The Cowboy's Deadly Mission

by Addison Fox

  Aimless censure that had no place to land. She’d made her decisions and she couldn’t go back.

  Couldn’t ever go back. Back to Tate. To her friends. To the job she’d once believed was so important. She loved him and she hadn’t even told him. Her worst decision.

  The heavy roar of a truck echoed in the distance, drawing her attention off her morbid, empty thoughts. The sound caught Russ as well and his grip tightened even harder as he pushed her forward. “Move. We don’t have much time.”

  Time.

  More of it. Less of it. None of it. She refused to think about it. All she did know was that she was determined to stretch it out and use it to her advantage.

  The truck traveled closer and closer over the ground before coming to a stop. It was that subtle shift that gave her the opening she needed and Belle moved into action.

  With a technique she’d practiced in some of her self-defense classes, she made herself go limp, softening her body just enough that Russ had to shift to keep his one-armed hold on her. She had a small window—miniscule, really—in the momentum of his readjustment and she was determined to take it.

  Russ shifted his hold and she used his body weight against him, sliding from beneath his arms as he over-rotated to keep his arm around her. The shift and the sudden distraction of the truck caused him to stumble and she pushed with all she had, sweeping out with her leg to cut him off at the knee. His hard grunt told her she hit her mark and the moment she felt his grip go slack, she ran.

  Legs pumping, she pushed herself forward in a great zigzagging pattern, her only focus the truck.

  The adrenaline that carried her forward and the hope of possible rescue shifted immediately as she saw the figure running toward her.

  Tate.

  He was here and he was in danger, his forward motion and focus on Russ. Shifting immediately, she went after him, screaming all the way. “Tate! No!”

  * * *

  Tate saw it all unfold before him, almost as if outside of himself. He saw Belle take her chance, kicking and getting away from Grantham. He heard the heavy wail of sirens in the distance as the police obviously realized the action wasn’t at the ranch house. And he saw the gun in Russ Grantham’s hand, lifting into the air in a deadly arc.

  He saw it all. He heard Belle’s screams. And then he heard the gunshot.

  And watched as the man he’d known nearly a lifetime crumpled before him, his uniformed body falling to the ground as the hand that held the gun dropped to his side.

  * * *

  Belle stopped, the ground hard beneath her feet as she skidded to a halt. The determined run toward the truck had shifted into a sprint directly for Tate, fear and panic spurring her on.

  Only she hadn’t expected the ending.

  Hadn’t ever considered Russ Grantham would take his own life.

  The tears. The gun. The walk outside. None of it had been for her. It was his.

  In his last moments, Russ had found his own version of repentance and, ultimately, the freedom he’d never have found in a cage.

  Belle hadn’t even fully registered she’d stopped until Tate ran toward her. Arms open, his expression was naked and raw, his eyes wild with the moment. She ran forward, pulling him close, taking his comfort in return.

  His mouth was on her, his words mindless in her ear as he kissed her cheek, her head, her temple. Moved on to her mouth before his arms pulled her tight against his chest. “Belle.”

  “Tate.” She held him close, her hand at the back of his head, her lips pressing against his neck. “Oh, Tate.”

  “I thought I wouldn’t get to you. That we wouldn’t find you. I’m sorry. So sorry for all of it.”

  “No sorry. No apologies. You’re here.” She held him tighter, unable to do anything but hold on. “You’re here and I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” More kisses rained down on her as sirens wailed behind them and police cars skidded to heavy stops in the thick grass.

  Belle heard the noise. She knew what they were there to do and she knew all that would come next. None of it mattered.

  All that mattered at that moment was that she was with Tate. She loved him and he loved her.

  “Belly?”

  “What?” she whispered against his ear before he lifted his head, pulling back to stare down at her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.”

  “You didn’t say—”

  “Please let me finish.”

  She nodded.

  “I believe in you. I’ve always believed in you. I didn’t believe in my ability to love you enough to see past my fear.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I do.”

  It was so simple. So easy.

  He pressed on. “I’ve spent my entire life up to now in love with you and other than six weeks when we were young, I’ve never had you in my life. I’m done waiting. And I’m done letting fear dictate my happiness.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “Remember that assiness I told you about?”

  Even with all that had happened, he could still make her smile. “That state of being an ass you seem perpetually stuck in?”

  “That’s the one.” He pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “It’s gotten in my way and I’m not going to say it won’t again. But please tell me you love me anyway.”

  “I love you, Tate Reynolds. All of you.”

  “Then I guess that’s all there is to it. You’re stuck with me.”

  “As long as it’s forever, that’s all I care about.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, sure and true and full of all the love that had always run between them. And as she kissed him back, under a gorgeous Texas spring day, she didn’t really care any longer about how long it had taken them to get there.

  He was here, they were together and that was all that mattered.

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss the next installment of Addison Fox’s

  Midnight Pass, Texas series, coming soon

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from His Forgotten Colton Fiancée by Bonnie Vanak.

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  His Forgotten Colton Fiancée

  by Bonnie Vanak

  Chapter 1

  Wedding cake and bombs.

  Two thoughts sped through FBI agent West Brand’s mind as he jogged along the main street leading out of Red Ridge. Chocolate rum cake with vanilla frosting
and swirls of delicate pink flowers. And bombs made out of materials as easy to find as cake.

  The cake, he didn’t care about, but he wanted to make Quinn Colton happy. She was a real foodie and, as a caterer, weddings were her specialty. He’d be happy to eat a cake made from sprouts when they got married.

  When they could risk a wedding. Red Ridge had a serial killer lurking, a psycho killing grooms right before their weddings. The MO was always the same: bullet through the heart, black cummerbund stuffed in the victim’s mouth. Several men had been murdered. And with the Groom Killer still out there, he and Quinn had decided to keep their newly engaged status quiet, along with their relationship.

  For now, he had to focus on bombs. His cop instinct tingled, warning things were too damn quiet and the tension in the city was about to explode.

  High-powered explosives were West’s specialty. He preferred to work alone and being on loan to the Red Ridge Police Department’s K-9 unit hadn’t changed his mind. West’s partner of choice ran on four legs.

  Cool air washed over him as he ran, the darkness pierced by the green glow of his sport-utility watch. Rex, his black Labrador retriever, kept pace alongside him. West always took him on his daily jogs.

  Breath fogging the air, he let his thoughts drift to the missing fifty-five-gallon drum of highly concentrated hydrogen peroxide from a chemical warehouse in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The owner had reported it missing two days ago.

  Even though there had been no other bombings reported in the area, all West’s instincts had gone full red flag.

  Peroxide-based explosives presented a deadlier threat than ordinary C-4, which was much harder to obtain. Unstable chemical compounds brought the risk of blowing yourself up as you mixed and packed the ingredients, and quite possibly blowing up your unsuspecting neighbors, as well. Terrorists preferred the risk because they could easily purchase the ingredients without raising eyebrows or alerting the feds. Gone were the days when materials had to be smuggled past the eyes of authorities. These days, a kid could waltz into a grocery store and make a bomb with soda pop and nail polish remover.

  The bad guys made it harder to do his job and keep people safe. So he kept learning and listening and reading, because long ago, he determined no one would ever die on his watch.

  Not again, like when he was seventeen...

  Don’t go there. Focus. Did a daydreaming clerk misplace the drum or did someone steal it to make a bomb?

  Red Ridge wasn’t the type of town that saw the same kind of terrorist bombings as big cities. He’d bet that Dean Landon, the canine explosives specialist who was out on medical leave, had seldom seen many bombings in town. He was replacing Landon until the officer recovered from an injury and then it would be back to the city for him.

  Maybe. Something else he had to discuss with his future wife.

  He and Rex turned a corner down a dirt road toward the boarded-up building that once served as a hardware store. The store marked his three-mile turning point. As West started past the building and prepared to turn, Rex stopped.

  The dog stared at the building.

  “Whoa.” He jogged in place, frowning as he squinted at the building in the inky darkness. Dim light from the nearly full moon showed ghostly shadows, thick weeds and brush, and a rotting wood storefront with a few two-by-fours hammered over the windows.

  The abandoned building sat on the edge of town, a scrubby cousin to the sleeker Main Street buildings with their shiny windows, trim doors and flower boxes. It fitted in with Rusty Colton’s nearby dive bar that reeked of stale beer, tobacco and dark thoughts.

  He glanced down at Rex, the Labrador’s nose pointing at the storefront, his body tense and alert. Then the dog sat down.

  West clenched his gut. Rex had found something. Specially trained to sniff out bombs, the dog sat when he smelled suspicious odors.

  Though he’d worked with Rex for three months and spent each day training with him, he still remained wary. Maybe Rex saw something interesting. Or he smelled something fascinating, like a dead rodent.

  “What is it?” he asked Rex.

  The dog kept staring at the building.

  Could be anything. Hell, even a ghost. Sure was eerie enough on this end of town, the sad, lonely building desolate and abandoned. Maybe a homeless person decided to camp there for the night and Rex sensed that.

  The watch he wore on his right wrist insisted he had to get his butt back now into town in order to leave Quinn’s place before the nosy townspeople started opening their shops. Last thing he needed was a gossip prattling on about how the FBI canine agent on loan to the RRPD was seen sneaking out of Good Eats, Quinn Colton’s catering shop.

  If he investigated, he’d be late. West swept his gaze over the building’s exterior as he squinted in the dark. Heart racing from the run, he looked again at Rex.

  Still sitting. Still alert.

  That was it. West reached for his gun tucked into a leather holster at his side and prepared to go closer.

  A flash of movement in the darkness. He tensed as something rattled inside the building.

  A scrawny black-and-white tabby cat squeezed underneath one of the boards on the window, looked at them. It hissed at Rex, and then sped off in the direction of town.

  Still, it was best to check it out. West did a quick patrol around the building, saw and heard nothing. He glanced down at Rex, who whined, his tail beating the dirt.

  “A cat.” West shook his head. “All that drama for a stray feline? C’mon, buddy. You disappoint me.”

  Tongue lolling out, Rex grinned at him.

  Sighing, West patted his head. “Let’s go.”

  They jogged back to the main road as a cool wind blew, rattling the shutters of the abandoned building.

  When he reached Quinn’s apartment above her store, he let himself in with his key. West poured Rex a bowl of fresh water and grabbed a bottle from the fridge, drinking deeply. The clock on the range read 5 a.m. If he hurried and showered here, he could make it to his truck, parked discreetly down the street, and drive out of town before Quinn’s assistant showed up to open shop.

  Leaving Rex in the kitchen on the pillow Quinn placed there for him, West headed into the bathroom.

  Steam misted the air as he emerged minutes later, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He padded to the bedside and stared down at a slumbering Quinn.

  He was one lucky bastard. After thirty years, thinking he’d remain a bachelor for the rest of his life, he’d found the woman of his dreams. Last night he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d readily accepted.

  West removed a single red rose from the crystal vase by the bedside. Last night he’d given her two dozen red roses to proclaim his feelings.

  It was all so new and marvelous. And uncertain and out of character. He wasn’t impulsive. All he knew was that he adored Quinn, wanted to make her happy for the rest of her life and needed her like he’d never admit to needing anyone.

  Not since his entire family had been killed had he allowed himself to be this open, this intimate with another person. He’d proposed because he was getting older and so was Quinn. He couldn’t bear for her to get snatched up by another man. He’d already lost too much in life, and wanted to spend each precious moment with her.

  He only wished she didn’t want children so badly. Getting married to the woman of his dreams was one thing. Having kids was another. Being responsible to protect one life—Quinn’s—yeah, he could handle that. But making sure nothing bad would ever happen to children? After what had happened to his sisters, he had quietly vowed to avoid having children and risking that kind of heartache ever again.

  He sat on the bed’s edge, gazing at his new fiancée, his heart racing with anticipation. Damn, she was so pretty when she slept. Even prettier when she awakened and gave him that sexy smile filled with promise, her brown eyes smudg
ed with sleep and hard loving. West bent over and inhaled the smell of her: apple shampoo, delicate jasmine and the musk of sex.

  Life was filled with the ugliness and violence of his job. Quinn made the brutality bearable, and eased the stress he bore. Coming home to her each day was definitely something he anticipated. Quinn made him laugh, lit up his life with her cheerful smile and saucy attitude. She was an eternal optimist who didn’t let anything get her down.

  Not even me.

  West stroked the rose petals over her freckled cheek and she stirred. He set the rose upon the pillow next to her.

  “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he whispered as she slowly opened her eyes and smiled up at him. She ran a hand through her rumpled curls.

  Quinn took the rose and inhaled the delicate fragrance. “A flower on my pillow. What a lovely way to wake up. But not as nice as waking up to see my handsome man.”

  “You deserve a dozen fresh roses every day.” He took the flower and tapped her forehead with it. And more. Everything I could give you. I only wish I could give you the one thing we can’t have now—no more secrets.

  As he replaced the rose in the vase, she sat up.

  “You up to kissing speed yet?” he teased.

  Quinn smiled. “Anytime with you, I am.”

  She cupped his face, her fingers stroking his cheek. “You shaved off your beard.”

  West rubbed his cheek against her playful caresses. “Makes it easier to get close to you, in all the right places.”

  A delicate flush ignited her round cheeks at the intimate hint in his voice. “I like it. Did you have a good run?”

  “Not as good as staying here. But I had to get away from you and think. When I’m here—” he traced the edges of her lush lower lip “—I tend to get distracted from my work.”

  “What were you thinking about?” She yawned and stretched.

  He admired how the motion lifted her breasts beneath the flannel T-shirt. “You.” West reached out and tugged one of her corkscrew curls. It bounced back. “And triacetone triperoxide.”