Operation: Midnight Tango

by Linda Castillo

  “You tell me.” Tired of being underestimated, Rachael revved the engine and let off the brake.

  Bo stepped back just in time to avoid being run over.

  Spewing gravel, the ATV leapt forward like a big mechanical beast. Gripping the seat with her thighs, Rachael swung the vehicle into a 360-degree circle.

  Bo stood near the shed, watching her and shaking his head. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been accused of that once or twice.”

  “Don’t go too far. And be careful once you get on the trail. A lot of country out there.”

  “I think I can handle it.” She patted the purring engine.

  “I was talking about the cougars and black bears,” he said deadpan.

  The mention of fanged carnivores gave her pause. Rachael might be a whiz at taking down someone twice her size armed with a gun, but the thought of facing down an animal with claws and teeth made her rethink the wisdom of her afternoon jaunt to the trails. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she hit the gas and headed toward the ridge on the north side of the ranch.

  THE DIRT TRAIL was well-marked and ran north for several miles before curving south and looping back toward the ranch. At the top of the northern-most ridge, the land fell away into a postcard-pretty valley where horses and cattle grazed on golden prairie grass.

  Rachael stopped the ATV at a good vantage point and shut down the engine. Removing her helmet, she shook out her hair and just sat there staring at the scene. Around her, a light breeze whispered through the tops of the tall ponderosa pines and low-growing juniper. Birds twittered and swooped in the branches. Somewhere in the distance a cow bawled for her calf.

  Pulling the water bottle from her backpack, Rachael drank deeply, savoring every cold swallow. Alone and surrounded by nature, her every sense seemed heightened. She dropped the bottle back into her backpack and was about to start the engine when the snapping of a twig froze her in place.

  Bo’s words about cougars and bears flashed through her mind. But what made the hairs at her nape prickle was the ever-present knowledge that Karas wanted her dead. She planned to be ready if he made a move.

  Spinning, she jammed her hand into the backpack, grabbed the Beretta and brought it up.

  The resonant click of a hammer being pulled back froze her in place. “Hold it right there, Missy.”

  Chapter Three

  Pulling back the slide, Rachael brought the weapon up and around. The sight of the man on the horse took her aback. He looked like something out of a western, replete with worn leather chaps, a beat-up western hat, a blue bandanna around his neck—and a rifle the size of a cannon aimed at her heart.

  Sitting on the ATV, outgunned in every sense of the word, she held the Beretta steady. Body shot. Centered just to the right of his heart. But she didn’t put her finger on the trigger. At the moment, she didn’t know if this man was friend or foe. The one thing she did know was that he hadn’t been sent by Karas. Judging by the spots on the horse’s rump, he was one of Bo Ruskin’s cowboys.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Taking his time, he set a gloved hand on the saddle’s horn. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

  Going with her instincts, she lowered the Beretta. “I’m a guest at Dripping Springs Ranch.”

  “Since when does Bo Ruskin arm his guests?”

  “Since yesterday. And for your information he didn’t arm me. I came this way.”

  The rifle went down. The man threw his head back and laughed. “Well, Bo Ruskin does have some interesting guests, don’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Rachael muttered. Now that the initial burst of adrenaline had ebbed, annoyance that this man had gotten the drop on her set in.

  You’re getting rusty, Armitage….

  “I’m Jimmy Hargrove. Bo’s foreman. But I run cattle mostly.”

  “Rachael Armitage.” She unchambered the round and slid the Beretta back into her pack.

  “You’re pretty good with that, huh?” he asked, referring to the pistol.

  “I don’t miss, if that’s what you mean.”

  He nodded as if in approval. “Where you headed?”

  “Just doing some exploring.”

  He motioned toward a high ridge to the north. “There’s some interesting scenery up that way, especially if you want to put that peashooter you’re packing to good use.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “There’s an area up the valley a ways. Got some old cans you can set up. Makes for some nice shooting.”

  The thought of some target practice appealed to Rachael. First, because she enjoyed shooting. Second, because she didn’t want to get rusty. “I might just check it out.”

  “Enjoy your stay.” Jimmy Hargrove tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

  Rachael felt as if she’d stepped back in time a hundred and fifty years as she watched the cowboy ride down the trail and disappear into the scrub. The contrasts between her life in Washington, D.C., and this ranch were enough to give a girl whiplash. She wondered how Bo Ruskin managed out here.

  Starting the ATV, she took the vehicle in the direction of the shooting range.

  THE STORM CLOUDS began piling up on the western horizon at just before six o’clock. Bo had been working horses most of the afternoon. He’d been bitten once, kicked at and taken a spill. Having gotten little sleep the night before, he was bone-tired. The last thing he wanted to hear when he walked into the house was that Rachael hadn’t shown up from her exploration excursion yet.

  “That city slicker leave over two hours ago,” Pauline explained as she shoved two pies into the oven. “Should have been back by now.”

  Remembering the way Rachael had torn out of the driveway in that ATV, he shook his head. “She’s a little too independent for her own good.”

  “A lot if you ask me,” Pauline put in.

  Bo downed a glass of tap water and frowned. The logical side of his brain knew that as a MIDNIGHT agent Rachael Armitage was more than capable of taking care of herself. But well-trained agent or not, she was out of her element on the high plains. She wasn’t familiar with the ranch. But what really concerned him was the fact that one of the world’s most brutal crime lords had put a price on her head.

  “Maybe you ought to saddle up and take a look.” Pauline glanced out the window where storm clouds roiled on the horizon. “Looks like it’s going to get bad.”

  “I reckon I’d better.” Grabbing his hat, Bo started for the door.

  He saddled his most reliable mount—a ten-year-old roan gelding named George—grabbed a slicker from the hook in the tack room and hit the trail at an easy lope.

  The ATV’s tire tracks were easy enough to follow. The ground was powder-dry. But he could smell the storm. He could feel the electric energy of it in the air. On the horizon a jagged spear of lightning slashed from sky to ground. The ensuing crash of thunder shook the earth. The storm was getting closer. If it rained, the trail would be washed away.

  “Damn tourist,” he muttered.

  Two miles from the ranch, traveling at a good clip over a rocky trail, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. “Whoa.” He stopped the horse and listened. The wind had kicked up, blowing dust and hissing through the treetops. Had he heard a gunshot? Or was it thunder?

  A second shot rang out. To the north if he wasn’t mistaken. Who was shooting and what the hell were they shooting at? Bo didn’t allow hunting on his ranch. He liked the wildlife, wanted to keep it the way it was. But he knew hunters occasionally trespassed onto his land from the adjoining ranch, most of the time without even realizing it. Usually a friendly word or two did the trick.

  Only this time Rachael Armitage was out here somewhere. A woman with a contract on her head. Sean Cutter had said she would be safe here. But Bo knew all too well that Viktor Karas had a very long reach.

  Another shot rang out, followed by
another. Not a sniper rifle, he deduced. A handgun.

  As if sensing danger, the Appaloosa danced beneath him. Reaching down, Bo patted his neck. “Easy, boy.”

  Every sense on red alert, he dismounted and scanned the immediate area. Two more shots exploded. Two hundred yards away. For the first time in two years, Bo wished he were armed.

  But the mere thought caused cold sweat to break out on the back of his neck. The shame that followed was surprisingly keen. At one time, he’d been an expert marksman. He’d won every sharpshooter award a man could win. But Bo hadn’t touched a gun since the night Michael Armitage died.

  Tying the gelding to the branch of a pinion pine, he crept down a rocky incline toward the source of the shooting. Several more shots rang out. He peeked around a boulder and for the first time had an unobstructed view of the valley floor.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Shock vibrated through him when he spotted Rachael. She’d assumed a shooter’s stance. Legs slightly apart. Right arm straight. Left hand cupping her gun hand. Several tin cans were lined up on a flat-topped rock. One by one she picked them off like target ducks at a county fair.

  Worry transformed into anger. Bo had been concerned about her. Evidently, she didn’t care. She hadn’t bothered to tell anyone where she was going or how long she would be gone. Considering she had a contract on her head, that was downright irresponsible.

  But deep inside Bo knew the real source of the hot surge of anger burning through him had more to do with his inability to do what he’d once been so very good at.

  Because he didn’t want to think about that, he clung to the raging torrent of anger as if it were a life raft. He let it drive him toward her.

  Ten yards from her, he growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, giving him only half of her attention. “Oh…I was just…killing some cans.”

  His temper reached the boiling point. “Do you realize there are people back at the house who are worried about you?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. I must have lost track of time.”

  “You have a contract on your head, damn it. There’s a dangerous storm blowing in.” He motioned dumbly at the ATV. “You could have had an accident. Did it even cross your mind that you should let someone know?”

  She looked over at the horizon. “It doesn’t look that bad.”

  “Doesn’t look that bad out here turns dry creeks into raging rapids and can wash out bridges.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  He glanced at the Beretta in her hand and the sweat on his back went cold. Coward, a little voice chanted. Big bad sharpshooter afraid to look at a teeny little handgun….

  “Why are you so angry?” she asked.

  “I’m angry because there are rules,” he snapped.

  She choked back a sound of exasperation. “What rules?”

  “This is rugged and isolated country, Rachael. When you go off somewhere, you tell someone. You tell them where you’re going and when you’ll be back and you stick to the plan.”

  “I told both you and Pauline where I was going.”

  “You didn’t show up when you told us you would!”

  “I said I lost track of time.”

  He jabbed her shoulder with his finger, eliciting a flash of anger in her eyes. “Out here, losing track of time can get you killed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now you and Cutter both are overreacting.”

  Bo could feel his teeth grinding. His heart pounding against his ribs. Unreasonable anger pushing him in a direction he did not want to take. “If that’s what you think, you’re a bigger fool than either of us imagined.”

  Her mouth tightened. Stepping toward him, she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest hard enough to send him back a step. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Ruskin. I don’t answer to you. This ranch is the last place I want to be. The only reason I’m here is because Sean Cutter forced me.”

  He brushed her finger away. “Yeah, well, here’s a newsflash for you, slick. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed on my watch. You got that?”

  RACHAEL STARED into his icy-blue eyes. Anger surged with every beat of her heart. But in addition to being royally ticked off by his attitude, she was also baffled. Bo Ruskin didn’t seem like the kind of man to overreact. In fact, if she weren’t mistaken, his hands were shaking. Was he that worried about her safety? Had she given him a bigger scare than she’d initially thought? Or was there something else going on she didn’t know about?

  The skies chose that moment to open up. The deluge of cold water was so sudden and forceful that it took her breath away. Wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans, she was soaked instantly.

  “Come on!” Bo shouted to be heard above the hard rush of rain.

  “I’ve got the ATV,” she shouted back.

  “Won’t make it through Nickel Creek.”

  “But it’ll be ruined, won’t it?”

  “It’ll be fine until the morning.” He motioned toward the ridge. “My horse is there. Let’s get out of here before that creek floods.”

  Surprise rippled through her when he took her hand. His hand was large and encompassed hers completely. Rachael got the impression of calluses and strength, but those elements were buffered by warmth and a gentle touch she hadn’t expected.

  Rain and wind pelted them as they dashed up the incline. At the top she caught a glimpse of a spotted horse tied to a bushy pine. Jake strode to the horse, then turned to her. “Get on and slide back.”

  “You’re going to walk?”

  Rain dripped from the rim of his hat. “We’re both going to ride. Now get on before we get stranded.”

  Rachael stepped up to the horse and put her foot in the stirrup. The next thing she knew strong arms shoved her up and onto the saddle.

  “Slide back.”

  Blinking rain from her eyes, she did as she was told. In a single, graceful movement, Bo swung onto the horse and into the saddle in front of her. “Hang on to me,” he shouted.

  Rachael set her hands lightly on his sides. She got the impression of hard male flesh. Before her brain could process that, the horse bolted into a gallop. She rocked back. Off balance, she grabbed for Bo and put her arms securely around his waist.

  The horse took them into a ravine. When Rachael had crossed it an hour ago, the creek had been dry. Now, a foot of muddy water crashed over river rock and sandstone, carrying branches and small debris on a wild ride through the ravine. The horse splashed through the current without a problem.

  At the top of the ravine, Bo put the horse into a gallop. Rachael had never felt a horse move like that before. She could feel the animal’s muscles flexing beneath her, and the awesome athletic power rendered her awestruck. Even though they moved at a blinding speed, not once did she feel as if she were in danger of falling.

  In front of her Bo rode as if he were an extension of the horse. His body was like steel against hers. Rachael could feel his abdominal muscles tense and flex as he moved with the animal.

  “Why are we going so fast?” she shouted to be heard above the wind and rain.

  “See those greenish thunderheads to the north? We got hail coming.”

  From the northeastern U.S., Rachael had never seen hail as a dangerous weather phenomenon. The worst she’d ever seen was marble-sized balls of ice. “What’s the big deal about hail?”

  Bo’s laugh carried over the roar of wind. “We get softball-sized hail regularly this time of year. You get hit in the head and you won’t be getting up. I lost a couple head of livestock that way last year.”

  Rachael honestly couldn’t imagine the damage such large hail would inflict. But a glance to the north proved the storm was gathering strength. Green-black clouds billowed on the horizon like smoke from some massive fire.

  The thought of getting clobbered by a softball-sized piece of ice did not appeal in the least to Rachael. For
the first time she realized she had underestimated the power of Mother Nature. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Rain slashed down like liquid knives as they rode toward the ranch. The sky lowered. Lightning flickered just to the north. The crash of thunder that fol lowed was deafening. The horse continued to move at a breakneck speed.

  The storm seemed to chase them. A huge monster, spitting fire and ice. Oddly, Rachael was not afraid. She held onto Bo, her trust in him complete. She knew instinctively he was a competent man. A capable horseman. The kind of man who would get them home safely.

  It took twenty minutes for them to reach the ranch. Bo slowed the horse to a jog at the arched gate. Through the driving rain, Rachael saw Pauline and the ranch hand standing at the barn door. For the first time she realized just how worried these people had been, and she felt like a fool.

  Bo stopped the gelding at the barn door. “Slide off,” he said.

  Rachael did as she was told. Bo dismounted and handed the reins to the ranch hand. “Be sure to cool him down slowly. I ran him pretty hard.”

  “Will do, Mr. Ruskin.”

  Rachael watched the ranch hand take the reins and begin walking the soaked and sweaty horse up and down the aisle. She had wanted to pet the animal to thank him for getting them to the ranch safely. When she turned back, Bo and Pauline were looking at her expectantly.

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” Rachael said.

  “Were you lost?” Pauline asked.

  “No, I—”

  “She lost track of time,” Bo said sarcastically.

  “I didn’t think the storm was going to get so bad,” Rachael defended.

  “Not thinking can get you killed out here,” Bo said.

  Pauline looked at him sharply. Rachael sensed she, too, was wondering about the source of his anger. Had he been sincerely worried about her? Or was there something else in the works?

  Tipping his hat, Bo turned and started for the house.

  Pauline’s gaze met Rachael’s. Within the brown depths of her eyes, Rachael thought she saw the woman apologizing for her surly boss. Before she could say anything, Pauline turned away.