Cowboy Lies

by Lynde Lakes

  Matt kissed Molly’s temple, then slipped out the door. Molly diapered the baby and gave her a bottle. She rocked her until the thick-lashed eyes drifted closed, then put the infant down and tucked a sheet around her. Molly’s hands shook as she threw things into bags. What would she need in Mexico? It didn’t matter. She’d take a few changes of clothing for herself and most of Sara Jane’s stuff.

  She finished stuffing their belongings into bags and suitcases, then showered. Matt had said to be ready at a moment’s notice. That might mean in the wee hours of the morning while it was still dark. Molly dressed in jeans and shirt and climbed into bed fully clothed.

  Where was Matt? Her earlier shadowy dream still troubled her. She made a playful plea to her subconscious, Molly to subliminal—come in. How about a replay of that dream? And this time let me remember it. What if she couldn’t sleep? But exhaustion claimed her, and as she had hoped, the dream she’d had earlier played again.

  Sara Jane cried.

  Molly awoke quickly, the dream fresh in her mind. She touched the other side of the bed. It was empty—just like it had been that night so long ago. Oh, God. She remembered who’d fathered her baby.

  ****

  At midnight, Matt finally got through to the FBI SWAT commander who had led the invasion of Del Fuego’s villa.

  “Everyone escaped,” the commander said. “Only a few frightened servants remained.”

  Matt frowned. “What about Del Fuego’s private airfield?”

  “Deserted. Looks like they moved their squadron.”

  “Squadron?” Matt knew they had a couple of Cessnas—what else?

  “Yeah. At least two helicopters and four planes. One he rents out to farmers for crop dusting, or so he claims.”

  “That’s a helluva lot of air power.”

  “Yeah,” the commander said. “But as you know, without concrete proof of illegal operations, our hands have been tied.”

  Matt made a sound of disgust. “And now that we have hard evidence, the bastard’s gone underground.”

  “We’ll get him,” the commander said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Matt swallowed past the constriction in this throat—time was about to run out. “I’d appreciate an update if Del Fuego is sighted.”

  After Matt hung up, he paced the barn’s office. For far too long, Del Fuego had gotten away with female slavery involving forced prostitution, drug trafficking, and murder. And now the SOB had added baby-selling to his sins. The world wouldn’t be safe until jail doors closed permanently on the bastard. Where the hell was he?

  A cold feeling in the pit of Matt’s stomach spurred him into action. He grabbed his cellular phone and called a meeting. After Alfonso, Luke, and the three FBI agents gathered in the office, Matt briefed them on the situation, then turned to Alfonso. “I have an uneasy feeling about Del Fuego’s disappearance. I want double guards through the night. Have Octavo cut the outside lighting to a minimum.” Octavo Cruz did all the ranch electrical work and could set the system quickly.

  “I’ll call him when we’re through here,” Alfonso said.

  “Good. The sooner, the better.” Matt turned to the FBI agents. “I need you guys to man your computers and cellulars and remain in constant contact with headquarters. If an update comes in on Del Fuego’s whereabouts, I want to know.”

  When Matt finished, Luke pulled him aside while keeping his eyes on Ramon. “What if someone on this ranch is in cahoots with Del Fuego?”

  “That’s where you come in,” Matt said. “Keep an eye on anyone acting suspiciously.” He wanted to include his brother in all of the plan, to make him feel trusted, needed, but he didn’t yet have complete faith in how Luke would hold up under pressure and decided to withhold the part about going to Mexico.

  While everyone filed out of the room, he asked Alfonso to stay so he could tell him the plans he didn’t want his brother or the other agents to know.

  Alfonso took in the information, nodded, and then heading out the door, he said, “I’ll meet you at the airstrip for last minute details before you leave.”

  “Thanks,” Matt called to Alfonso’s back.

  Matt glanced at his watch. It was two in the morning. He sighed and got up from his desk. He could grab a few hours of sleep before takeoff—

  A faint sound caught his attention. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand straight up as he recognized the droning hum of an airplane engine growing louder by the second. He ran to the window, reached it just as the plane passed overhead, and saw an unnatural silvery fog illuminated in the ranch compound lights. Poison gas?

  He watched in horror as men fell one after another. Del Fuego’s crop duster must’ve spewed some sort of sleeping gas. Was it lethal? He couldn’t go outside to help without protection, or he’d fall just like his men. Even now, the gas could be floating into the barn, swirling around his animals. No way to stop it. Soon, it would seep under the doorway of his office. If he were unconscious he’d be of no help to anyone. And he had to get to Molly and Sara Jane…

  He tied his neck scarf over his mouth and nose, and then opened a supply cabinet. Where the hell was his mask? Searching hastily, he jerked things down from the shelves until at last he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the mask used for spraying and hoped to God it would protect him against whatever gas was decimating his security detail.

  He heard the sound of aircraft again—not just one this time. It sounded like a whole fleet of planes was flying over his ranch, planes, helicopters, everything that Del Fuego had at his disposal. Scalding adrenaline shot through Matt’s veins when he heard the thrust of power decelerate. Son of a bitch. They were landing on the dirt road near the pasture. Sharp blasts of gunfire punctuated the night air.

  It sounded like some of his men were still conscious and were putting up a fight. The gun cabinet in his office was locked, as usual. No time to waste—Matt smashed his way into the cabinet, snatched up a high-powered rifle and shells, and loaded as many as he could into the gun as he bolted from the barn office. The whir of helicopter propellers came from the direction of the ranch house. His heart pounded. Molly!

  ****

  The roar of engines and hum of propellers awakened Molly from a light sleep. Nerves jangled, she raced to the window. A helicopter had set down in the clearing in front of the ranch house. Five men wearing gas masks and black flight suits raced toward the house.

  She had to be caught in a nightmare.

  The front door crashed open. Booted feet pounded across the tile floor and thudded up the stairs, closer and closer. Oh, God, this is real. I have to get to Sara Jane!

  She ran into the dimly lit hallway. A man at the top of the stairs lunged toward her. His arms closed around her like steel shackles. She struggled and kicked. The gas mask hid his face, but his muscular body and ash-blond hair convinced her it was Webb Viceman, the man Luke suspected of killing Parker. Behind Webb, a tall wiry man with coal black hair charged into the nursery and returned a second later carrying her crying baby.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Molly screamed.

  The Latino man shouted through the gas mask to the others searching the house. “We have both of them.”

  Even muffled, Molly recognized the voice—Paulo Santina, the pilot who’d first brought Webb to the ranch.

  “We got an old couple,” another man called from down the hall. “What’ll we do with them?”

  “Tie them up. If they give you trouble, shoot them.”

  Closing her eyes, Molly thought of Gavin’s bad heart and his stubborn streak. She prayed he’d do as he was told.

  Santina pressed a gas mask over her baby’s tiny face. Sara Jane screamed at the top of her lungs and shook her head to get it off. Molly’s stomach knotted. Her baby’s cries broke her heart. “Don’t, please! She won’t be able to breathe.”

  She grabbed for her baby.

  “You want her to breathe sleeping gas?” Santina asked. “Who knows what it will do to a baby
?”

  Before Molly could respond, Webb shoved a mask against her face. “Strap it on.”

  When she obeyed, he hustled her, struggling and kicking, down the stairs and out of the house toward the helicopter. The propellers whipped the air, pushing the sleeping gas away from the immediate area. She had to delay them somehow. If she got into the craft, she was dead.

  Carrying the baby, Santina ran ahead and climbed in. Now Molly had no choice but to get in. She had to stay with her baby. Think! They haven’t killed me—yet. Del Fuego must want me alive…at least long enough to question me. Maybe he thought she still had the coins. She clung to that hope.

  “Get in,” Webb growled.

  Molly nodded, but faked a couple of false starts by hopping about as though she couldn’t climb in on her own. Webb cursed, then lifted her and shoved her inside. He stood guard outside the door, waiting for the men who had stayed behind to tie up Victoria and Gavin. “Come on, come on,” he said, urging his crew.

  Damn, she wished she knew how to fly a helicopter. Oh, yeah, and how would she get rid of these bozos even if she could? But she had to do something. She faced Santina with her arms outstretched. “Please, just let me hold my baby.”

  Santina hesitated, then shoved the screaming baby into her arms. She braced herself against a seat and kicked Santina out the door and into Webb who was clambering inside. The action thrust Webb against the three men behind him. Off balance, the men fell like a row of dominos. She put Sara Jane onto a seat, grabbed the door, and yanked it shut. After she rotated the latch to a locked position, she seized her baby and huddled on the floor. I’ve done all I can do, Matt. The rest is up to you.

  ****

  Just before the men had emerged from the house, Matt had crouched behind a water trough and taken aim at the gas tank of the chopper figuring if he could put a couple of holes in it, it might leak enough fuel that escape would be impossible. Before he could get a shot off, men raced out of the house hustling Molly and the baby into the helicopter. He couldn’t shoot now. Damn it, I need a miracle. Then he got it. Molly kicked out, sending the men tumbling to the ground, and then shut the helicopter door. That’s my girl!

  The barred door wouldn’t keep those men out for long. Already, they were struggling to their feet. Matt fired to drive them back from the chopper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother stumble around the side of the bunkhouse with a rifle in his hand. Luke ducked behind a barrel and took aim at the chopper’s gas tank. “Luke, no! Molly and the baby are inside!”

  “Oh, dear God,” Luke said with horror in his tone.

  Del Fuego’s men whirled toward the sound of Luke’s outcry. Someone fired. Matt’s breath caught as he saw his little brother fall backward. Then, the gunfire turned on Matt. A bullet grazed his shoulder. Matt returned fire, driving them back away from the chopper. Some of Matt’s men were regaining consciousness and were staggering to their feet, pulling out weapons, and shooting. Bullets flew in both directions.

  The helicopter crew retreated behind the chopper to a metal shed. Matt wanted to go to his brother and see how bad he was hurt. But he had to get Molly and Sara Jane out of there. A stray bullet could hit the gas tank and—

  “Cover me!” he called to the revived vaqueros.

  Amid blazing bullets, Matt ran to the chopper and banged on the door. “Open up, Molly! You’re not safe in there. A bullet could hit the gas tank.”

  To his relief, she slid the door open, handed him the baby, and jumped out. “Go! I’m right behind you.”

  Zigzagging, they ran to the barn and slipped inside. “Are Mom and Dad okay?” Matt asked, breathing hard.

  “The men tied them up.”

  Matt prayed they weren’t hurt.

  Molly gasped. “You’re bleeding!”

  “Just a flesh wound. Take Sara Jane, go to my office and stay there until I come for you. Lock yourself in.”

  She clutched his arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Luke’s been shot and needs help.”

  ****

  Molly paced the office, jiggling Sara Jane. “Come on, sweetie, stop crying. We’re safe now.” She hoped she was right about that. She saw the gun cabinet, the shells. She didn’t know anything about guns. Could she run a bluff?

  Sara Jane’s cries lessened to whimpers, then quieted. “Such a good baby,” Molly crooned. “Mommy’s sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”

  Where could she hide her baby if it became necessary? Could a baby breathe in a desk drawer? If she cried, it would give her away.

  More gunfire echoed through the night air. Molly’s stomach knotted. Luke had been shot. She’d brought all this trouble to Matt’s ranch. What about Matt? Please, God…Matt could be shot again. This time fatally. She prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before. She couldn’t bear it if Matt were killed. She loved him. And he is my baby’s father.

  How would she tell him? What if he were killed before she had the chance? She closed her eyes and refused to dwell on such a horrible thought.

  Molly shivered. What if something happened to her? The secret would die with her. She wanted Matt to know. She didn’t want to think the worst, but just in case…She picked up a pen from Matt’s desk and on a notepad she printed,

  My dearest Matt, In case things go wrong I wanted you to know—you are Sara Jane’s father. Take care of her. I love you. Molly.

  She heard footsteps outside the office. Her skin prickled. Had Matt returned for her? It seemed too soon. She looked through the glass section of the door. Someone had turned out the lights in the barn—there was nothing but blackness. She flicked off the office lamp.

  Outside the office, hooves moved about restlessly. A horse whinnied. She crouched behind the desk. “Please, Sara Jane, don’t cry.”

  The door crashed in. Men with flashlights rushed in. Circles of light skittered around the room. “Look who I found,” said a bear of a man with a boxer’s misshapen nose.

  “Muy bueno, Claudio,” another man said.

  Claudio ignored the praise. “Get up.”

  Four men with guns stared down at her. She rose to her feet while patting her baby’s back.

  “Hand over the kid,” Claudio said.

  “No, please! She’s terrified!”

  Claudio pointed his gun at the baby’s head. “Better scared than dead.”

  With her heart thudding against her ribs, Molly drew her baby closer. “Don’t take her from me. Please!”

  He pulled back the hammer on the gun. “Lady, I’m not playin’.”

  With a raw ache in her throat, Molly handed her baby to him.

  “We’re going out the back way to a waiting plane,” he said. “I’m going first with the kid. If you care about her, you’ll keep up, and come along quietly.” One of the other men grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

  ****

  Matt’s men returned fire from behind makeshift barricades of old machinery and bales of hay. Matt ran from the barn to Alfonso. “Are all the men okay?”

  “Si. The gas knocked them out, but the wind worked in our favor and cleared the fumes out pronto.”

  Matt tilted his head toward the helicopter. “What’s the status?”

  “Two of the crew down. Three to go. But we’ve got mucho problemas coming from every direction. The ranch is swarming with Del Fuego’s men.”

  “Where are our FBI heroes?” Matt couldn’t keep the contempt from his tone.

  “Looking for Molly. I told them you took her to the barn.”

  “Good.” They wanted to take over the job of protecting her—take her away from him. He didn’t want the FBI hotshots near Molly and the baby, but until he could return to her, their temporary protection gave him peace of mind. After he checked on Luke, he would send the agents back here to help. “Hold the fort. Luke’s down. Gotta see how bad he’s hurt.” Damn. Molly, Luke, and his parents all needed him. And he should stay and fight beside his men. He had to make choices. “Send someone to the house to chec
k on my parents.”

  “Si. I’ll send Lorenzo.”

  Matt squeezed Alfonso’s shoulder. “Gracias, amigo.”

  Dodging bullets, Matt ran in a crouch to where his brother had fallen. He skidded to his knees, placed his rifle on the ground next to Luke’s weapon, and pulled his brother into his arms. Luke’s eyes blinked open. His hair was matted with blood. “You hurt bad, bro?” Matt asked past the lump in his throat.

  “My ear.”

  Matt wiped away the blood with his neck scarf. His throat constricted. A slice of ear was blown clean away. Other than the loss of blood, the wound wasn’t life threatening. Relief washed over him. “Just grazed,” he said. “You’ll live.”

  Luke pointed to Matt’s blood-soaked sleeve. “Looks like you’ve lost a little blood yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been a helluva night.”

  Matt strapped the rifles over his shoulder with his belt, placed his brother’s arm around his neck, and helped him to his feet. “Stay low. Hold this cloth tight over your ear. I’ll get you to the barn and Molly can patch you up.”

  “I’d be okay if my head would just quit spinnin’.”

  The barn door squeaked as Matt yanked it open and helped Luke inside. His eyes met a wall of blackness. Why were the lights out? Horses stomped restlessly. The fine hairs on the back of Matt’s neck prickled.

  “Can you stand on your own?” He braced Luke against a wall. “I have to find a flashlight.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Go on.” The grit in his brother’s voice sent a surge of warmth through Matt. The kid was okay. Would he always think of him as a kid? Being married with a baby of his own sure as hell hadn’t matured Luke. Maybe someday.

  Matt smoothed his hand over the wall, feeling for the flashlight he’d hung on a hook by the door. Bingo. He flicked it on, then helped his brother to a bale of hay. “Sit here.”

  He tried the closest light switch. Nothing. He headed for the electrical box. The door stood open—someone had switched off the main lever. He thrust it back on. With the lights working again, he returned to his brother.

  The world began to spin like a crazed bull. Matt slumped down next to Luke. Luke’s eyes widened. “You’re gettin’ a little green around the gills, bro.”