by Taylor Lee
Noah raised an eyebrow and eyed the Sheriff, then allowed a slight smile to quirk his lips.
“I trust I’m not being too personal, Sheriff Carter, but that was something we were aware of before we came to your fair county. The question we haven’t been able to determine is how many men in the Sherriff’s office have relinquished their balls to Mr. Drechsler and his gang of thugs.”
A sandy-haired, slight man in his mid-twenties standing behind the Sheriff growled and glared at Noah.
“You have no business coming in here and making accusations like that. BJC is as honorable a lawman as you’ll meet in these parts. I’m right privileged to be working with him.”
The Sheriff put a restraining hand on the incensed deputy’s arm.
“Settle down now, Darrell. Of course, those big guns in D.C. suspect that Clay has made inroads into our little nest. Hell, sometimes I wonder myself if he and all those FAN motherfuckers haven’t. They sure as hell have insin-u-ated themselves into every other fuckin’ organization in the county.”
Noah met the young man’s hostile gaze.
“I presume you are Deputy Solberg. Don’t misunderstand, Deputy.” Pointing to his associates, he said, “We’re lawmen ourselves. My presumption is always that our fellow officers are honorable. The creed ‘innocent until proven otherwise’ goes double for fellow lawmen. That said, don’t misunderstand. We wouldn’t be here if you and the Sheriff had done your jobs. From our perspective it appears that FAN may have the whole damn county by the balls, including the Sheriff’s office.”
At the angry growl from Solberg and the deputy standing beside him, Noah met their furious gazes. He had expected their anger, in fact invited it. He was more interested in how the Sheriff was reacting to his intentional jibes. Interestingly the Sheriff merely shrugged and spit a stream of tobacco juice in an impressive arc three feet across the ground.
“Settle down, boys. Agent Walker is jest tryin’ to rile you, to see if he can.” Meeting Noah’s smile, the tough man harrumphed. “Ain’t you, Agent Walker? Seein’ who among us has a short fuse. Although you might want to consider that if they do, it isn’t becuz these boys of mine are dirty. Shee-it, no. Maybe like me they’re jest frustrated. Clay Drechsler has taken over the whole goddamn county and no one knows it better than we do. If you think you can ride in on your white horses and clean up the most godawful mess I’ve seen in a lifetime of messes, have at it. Hell, man, we can use the help.”
Tucking another wad of tobacco in his cheek the sheriff met Noah’s gaze.
“You seem like a nice enough fellow, and smart. Jest don’t underestimate what we got goin’ on here. It’s shit as bad as you’re likely to run into in your career. As for you personally, Agent Walker, I’ll tell you straight up. The sums-a-bitches you’re after may not wear sheets but you can bet their closets are full of them. And the only reason they don’t wear ‘em any more is becuz they like to show off their KKK ink.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate the warning. Do know that we have a truckload of information on Drechsler and his gang. If even half of what we have is legit, it’s no wonder that you haven’t been able to make inroads. That’s why we are here. Not to criticize but to help.”
Seeing the angry expressions on the deputies’ faces, Noah spoke directly to them.
“Look, gentlemen, you can see us as fellow lawmen after the same result you are or you can treat us as intruders and paint us as the enemy. Just know that there’s a whole lot of backup where we come from. And know something about me personally; I’ve dealt with hagies, tangos and every damn stripe of terrorists in eight different countries. Bastards who would slice your head off with one casual swipe of a sword if they could. I know bad guys. I’ve tussled with them most of my career. From what I’ve seen and heard about the fuckers you are dealing with, they would give the Middle Eastern Islamist terrorists a run for their money. I don’t minimize what you’ve been dealing with.”
Noah looked from the Sheriff to each of his deputies, then locked in on their gazes. Putting down his marker, he said in a casual tone laced with confidence, “I’ve never lost a battle in my career. I’m not bragging, Gentlemen, simply stating the facts. To ensure that we are all on the same page, know that Cochise County, Colorado is not going to be the site of my first defeat.”
“A compelling statement, Agent Walker. Sure to make anyone, unsavory or not, sit up and take notice. Given that I’m likely one of the ‘fuckers’ that BJC and his stalwart deputies are ‘dealing with,’ may I introduce myself?”
The tall distinguished man, wearing a gray Stetson that matched the color of his iron hard eyes, smiled at Noah and extended his hand.
“The name is Drechsler, Clay Drechsler. I own a few properties in these parts, one of which is the Back Door Saloon. When I heard that you’d arrived in Cedartown, I thought it would be good for us to become acquainted. It just so happens that my chef at the Back Door is in the process of making the best buffalo steaks you’ll ever eat. I’d be honored if you would join me for dinner this evening.”
Noah took his time answering the impressive man whose appearance had brought a hush to the room. Drechsler was much as advertised in the copious background materials Noah had studied. He was the epitome of a prosperous Western gentleman. His tailored shirt, bolo tie, hand tooled belt, and silver studded boots spoke to the attention Drechsler paid to his appearance, and to his carefully honed image. Noah also noted that his adversary had ex-military written all over him. In his mid-forties, Drechsler had been careful not to let his Army-hard body go to seed. A muscular physique and the telltale bulges above both boots confirmed that Drechsler didn’t have to rely on the two hard-eyed men at his back. The message he gave loud and clear was that anyone who had an argument with Clay Drechsler could take it up right here, with the man himself.
Noah nodded and extended his hand. Though Drechsler’s invitation had been uttered in a pleasant, disarming voice, no one in his right mind would mistake it for a off-the-cuff offer. The stern lift of his chiseled jaw and narrowed gaze confirmed that the dinner invite was closer to a summons than a solicitation.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Drechsler. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance. I’ll admit that I hadn’t expected a welcoming party, much less a dinner invitation. I’ll also confess that I’ve only had Buffalo meat one time in my life and nearly wore down two of my back molars trying to chew the damn thing. Which makes it a certainty that the steak your chef is preparing will indeed be the best Buffalo steak I’ve eaten.” He added with a grin, “Please take that as a yes to your invitation.”
Drechsler’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. If anything the steely orbs hardened more. Clearly Noah’s humorous acceptance of the command appearance didn’t sit well with the authoritative man. His response was curt, making it clear that no one refused his invitations.
“Good. I assumed you would agree. Seven o’clock at the Back Door?”
Noah responded cheerfully.
“Excellent, that will give me and my men time to get settled at the hotel.” He nodded to the three agents accompanying him and added as if it was an afterthought.
“I presume that your invitation includes my fellow agents?” He motioned for his men to step forward. “May I introduce Agent Daniels, Agent Parker and Agent O’Hanlon?” He smiled pleasantly at the grim men standing behind Drechsler. “I assume we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next several weeks. Dining together is an excellent way to ensure that we all understand precisely how our futures are irrevocably linked.”
He nodded to Drechsler and turned to the burly lawman standing silently at his elbow. The sheriff looked as stern as the rest of them. Extending his hand, Noah said, “Thank you for meeting with me, Sheriff Carter. In that I’ll be dining with former Col. Drechsler this evening, let’s have breakfast tomorrow morning. Is eight o’clock too early for you, Sir?”
The sheriff glanced from Drechsler to Noah, his eyes dancing with suppress
ed humor. Clearly not missing the anger emanating from Drechsler at Noah’s loaded reference to the miscreant’s dishonorable discharge from the Army, the sheriff chortled.
“Eight o‘clock will be just fine, Agent Walker. How about you take along a tape recorder to that Buffalo steak dinner tonight? I’d like to hear the two of you gents square off.”
He tossed Clay Drechsler an impudent grin.
“Don’t know if I’m bein’ premature, Clay, makin’ assumptions I shouldn’t be makin’. But I gotta feeling you jest might have met your match. This young feller is nothing to mess with. Even for you.”
Drechsler’s grimace was closer to a sneer than a smile as he focused on the sheriff.
“Careful, Sheriff Carter. I believe it was Jade Morgan who said, ‘To assume is to presume.’ Or as William of Ockham put it, ‘The explanation—or in this case, the expectation—requiring the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct.’ ”
Noah tugged thoughtfully at the clipped beard on his chin. He glanced from one to the other of the two men glaring at each other then gave a gracious shrug.
“I don’t know, Gentlemen, but perhaps David Brin captured our particular situation best when he said, ‘The worst mistake of first contact, made throughout history by individuals on both sides of every new encounter, has been the unfortunate habit of making assumptions. It often proved fatal.’ ”
The sheriff’s outright grin split his wizened face. He chuckled as he met Drechsler’s stern gaze.
“Whadda I tell you, Clay? You most definitely have met your match.”
Drechsler’s response was more of a warning than a rejoinder.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear our young friend, Sheriff Carter. If I understood his apt quotation, assumptions are dangerous, indeed often fatal—for all who are involved.”
The two men looked so much like angry pit bulls facing off over a piece of red meet that Noah threw back his head and laughed. He winked at his three agents who all were looking more than a little perplexed.
“Perhaps now, Gentlemen, you believe me when I told you that this gig was going to be our most successful and enjoyable one yet. With actors like these two in the starring roles, how can it be anything but entertaining?”
Chapter 12
Ruby tugged at a long curl pulling the silky tendril against her cheek along with several others. She’d secured her fiery red hair on top of her head with a black velvet ribbon but let several playful curls hang free. The effect was wanton, exactly what she was aiming for. Glancing in the mirror, she gave an amused snort. She almost laughed out loud wondering what Stuart would say if he saw her. And he’d thought the dress she’d worn to the Washington D.C. shindig was slutty! Hmm, it would serve him right if he could see her now, she thought with a grin. Good God, she wished she had a catalogue of the outfits she had worn in her life as a highly trained special operative. Forget Army fatigues, combat boots, dress blues, her hair smashed under a regulation cap.
Uh uh. Her “uniforms” ran the gambit from skin tight pants and revealing halters to outright stripper garb or lacy lingerie that left little to the imagination. The operative word for any and all of her costumes was slutty, or at the very least provocative. She almost giggled looking in the mirror. This was the first time that her waitress uniform had been modeled after an 1890’s saloon girl get up. The body hugging corset seemed to triple the size of her ample breasts, pushing them front, center and sideways. She giggled aloud. Over the top, anyone? The nipped in waist accentuated her curvy hips. Fishnet stockings attached to a black garter belt made the most of her toned legs. A black velvet choker around her neck with a cameo picture of an authentic saloon girl was her only ornament. Breaking from the turn of the century outfit were high heeled cowboy boots that, thank God, gave her some much needed height. They had the added advantage that each of them had room for her various weapons. In one boot she tucked her specially designed Glock 19 Gen 4 that accepted 33-round magazines. In the other boot she holstered a regulation K-bar and a clever, collapsing balisong blade.
Ruby shook her head. If it weren’t so ridiculous, she would actually like the costume. It looked as though it had been designed especially for her. Apparently massively curvy, shorter women were “in” in the 1890’s. A nice change from today’s Barbie Doll standards that were impossible for any normal women to achieve; except for her LOTN counterparts, she thought with a grimace. Knowing what she was up against tonight, Ruby paid particular attention to her makeup. Shamelessly, she outlined her emerald eyes in black then added shiny, bright green and gold shadow to make them stand out. Darkening her brows made her bright red hair even more dramatic. Shiny gloss on her lips and cheeks, and a dusting of sparkly powder on the parts of her breasts that were showing—make that three quarters of the creamy flesh—completed the picture. She looked, for all the world, like a very sexy, very wanton bargirl from days gone by. Smiling at her reflection she convinced herself that she was almost ready for the evening. Almost. At the thoughts flooding her brain, her smile faded, a deep frown tightening her face. It wasn’t hard to understand why.
Tonight she was going to see Noah for the first time since they’d left for Colorado. She hadn’t seen him since he’d stared at her across the parking lot with a thousand emotions playing over his drop-dead gorgeous face. The anger and frustration he’d directed at her were understandable. That she could handle. It was the pain that darkened his intense eyes to black that made her wake in the night struggling to breathe. She knew how he felt. She hadn’t known that her heart could actually ache until she’d acknowledged that she’d deeply hurt the most important man in her life.
At the thought of seeing Noah, of being with him, Ruby’s stomach plunged downward, a cascade of shivery sensations streaking across her thighs. Damn. You’d think that time would have a cooling effect on her disobedient body. But no such luck. If anything, the longer they were apart the more graphic her dreams had become. A decent night’s sleep was a thing of the past. The thought of him pressing her against her car door, the fearsome bulge of his erection pounding between her legs, literally took her breath away every time she allowed herself to remember the erotic scene. Which was often. Daily, in fact—and, especially, nightly.
Forcing herself back to the image in the mirror, she focused on the task ahead. She congratulated herself. Except for her questionable dealings with her commander, the op was proceeding exceedingly well. Within a couple of days following their final briefing, she and Grayson were in place. They’d decided that it made sense for the two of them to arrive in Cedartown together. It gave them the ability to cover one another if necessary. The trick was to convince their adversaries that that they were no longer an item. In fact that they were a reflection of a steamy relationship gone sour.
All it had taken for Ruby to get hired at the Back Door Saloon, were a pair of skin tight cut-off jeans, a stretchy halter that made the most of her chest, and five inch stiletto hooker heels. And, of course, her bright red hair flowing down her back did its usual part. Not taking his eyes off her breasts, Nick “Spike” Coleman, the bartender and guy in charge of hiring the wait staff, nodded absently as she ticked off her extensive waitress experience.
“Enough with the resume, sweetheart.” Licking his lips salaciously the slick-haired giant grunted, “You got more than enough of what it takes to get hired in this joint.” He snorted, sounding like a pig cavorting in the muck of its pen. “Even if you didn’t have tits that would make Dolly Parton jealous, that red hair of yours will have the boss man creamin’ his jeans.” Leaning over the bar, his beady eyes gleamed as he focused on her crotch. “Tell me, pussycat, that your natural hair color or did it come from a bottle?” He chortled. “Not that you have to prove it to me, sexy mama, but sumpthin’ tells me my buddy Clay Drechsler will know soon enough. And he ain‘t the best at keepin’ secrets. ‘Specially when it comes to the hoochies he shags.”
Ruby tossed her head and pasted a false smile on her face. Looking th
e obnoxious creature in the eye, she purred, “Well, now, big guy. That’s for me to know and for you never to find out.”
Ignoring his dark frown at her willingness to talk back Ruby almost laughed knowing that long ago she’d dispensed with pubic hair. Not that she’d minded the silky red curls, but a Brazilian wax gone wild had convinced her that bare was sexier, a decided turn on for assertive men. In fact, until she’d seen Stuart’s surprised frown, she’d never imagined a man who would prefer to have the “goodies” under wraps. But then, she was learning that an unadventurous man was just one of the prices she would pay for her need for normal.
Ignoring the leer Spike fastened on her chest, Ruby put her hands on her hips, then reached out and snapped her fingers to get the bartender’s attention.
“C’mon, big guy. Eyes up here.” She pointed to her face. “Surely you’ve seen a woman’s tits before. And if you haven’t, know that it would take more than you make in a year to get a look at mine.”
At his threatening growl, Ruby pointed to Grayson who was sitting at the end of the bar nursing a nearly empty bottle of whiskey.
“Not that I can stomach that dickhead at the end of the bar, but we’ve shared enough body fluids that I think he’d be glad to teach you some manners if I asked him to.” At the bartender’s disbelieving snort at Gray, Ruby leaned in and intoned, “Yeah, he isn’t eleven feet tall like you are, Tiny. But you should know, that bad boy got bounced out of the Army for things so unbecoming to a grunt that they wouldn’t list his infractions on his dishonorable discharge papers.”
Ruby leaned in closer and dropped her voice, trying to ignore the slimy beads of sweat on Spike’s upper lip and the reeking stains under his arms. “Oh, and a word of warning? If any of that tan of yours comes from anywhere but the sun, stay clear of my douchbag ex. He’s mean enough before he drinks. But get a little, or a lot, of whiskey in him and anyone with a drop of dark blood in him had better remember that discretion is the better part of valor and run for the hills.”