Smoky Ridge Curse

by Paula Graves

  CIA operatives like Alexander Quinn had a way of leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.

  “Most days, I try to be strictly professional,” Quinn murmured, stopping outside Brand’s cell. “But I must admit, I do enjoy seeing an FBI agent behind bars.”

  Brand didn’t rise to the spy’s bait. “Did you arrange all this? Have you been using Cortland and his operation for some twisted plot of yours?”

  Quinn’s lip curled. “I realize you don’t have a very good opinion of me, or people in the agency in general, but I’m on your side in this one. Cortland was a very bad man.”

  Brand narrowed his eyes. “Was?”

  “An hour ago, someone detonated a series of incendiary bombs in the offices of Cortland Lumber. The place is currently going up in flames.”

  “Someone?”

  Quinn’s lips flattened with annoyance. “No one with whom I’m affiliated, I assure you. Innocent people died in that attack.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “One of my operatives was almost certainly killed as well.”

  The pain in Quinn’s eyes looked genuine. Brand almost felt sorry for the manipulative bastard. “Would this operative happen to be the American radical formerly known as Sinclair Solano?”

  Quinn didn’t seem surprised by Brand’s question. “Yes.”

  “You think he was killed in the blast?”

  “I haven’t heard from him since he contacted me to tell me about your meeting with him at the lumberyard. But in case he made it, it’s vital that you don’t tell anyone you saw him today.”

  “What are the two of you up to?”

  “I can’t tell you. But I will tell you this. Sinclair Solano isn’t one of the bad guys. Not anymore, and not for a long time.”

  Brand didn’t try to argue with Quinn, though he suspected the CIA agent’s concept of good and bad might not coincide precisely with his own. Instead, he asked, “Are you sure Cortland was in his office when it blew up?”

  “Every indication is that he was killed in the explosion,” Quinn answered with a hint of feral satisfaction. “There’ll be an investigation. DNA comparisons. We’ll know, sooner or later.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you’re cleared of the charges against you.”

  Brand shot him a look. “If you were capable of that, why haven’t you done it before now?”

  “The CIA is choosy about what operations they run on American soil.”

  Brand swallowed a snort. “You wanted Cortland out of business.”

  “I wanted Cortland to stop running guns, drugs and terrorists out of South America into this country.”

  “So we were right about the kinds of things he was up to.”

  “You knew he was planning a cyberattack on the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, I presume.”

  “We suspected as much.”

  “You know they were trying to neutralize the research of the Devonian Project, then.”

  “You know, Quinn, if you ever shared what you know with the rest of the country, we might be better off.”

  “I told you, the CIA—”

  “Why don’t you just quit the CIA and start your own detective agency? Then you could investigate whatever you wanted without having to twist yourself into knots.”

  Quinn looked thoughtful for a second, then he started to walk away.

  “That’s it?” Brand called. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Quinn didn’t answer. But he jerked to a halt when a loud sound filtered in from somewhere not far from the cell block. His hand automatically closed over the service revolver holstered at his side.

  “That was a gunshot,” Brand said.

  Quinn looked over his shoulder. “Yes, it was.”

  * * *

  A SHARP CRACKING sound came from somewhere nearby. For a moment, Delilah thought the sound had come from the television, until several of the police officers standing around started running.

  She followed, even though she wasn’t armed, her heart pounding with terror that, somehow, someone had gotten to Brand right here in the police station.

  But the police bypassed the door to the holding cells and ran down the hall to the detectives’ communal office instead. Delilah spotted Antoine Parsons standing in front of the open door of the captain’s office, his expression shell-shocked and bleak.

  Delilah didn’t have to take another step into the room to know what had happened. The faces of the police officers who looked into Captain Rayburn’s office made clear what had happened.

  Rayburn had found a way out of the mess after all.

  Epilogue

  “So, what now?”

  Rain drummed the roof of Delilah’s house, lulling her into a light doze. Brand’s soft question roused her back to full consciousness. She turned onto her side and looked at him, smiling at the sight of him finally back in her bed where he belonged. “I need to give Bitterwood P.D. a final answer. They’ve held the detective position open for a month to give us time to deal with the fallout, but now that you’ve been cleared, they need my answer.”

  “It’s a police force in upheaval,” Brand warned, rolling over to look at her. “That could be a plus or a minus.”

  “It’s definitely more of a challenge now. Chief Albertson turned in his resignation this morning, so there’ll be a big hiring push to get a new chief. I’m sure they’re going to look for someone from outside the county, someone with a good reputation. Plus, today I heard the D.A.’s office is going to assign a public integrity officer to the department for the foreseeable future.”

  Brand grimaced. “That’s even worse than having Internal Affairs nosing around.”

  “I know. It’s necessary, though.”

  “True.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “And you still want to take the job, knowing all that?”

  “Yeah. I do. Are you good with that?”

  He touched her face. “I’m good with anything you want. As long as you want me.”

  She kissed him. “Always.”

  They shifted positions, spooning under the warm covers. Brand had shaved his beard; she almost missed the rasp of his stubble against her skin. “I’ve had an interesting job offer,” he murmured against her shoulder.

  “And you’re just now telling me?”

  “I wasn’t sure we’d be staying in Bitterwood.”

  “So it’s something local?”

  “Yeah. Alexander Quinn has retired from the CIA.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Delilah had crossed paths with the CIA agent more than once during her work with Cooper Security. She’d always figured Alexander Quinn would go out in a blaze of gunfire in some war-torn country. Retirement had never figured into her imaginings. “And this has something to do with your job offer? You’re going to become a spy?”

  “No. Quinn’s just bought a big building in Purgatory, Tennessee. Turns out that’s where the old bastard grew up.”

  “He wasn’t spawned, fully grown, from some alien space pod?”

  Brand gave her hip a little slap. “Well, he says that’s why he’s opening his detective agency in Purgatory. Could be a lie, I suppose.”

  “He’s going to be a small-town P.I.?”

  “Appears so. He wants me to join him as his agent-training coordinator. Apparently he plans to build the agency from the ground up. Pick his own candidates for investigators and securit
y guards. But the CIA’s training methods don’t translate well for civilian investigations.”

  “And that’s where you come in?”

  “What do you think? He’s offering me a pretty significant percentage of the profits if I come in from the beginning. Purgatory is a ten-minute drive from here—I could hardly ask for a better commute.”

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, turning to face him.

  “I want to do it,” he admitted. “Because I could certainly use some extra money about now.”

  “Yeah?” She arched her eyebrow at him. “Why’s that?”

  He rolled over and opened the bedside-table drawer. She half expected him to pull out another condom, but instead, he came away with a small velvet ring box.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  He opened it to reveal a diamond solitaire flanked by a pair of small emeralds. “Make an honest man of me, Delilah Hammond?”

  She stared at the ring, then back at his face, surprised by the anxiety she saw blazing in his blue eyes. “Did you think I’d say no?”

  His lips curved slightly. “I’ve learned not to assume I’m ever going to know what you’ll say or do.”

  She laughed. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “So?” he prodded, pulling the ring from its velvet bed.

  She held out her left hand. “Just as long as we’re clear on one thing.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “What’s that?”

  “No fancy wedding, no ‘obey’ in the vows and we shoot anyone who tries to tie tin cans to my Camaro.”

  Brand pulled her flush to his body, revealing just how happy he was that she’d said yes to his proposal. “Deal.”

  * * * * *

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  Chapter One

  Zachary Adams sat with his boots tapping the floor, his attention barely focused on the man at the center of the group of cowboys. This meeting had gone past his fifteen-minute limit, pushing twenty now.

  The wiry, muscular man before them stood tall, his shoulders held back and proud. He was probably a little older than most of the men in the room, his dark hair combed back, graying slightly at the temples.

  “I’m here to offer you a position in a start-up corporation.” Hank Derringer smiled at the men gathered in the spacious living room of his home on the Raging Bull Ranch in south Texas.

  “Doing what? Sweeping floors? Who wants a bunch of rejects?” Zach continued tapping his foot, itching for a fight, his hands shaking. Not that there had been any provocation. He didn’t need any. Ever since the catastrophe of the Diego Operation, he hadn’t been able to sit still for long, unless he was nursing a really strong bottle of tequila.

  “I need you. Because you aren’t rejects, you’re just the type of men I’m looking for. Men who will fight for what you believe in, who were born or raised on a ranch, with the ethics and strength of character of a good cowboy. I’m inviting you to become a part of CCI, known only to those on the inside as Covert Cowboys Incorporated, a specialized team of citizen soldiers, bodyguards, agents and ranch hands who will do whatever it takes for justice.”

  Zach almost laughed out loud. Hank had flipped if he thought this crew of washed-up cowboys could help him start up a league of justice or whatever it was he had in mind.

  “Whoa, back up a step there. Covert Cowboys Incorporated?” The man Hank had introduced as Chuck Bolton slapped his hat against his thigh. “Sounds kind of corny to me. What’s the punch line?”

  “No punch line.” Hank squared his shoulders, his mouth firming into a straight line. “Let’s just say that I’m tired of justice being swept under the rug.”

  Ex-cop Ben Harding shook his head. “I’m not into circumventing the law.”

  “I’m not asking you to. The purpose of Covert Cowboys Incorporated is to provide covert protection and investigation services where hired guns and the law aren’t enough.” Hank’s gaze swept over the men in the room. “I handpicked each of you because you are all highly skilled soldiers, cops and agents who know how to work hard and fire a gun and are familiar with living on the edge of danger. My plan is to inject you into situations where your own lives could be on the line to protect, rescue or ferret out the truth.”

  One by one, the cowboys agreed to sign on with CCI until Hank came to Zach.

  “I’m not much into joining,” Zach said.

  Hank nodded. “To be understood. You might not want to get back into a job that puts you in the line of fire after what you went through.”

  Zach’s chest tightened. “I’m not afraid of bullets.”

  “I understand you lost your female partner on your last mission with the FBI. That had to be tough.” Hank laid a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay the night and think about it. You don’t have to give me an answer until morning.”

  Zach could have given his answer now. He didn’t want the job. He didn’t want any job. What he wanted was revenge, served cold and painful.

  With the other cowboys falling in line, Zach just nodded, grabbed his duffel bag and found the room he had been assigned for the night. The other men left, one of them already on assignment, and the other two had places to stay in Wild Oak Canyon, the small town closest to the Raging Bull Ranch.

  Zach hadn’t been in the bedroom more than three minutes when the walls started closing in around him. He had to get outside or go crazy.

  The room had French doors opening out onto the wide veranda that wrapped around the entire house.

  He sat on the steps leading down off the porch at the side of the rambling homestead and stared up at a sky full of the kind of stars you only got out in the wide-open spaces far away from city lights.

  Zach wondered if the stars had been out that night Toni had died. No matter how often he replayed that nightmare, he couldn’t recall whether or not the stars had been shining. Everything seemed to play out in black, white and red. From the moment they’d been surrounded by the cartel sentinels to the moment Toni had died.

  Zach’s eyes squeezed shut, but no matter how hard he tried to erase the vision from his mind, he couldn’t shake it. He opened his eyes again and looked up at the stars in an attempt to superimpose their beauty and brilliance over the ugly images indelibly etched in his memory.

  Boots tapped against the planks of the decking and Hank Derringer leaned against a wooden column. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No.” Zach had suffered through days of talking about it with the FBI psychologist following his escape and return to civilization. Talking hadn’t brought his partner back, and it had done nothing to bring justice to those responsible for her senseless rape, torture and murder.

  “Do you have work lined up when you leave here?” Hank
asked.

  “No.” Oh, he had work, all right. He had spent the last year following his recovery searching for the cartel gang who’d captured him and Toni Gutierrez on the wrong side of the border during the cartel eradication push, Operation Diego.

  The operation had been a failure from the get-go, leading Zach to believe they had a mole inside the FBI. No matter who he asked or where he dug, he couldn’t get to the answer. His obsession with the truth had ultimately cost him his job. When his supervisor had given him an ultimatum to pull his head out of his search and get on with his duties as a special agent or look for alternative employment, Zach had walked.

  Out of leads, his bank account dwindling and at the mercy of this crackpot vigilante, Hank Derringer, Zach was running out of options.

  Zach sighed and stared down the shadowy road leading through a stand of scrub trees toward the highway a mile away. What choice did he have? Crawl into a bottle and forget everything? Even that required money.

  “If I take this job—not saying that I’ve agreed—what did you have in mind for my first assignment?”

  * * *

  JACIE KOSART AND her twin, Tracie, rode toward the ridgeline overlooking Wild Horse Canyon. The landmark delineated the southern edge of the three-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-acre Big Elk Ranch, where Jacie worked as a trail guide for big-game hunting expeditions.

  Tracie, on leave from her job with the FBI, had insisted on coming along as one of the guides, even though she wasn’t officially working for Big Elk Ranch. “Don’t let on that I’m an agent. I just want to blend in and be like you, one of the guides, for today.”

  Jacie had cleared it with Richard Giddings, her boss. Then Tracie had insisted on taking on these two guys with short haircuts and poker faces instead of the rednecks from Houston.

  Happy to have her sister with her for the day, Jacie didn’t argue, just went with the flow. Her job was to lead the hunting party to the best hunting location where they stood a chance of bagging trophy elk.