Tag, You're It!

by Penny McCall

  In a few minutes Matt pulled up beside Alex and turned off the sled. “Started out about four a.m.” he said. “Couldn’t get you on the radio. Got worried. What are you doing out here?”

  “The plane didn’t come back,” Alex said, “but a helicopter showed up and burned down my cabin.”

  Matt was off the snowmobile, ripping at his gloves, heading straight for Tag.

  Alex stepped between them. “It’s not his fault,” she said to Matt.

  “Like hell it’s not. You could’ve been killed.”

  “So could he.”

  “My bet is he deserves it.”

  “Based on what?” Tag said.

  Matt glared at Tag, but he spoke to Alex. “Got some information back on him. No record, but he gets around a lot for a guy who’s on the up and up.”

  “Maybe I’m a salesman,” Tag said, “maybe I’m a travel agent. Or maybe I just like to see new places.”

  “Are you finished?” Alex asked him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then tell him the truth.”

  “It’s none of his business.”

  Alex smacked him on the arm, which stung since his skin was ice cold. “Fine,” he snapped, “I’m looking for the Lost Spaniard.”

  Just like when he’d told Alex, there was a split second of stunned silence, then Matt threw his head back and laughed.

  ———

  THE TOWN OF CASTEEL HAD SPREAD ITSELF HAPHAZARDLY along one side of a small valley with a shallow river running through it. The other side of the valley was public grazing land for the livestock owned by the town’s residents. Once upon a time that had been a lot of animals. Nowadays not so much—not that the empty grassland had been converted to another use. Tradition was as much a part of the town as the mountains around it, and just as enduring. Being a resident of Casteel required a certain amount of resistance to change.

  It also took a special kind of approach to life, eccentric being a central theme. The place was filled with kooks, Alex thought fondly as they made their way down the final hill toward the bridge at the west end of town, and it didn’t say much for her that some of those kooks thought she was strange for living alone up in the hills, communing with animals that could rip her to shreds. But they kept their opinions to themselves. At least when she was around. Discussing her with others, now that was another story. Literally.

  Gossip was as much a part of daily activity in Casteel as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. These were simple people, with workdays that often outlasted the sun at both ends of the day. Except for television, there wasn’t a whole lot in the way of entertainment to be had in such a small town. Who could blame them for having an overdeveloped interest in the lives of their friends and neighbors? And sure, the tale might be a little embellished by each subsequent narrator, but a person could live—or at least drink—off a choice tidbit of gossip for weeks.

  So, when Matt, Alex, and Tag hit the edge of town, it was quite the event. Admittedly they were a strange procession, consisting, as they did, of a sheriff on a snowmobile, a zoologist on a horse, and a half-frozen, thoroughly pissed-off stranger on a sled.

  Of course it was Tag who got the most attention, Alex noticed as they wended their way down the single main street, a small parade of Casteel residents queuing up behind them so they formed a little parade. Tag was back to sulking, when he wasn’t shivering, although it was his own fault he’d ended up on the sled. He wouldn’t ride behind Matt, and Matt wouldn’t let him ride the snowmobile on his own. Tag couldn’t get close enough to Jackass to climb into the saddle—not without losing a chunk of arm or leg—and he didn’t last long on the snowshoes. He’d gotten the hang of them, but he didn’t have the staying power after the day and night he’d been through. Neither would she, Alex had to admit, but Tag had only looked sour when she’d made that observation.

  The sheriff’s office was in the center of town, but it didn’t take long to get there, since the town wasn’t much over two miles long from end to end.

  “You want to lie down in one of the cells?” Matt asked her once they’d gone inside. He started to open the door to the small back room that was subdivided into two cells. “You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m pretty tired,” Alex agreed, “but I intend to have a huge breakfast and then I’ll get a room at the Casteeley Inn and sleep for a couple days.”

  Matt’s face fell. “You could stay with me,” he said.

  “In this town?” she teased. “Word runs through this place faster than a starving mountain lion on the chase.”

  “I never thought gossip bothered you.”

  “Doesn’t,” Alex said, “but I think it would bother Annabelle.”

  Matt looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. “You kept turning me down,” he muttered.

  “Maybe you should rename this Melrose Place.” Tag was over by the wood-burning stove, turning like a chicken on a spit. When he rotated to face her, Alex saw that he was smirking.

  But there was a glint in his eyes she didn’t like. That glint looked like it concerned her, and her relationship with Matt, and Tag forcing himself on her in the forest. Okay, so it hadn’t exactly been force, more like she’d been surprised. It hadn’t exactly been unwelcome, either, but it had been stupid, and she especially didn’t like feeling as though Tag Donovan was staking his territory.

  “Peyton Place more your speed?” he said to Matt, clearly intent on picking a fight.

  The flush spread from Matt’s ears, encompassing his whole face, except for a white ring around his mouth where his lips were pressed tight together. One of his hands fisted, but the other ran over the badge on his chest and that seemed to steady him. Lucky for Tag.

  “Haul out your wallet,” Matt growled at him, “and sit down.”

  “He’s not carrying a wallet,” Alex said. “Or any other identification. Just a wad of cash.”

  Both men turned to her.

  “I checked while he was unconscious.”

  Matt gave her a long stare. She returned it. Tag, thank God kept silent.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Matt finally said. “Just about any form of ID can be faked these days.” He sat back in his chair. “We’re gonna get this treasure BS out of the way and then you can leave town.”

  “I don’t want to leave town,” Tag said.

  “You aren’t staying here,” Matt informed him, calm but immoveable. “I can’t find any wants or warrants on you. Or anyone matching your description. ‘Bout the only thing I could arrest you for is stupidity, but that’s what natural selection is for.”

  “It’s a free country,” Tag said. “I’m staying.”

  “So you can look for the Lost Spaniard?” Matt sneered.

  “That’s right.”

  “Smarter people than you have looked for that treasure, Donovan, people who know how to survive in the wilderness.” Matt’s gaze traveled over Tag’s completely unsuitable clothing. “If none of them found the treasure, what makes you think you can?”

  “He claims to have some new information,” Alex said when Tag remained mulishly silent. “And he seems to think he can convince me to be his guide.”

  Matt’s face went almost to scarlet, his fists clenched.

  “You talking about the Lost Spaniard?”

  Matt jerked the rest of the way to his feet, but he only gave Tag a last furious glare before he turned toward the door leading to the cells. A rail-thin man with a gray-shot beard and ratty clothes was standing there, looking like death warmed over.

  “What’re you doing here, Trankey?”

  Joe Trankey, town lush, put one hand on the doorjamb and when that didn’t completely steady him, grabbed the other side. “Got drunk last night. You wasn’t around so I came over and slept it off. What’re we paying taxes for anyway, when you’re not around to do your job?”

  Matt crossed the room and caught him by the collar, half dragging, half supporting him to the front door and depositing him on the boardwalk outside. />
  “You can’t do this to me,” Trankey yelled, kicking at the door and winding up on his butt for his efforts. “I’ll call the capital,” he said as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. “I’ll call Homeland Security. I’ll call your mother.”

  Matt just shook his head and sat back down.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t blow that off,” Tag said, “him calling your mother.”

  “Unless he has a direct line to the afterlife he’s not getting anywhere near my mother.”

  “He wouldn’t waste the time anyway,” Alex added. “By now he’s down at the diner, telling anyone who will listen that there’s a guy in town who claims to have some new information about the Spaniard.”

  Tag shrugged. “I don’t care who he tells.”

  “You will.” Matt crossed his arms and smiled. “Just wait and see.”

  Chapter Six

  “SO,” TAG SAID TO ALEX AS THEY LEFT THE SHERIFF’S office, “breakfast?”

  “No.” She started off down the boardwalk to where she’d left Jackass tied up at an old-fashioned hitching post across the street.

  Tag kept pace a couple of steps behind her, telling himself he was doing it to annoy her. But his eyes were on her backside. It was pretty cold, and he still wasn’t wearing a coat, but he kept his eyes on her ass and didn’t notice the frigid temperature. “I’m buying.”

  “It’s the least you could do after I saved your life. Twice.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. Someone like you doesn’t leave a man in the snow to die.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re still alive because of me.” She stopped at the corner, waited until his eyes lifted from her backside to her face, then shook her head and stepped off the curb.

  Tag didn’t miss the way one side of her mouth turned up before she caught herself. “You must be hungry after all that hard work,” he called after her.

  “I have to get Jackass settled.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Halfway across the street she turned back to him, maybe not the smartest move, but there wasn’t a lot of traffic in Casteel. Hell, there was no traffic in Casteel. Except for the pickup truck that roared around the corner on two wheels, engine racing, heading straight for Alex.

  She froze, mouth open, eyes wide. Tag took a running leap and hit her broadside, his momentum carrying both of them out of the pickup’s path to sprawl in a heap against the market on the opposite side of the street, arms and legs tangled, Alex mostly on top.

  She lay there a few seconds, heart galloping so hard her chest and neck hurt, and little black dots dancing in front of her eyes. Eventually the cold of the slush soaking through her jeans worked its way around the terror. “That was close,” she said to Tag, pushing up with the heels of her hands braced on his chest.

  He didn’t open his eyes.

  “Tag?”

  Nothing.

  “You did it this time,” she muttered, stripping off her gloves and trying not to notice that her hands were shaking when she ran them through his hair. No bumps, no blood.

  And then she realized he was smiling—although he groaned as she untangled herself from him. The groaning might have had something to do with her knees and elbows. But he still wasn’t getting up.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asked, kneeling beside him, her hands on his chest “again.”

  “Lower.”

  She followed his directions, but the only thing she moved were her eyes. Yeah, there was a distinct swelling south of his zipper. “I thought you were in pain.”

  “There are all kinds of pain.”

  She slugged him.

  “Ouch,” he said, holding his side. “Do you have to keep aiming for my ribs?”

  Alex eyed his bulge. “I could think of another target.”

  “The ribs are fine,” Tag said, climbing stiffly to his feet.

  Alex got up, too, stepping to the edge of the curb and looking into the empty street. “What was that?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  The same pickup truck came around the corner, backward, slipping and sliding to a stop next to where they stood. It sat in the street, rusted fenders rattling along with the engine’s rough idle. The passenger window cranked slowly down.

  Tag stepped in front of Alex.

  “Not in this century,” she said, and stepped up next to him again.

  “Is it true?” the man inside the cab wanted to know, craning his head to peer out in their direction.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Alex replied.

  “Yee haw,” he shouted, gunning the truck and leaving them ankle deep in slush and awash in a cloud of noxious exhaust.

  “I take it you know who that was?”

  “Trankey’s brother,” Alex said.

  “Shit. Was he drunk, too?”

  “Gold fever. Same thing.” She turned to look at Tag, hands on hips. “But you thought it was our friends from back at the cabin, right? And before you answer, it would be nice if you kept the bullshit content to a minimum.”

  Tag shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve taken a shot at us.”

  “It would be the first time it was aimed specifically at me.”

  “It wasn’t aimed at you. This time. What do you think is going to happen when everyone finds out you came to town with me?”

  “You’re the one with the new information,” she reminded him. “I think they’re going to drive you crazy and leave me alone.”

  “Isn’t that a little optimistic for you?”

  “It’s realistic. The people around here know me, and when I tell them I have no idea where the treasure is they’ll believe me.”

  “It might be a good idea for us to stick together.”

  “That’s what got me into this position in the first place,” she said, untying Jackass and heading toward the stable at the other end of town.

  Tag caught her arm, hauling her to a stop. “You have no idea what you’re up against,” he said.

  “Then maybe you should fill me in.”

  He thought about that for a minute, but nothing had really changed. He still didn’t know enough about her, or the situation, to safely weigh his options and pick a course of action.

  “Well?”

  Tag let go of her arm.

  “I didn’t think so,” she said. “I’d tell you it’s been a pleasure, but…” she spread her hands.

  “Yeah,” Tag said, catching her drift.

  “Good-bye.”

  “I hope that’s not a permanent sentiment,” he called after her.

  ———

  “NICE TO KNOW YOU’RE STILL ALIVE.”

  “Just barely,” Tag said to Mike Kovaleski, his handler at the FBI, adding “pay phone,” by way of warning. Not only was it an unsecured line, the pay phone was outside, no booth. Too big a risk that someone would overhear something they shouldn’t. “I got dumped out of an airplane in the middle of nowhere, on a woman who stalks mountain lions and talks to horses. The guys on the plane gave me a wad of cash and took everything I had on me including my wallet and phone.”

  Not that there were a lot of cell towers around here anyway. There wasn’t much of anything around here. One vet, one gas station, one feed store, one market—that sold coats, thankfully—and one too many sheriffs. An odd assortment of houses squatted on the narrow, rutted dirt lanes behind the main drag, and quite a few horses were tethered on the west side of the street.

  The sheriff’s office sat at one end of town, and a closed railroad station anchored the other; Tag suspected they’d driven it out of business so they could hunker in their little valley and not be tainted by the outside world. Good thing there were pickups and cars parked on the east side of the street or he’d be concerned about inbreeding.

  “This is the first chance I’ve had to check in,” he said to Mike.

  There was silence from the other end of the phone, the kind of silence that came from disbelief warring with past history. Past hist
ory won out. “It’s not the most outlandish thing you’ve ever told me,” Mike finally said. “Hell, it’s not the strangest report I’ve had this week. You should hear about Jack Mitchell’s last mission. I’d tell you—if it wasn’t classified.”

  “Mitchell? He still breathing? I figured some drug dealer would’ve gotten him by now.”

  “It’s not the drug cartels, it’s the women,” Mike said, chuckling. “He ran into one who… Let’s just say Pablo Corona was no match for her. Neither was Jack.”

  “Sounds entertaining, but can we focus on me for a minute?”

  “Yeah, chucked out of an airplane on Dr. Doolittle,” Mike said, all business despite the amusement still light in his voice. “How’d you live through that?”

  “The plane wasn’t very high when they pushed me out, there was a couple feet of snow, and Dr. Doolittle has a conscience.” He told Mike the rest of the story, filling in some pieces he hadn’t shared with Alex, carefully cleansed for public consumption, just in case. “About all I know is that Alex is in the middle of this thing and I need to stick close to her if I want to find out what’s going on.”

  “If? You still hoping I’ll pull you off this case?”

  “I shouldn’t be on this case.”

  “You’re right, you should be taking time off like the psychs suggested.”

  “You’re not going to start that garbage about how I shouldn’t be in the field so soon?”

  “Would it do me any good?” Mike didn’t wait for an answer. “I gave you this case because I knew you’d go crazy sitting around, and then you’d go after Anthony Sappresi.”

  “He killed Zukey,” Tag said. “He tried to kill me. You’re damn right I’m going after him—”

  “You know the rules, Donovan.”

  “Yeah.” The bureau wouldn’t put him on the investigation into his partner’s murder. Tag chewed on that for a minute, but he already knew he was in for the duration. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. “Okay, so now that this busywork case is going to shit, what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest you get into Dr. Doolittle’s brain, see what she knows.”

  “She doesn’t know anything,” Tag muttered sourly, then hissed out a breath. “That’s my gut talking,” he admitted, and he didn’t trust his gut anymore.