town council, Tate had diligently avoided the politics of life in the Pass, but he wasn’t blind or deaf. Hell, he’d had a conversation three days ago at the feed store about the same thing, and a few days before, Tabasco Burns had been bitching about a low-level dealer he’d tossed out of his pool hall.
Drugs and all their associated evils were a blight on their town and, like a greasy oil slick, they continued to spread. Two overdoses the year before and twenty across the county. And that was just what had hit close to home. He knew damn well what crossed through the Pass fanned out across the state and farther.
“So you do think it’s a drug run?” The words were sour on his tongue, but Tate had never been afraid of a fight. Nor would he tolerate the abuse of his land—of his home—like that.
Julio’s dark gaze ran over the fence line once more before he rewarded them with his full attention. “How much do you trust your team?”
“Up until a few minutes ago, I’d have said implicitly.” Ace’s comment matched his thoughts and Tate’s mind already whirled with the possibilities. Who could it be?
Ranger McBride was fairly new. The incidents hadn’t started until after he’d been hired on. Or maybe Tris Bradshaw? He had smelled whiskey on the guy’s breath a few weeks ago and sent him back to the house to get some coffee. Even as his mind whirled through reasons both men should be suspects, something in his gut didn’t sit right.
A few impressions in the dirt and he was ready to go on a witch hunt of his men? Was that how it was going to be now?
If Ace sensed Tate’s rising frustration, he said nothing, instead focusing on the physical ravages. “You good with us doing our repairs?”
“Sí, sí.” Julio nodded. “I’ve got my camera in the car. Let Bella and I take a few pictures and then you can fix things.”
“I’ll alert Trey Vasquez and Harrison Crown in the meantime. See if they’ve had any incidents.”
“We can do that, Ace.” Belle was quick to jump in. “You don’t have to spend your time warning everyone.”
“Somehow I think his conversation will be a bit different than yours.” Although the comment was meant to get under Belle’s skin, Tate knew his point remained true. If there was a problem with the hands at Reynolds Station, the two other ranches that dominated the county needed to know. They all had a silent agreement not to poach off each other, but a man had a right to move around and make his own living and the Vasquez and Crown families fished in the same employment pool as Tate, Ace and Hoyt did.
Belle’s gaze swung to his, challenge sparking in that pretty blue color. “Oh?”
“You’ll focus on the problem. Tell him how hard the police are working to manage the situation. You’ll likely even offer to drive out and visit their ranches, do a quick swing around the fences that line their properties.”
Belle stared at him, confusion crinkling soft lines into her forehead. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
“So why does it sound like a mocking indictment of the Midnight Pass police force?”
“I’d never mock such a superior institution.”
The words hit their mark, just as he’d intended. Parry, thrust, jab, jab, jab. The strategy had worked for twenty years; why should he stop now?
“Yet somehow you are.”
“Don’t be so sensitive.”
That jab was harder than the others and Tate was surprised to feel the kickback in his own stomach. Why did he always manage to take it a bit too far?
“Then what’s your point?”
“You’re waving at the problem with your badge. We’re a bit more subtle than that.”
Belle’s hands flew to her hips, the fingers on her right hand resting comfortably against her service weapon. Too comfortably, he realized with a hard, solid punch to his stomach. Belle Granger was all cop as she stared at him. “Subtle?”
“Sure. You think the badge is the deterrent.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not at all.”
Of anything he could have said, it was that statement that proved just how far apart the two of them truly were.
“If you think the police are ineffective, then what do you propose, Tate? Vigilante justice? You angling to become the law and order of the land?”
“Bella—” Julio’s voice was quiet yet firm as he returned from the SUV, camera in hand, and Tate innately sensed the older man knew far more about Belle and Tate’s long-standing feud than he let on.
For reasons he couldn’t name—even to himself—it bothered him that Belle might have confided their personal business to Julio and his voice became sharper than the roll of barbed wire he’d just cut. “All I want is to fix this. Crime’s at an all-time high in the Pass and now innocent people have drug runners roaming their land.”
Tate had no interest in becoming a vigilante, but he did want the problems to stop. He and his brothers had struggled to bring the ranch back from the brink from their father’s illegal business practices that nearly shut them down. It had taken considerable hard work and a ton of sweat equity but they’d done it. Because he recognized the value of hard work, it burned him to think there were those whose “work” consisted of transporting a truck full of drugs that went on to ruin thousands of lives.
“And we don’t want to fix it?” Belle’s retort shot back at him without a moment’s hesitation.
Whether it was the stubborn pride that had fueled him his entire life or the small shot of pity he saw in Julio’s eyes, Tate had no idea. Or maybe he was beyond caring.
“I don’t think you can fix it. Unless you’d prefer the more commonly accepted explanation.”
“Which is?”
“Most law-abiding people in town think the Midnight Pass police force couldn’t find justice with both hands and a flashlight.”
* * *
Belle held her tongue, even as her jaw nearly cramped with the effort. How dare he?
The idea of the Reynolds brothers taking the law into their own hands was a stark reminder of just how far apart she and Tate remained on the subject of law enforcement. But it was Tate’s sheer disdain of the police force
that had claws. Brutally sharp and far more lethal than she’d have expected, especially after all these years.
He’d made no secret of the fact he found her ambition misguided, but she’d believed he would come around, especially once they’d given in to the feelings both had fought for so long. She’d traipsed right past the warning bells that clanged in her head, convinced if she could only make him understand how important being a cop was to her—how essential—they could find their way.
Oh, how she’d believed that once.
Until her world had come crashing down when Tate abruptly walked away.
Even in the nearly ten years since, she’d not been able to fully understand his decision. She’d made no secret of her interest and intent to join the force. The law was her passion—anyone who’d known her for any length of time understood that.
And Tate had known her better than most.
Yet he’d still walked away.
Even after all this time, that simple little fact hurt like a gaping wound. Would it ever heal?
That question might linger, but she knew the answer in all its stark reality. So long as the two of them still called Midnight Pass home, there was little chance of fully putting Tate Reynolds out of her mind.
Or her heart.
And since it didn’t appear as if either of them were leaving anytime soon, there was nothing to be done for it. Fastening her emotional armor, Belle stood at her full height. Her heart might continue to do battle with her mind, but in this her mind would win.
She would not back down.
“Obviously you and your family are welcome to handle employment matters as you see fit. I will, however, be setting up this afternoon at the bunkhouse and I expect that every member of your staff will be available to talk to me. This is now an open investigation.”
Before Tate could argue, Ace stepped in. “We will cooperate fully with the Midnight Pass police force. The staff will be there at the assigned time.”
Julio had already drifted away to take his photos—probably afraid of stray bullets, Belle thought—and she turned to follow the older man. “Thank you, Ace.”
Tate remained stubborn and stoic, his gaze flashing fire in the early morning sun.
Since there wasn’t anything else to say, Belle headed over to join Julio. She diligently avoided looking back at the two men she’d known most of her life and instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other. And if her hands shook, well, they were clenched so hard at her sides there was no way anyone could see it.
Damn that fool man and his vigilante justice and his piss-poor attitude about the police and his conjecture their town was no longer safe.
Damn him.
Belle unfisted her hand before she reached her mentor. Julio already saw too much and she refused to let her personal life—or lack thereof—cloud her ability to do her job. She was determined to be a brilliant cop. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted, a feeling that had only built as she watched her mother succumb to a lifetime of addiction.
Which was the stubborn lie she’d told herself for years. If given the choice, there were actually two things she wanted. But Tate had taken that choice away from her.
Julio had started with the first area she’d found, inside the fence line. He waved her over. “Bella. Come here.” The sudden urgency in his voice banished thoughts of her relationship with Tate.
“What is it?”
“Look at this. Walk over there, please.” She was careful to follow the way Julio pointed out to her, a curving path instead of a direct walk to his side.
“What is it?”
“Here. Crouch down and look.”
The man was nearly seventy, but he had a quick mind and a small, spry form. He duckwalked back a few steps so she could take his place. “What am I looking for? Did you find another depression? Another bag?”
“Just look and tell me what you see.”
Belle scanned the area, taking it in like he’d taught her. A broad look to see if anything was out of place, then careful quadrants as she mentally cataloged everything she saw.
Blades of grass, intermittently broken up by rocky scrub.
A small patch of Indian paintbrush doing its best to bloom in the early April weather that had been unusually cold.
A dry, patchy area of dirt where even the scrub wasn’t growing, spattered with—
“Julio?” She whirled, coming to her feet in an instant. “Is that blood?”
“It looks like it.” He got to his feet.
“There’s a lot of it. Not just someone who might have gotten cut on the wire fence. And it looks like it continues into the brush beside it.”
“I know, Bella.” She nearly moved toward it when Julio laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get a few more things from the car.”
Their field kits.
As Belle trudged behind Julio, a heavy pit cratered her stomach. That sinking feeling only grew harsher when she looked up to see Ace and Tate watching from a distance. Whatever frustration rode them, it was nothing compared to the news she and Julio needed to share.
If her instincts—and Julio’s somber gaze—were any indication, Reynolds Station had been home to a murder.
Chapter 3
“Smooth.”
“Bite me.” Tate spat out the words before slapping the thick gloves he needed to repair the barbed wire on his thigh. They needed to get that line of fence back up and he needed to get back to work. Lollygagging out here all day hadn’t been on the agenda.
“Belle looks good.” Ace’s gaze never even drifted Tate’s way as he watched Belle and Julio do their work. “She’s a fine representative of the Midnight Pass police force. And wow, is she easy on the eyes. ’Course, she always was.”
The simmer in his blood rolled on toward a slow boil at the evident appreciation in Ace’s voice. Belle was a gorgeous woman and he’d never known a police uniform—pants, a button-down shirt—and a badge could look so damned sexy when covering high, firm breasts and a slim waist that begged for the span of a man’s hands.
As vivid images of curling his fingers against that warm flesh consumed him, Tate fought the urge to slug his brother. They weren’t kids any longer and he was well able to take him in a fight.
Which was further proof of just how badly Annabelle Marie Granger got under his freaking skin.
The woman was a poison. A lethal one, like something that came out of an exotic flower. Only instead of death, this one drove a man into a sort of ever-loving madness.
They saw a lot less of each other than in the past, but she was still around. An off-hour trip to the feed store might produce her walking down Main Street, a sexy swing to her walk as she worked the beat. Or a stop off for a cup of coffee in downtown Midnight Pass at the Drop-In Diner might turn her up at a front table, having lunch with a fellow officer. Hell, he’d actually had times where he’d seen her and gone the other direction, not willing to live with the emotions she managed to churn up for days.
“Keep your eyes off Belle.”
“I don’t take orders from you, little brother.” Although the threat was real, Tate didn’t miss the humor that threaded through the words. “No matter how badly you want me to.”
Tate was about to reply, determined to keep up the line of stubborn, verbal territory-marking when Belle and Julio abruptly stood and headed in his and Ace’s direction.
“That was fast,” Ace murmured.
“Too fast.” Tate watched them march closer, their matched looks of concern pushing thoughts of punching his brother out of his mind.
“You find something?” Tate asked.
Belle nodded. “I’m afraid we did.”
Tate moved to walk toward the patch of scrub Belle had been bent over when she laid a hand on his arm. “I need you to stay here.”
“This is my land.
”
“Right now it’s my crime scene. And I need to ask you a few questions.”
Ace had remained quiet, but moved to stand beside Tate. “What’s this about?”
Annabelle’s voice was quiet but strong in the light breeze that whipped tendrils of hair around her cheeks. “What brought you out here this morning, Tate?”
“I told you. I couldn’t sleep and Tot and I headed out.”
“Do you normally go out this early?”
“No.” Something hard hit the bottom of his stomach. “What’s with the questions? You gonna read me my Miranda rights?”
* * *
The question was legitimate, but the taunt underneath scraped at her nerves. How was it the man managed to toss her profession at her at every turn? It was yet one more example of how little respect he had for her.
Or how little had changed in their war of wills.
She knew she walked a dangerous line, but she’d never been very good at backing down from that challenge. The urge to pull out the small, laminated card she’d carried on her since graduating from the academy dogged her, but she kept her focus on Tate.
“Do I need to?” If she had to take him into custody, she’d be required to read him his rights, but he wasn’t a suspect.
Or damn it, he shouldn’t be.
But standing there, staring at Tate Reynolds, she wasn’t sure what to think. The man wasn’t a killer, that was for certain. And since the hardest thing she’d ever seen him touch was a lone tequila chaser along with a beer at Tabasco’s place, she didn’t think drugs when she thought of him. So how did blood end up on his property and how was it Tate was the one to kick that discovery off with a cut fence?
“You think I did something?” Something dark and cold settled in the depths of his green eyes. “What the hell is going on?”
She ignored the heavy feeling that made her feet feel like they were cased in concrete, rooting her to the spot before him. “I’m trying to find out. Part of that is asking a few questions.”
“I know my rights,” Tate bellowed, the sound surprisingly similar to his father’s. “This is my land and my home. I have a right to roam it whenever I damn well please.”