by Metsy Hingle
“Maybe none,” he told her while he began shelving pasta and rice and canned goods in the pantry. “But something seemed off besides the guy’s accent.”
Angela turned from the refrigerator where she’d just stored milk, eggs, cheese, butter and enough bacon and cold cuts to feed an army. “What was wrong with his accent?”
“It was as New York as you can get.”
“Did you have to say I was in the tub?”
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” Sean Collins told Annabelle Harte, the female agent posing as his wife. “I sure didn’t want to have to explain why my blushing bride had dirt smudges on her cheeks because she’d broken into their condo to snoop around.”
Evidently choosing to ignore the remark, she asked, “You think they bought that bit about the furniture?”
“How do I know? You might have warned me that you’d accepted a delivery of groceries for them earlier.”
“I didn’t have a chance. I barely made it back over here before they pulled in the driveway.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get caught.” But there had been a speculative look in Wainwright’s eyes that Sean hadn’t liked. He’d been an FBI agent too many years not to recognize that look Wainwright had given him—the look of a hunter on the trail of a scent.
“You believe that stuff about her being psychic, Collins?”
“Hell if I know. But if she is, you’d think she would have picked up on the fact that we’re not newlyweds.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Annabelle told him, her voice dropping to that sultry purr that had resulted in several erotic fantasies on his part—before the lady had informed him she wasn’t interested in a relationship with him. “You were pretty convincing the other night in the driveway when you were pretending to be overcome with passion.”
Sean gritted his teeth, remembered what a difficult time he’d had keeping an eye on the Mason woman and not losing himself in Annabelle. But he’d sooner cut out his heart than let her know she’d gotten to him. “Just doing my job, Harte,” he said breezily, as if he hadn’t gone to sleep that night hard and aching for her. What sin had he committed, he wondered, that had caused his boss to send her as the undercover agent posing as his wife?
“So you were acting?”
“That’s right,” he told her, and concluding that the Mason woman and Wainwright were still in the kitchen, he put down the binoculars he’d had trained on the windows of her den.
“Then I guess your body’s, um, reaction was just your way of getting into the role?” she taunted, her dark eyes bright with sass.
He should have known she hadn’t missed his obvious response to having her in his arms, Sean thought sourly. “Sure,” he said. “The same way those little moaning sounds you were making were all for show.”
“That’s right,” she told him, and he was pleased to see that flush in her cheeks.
“But anytime you want a real demonstration of my kissing technique, Harte, you just let me know.”
“In your dreams, Collins,” she huffed. “I’m going to check in and see if Hunter’s been able to find out anything more about when that shipment is going to be moved.”
“While you’re at it, have them run another check on the Mason woman and Wainwright.”
“Why? I thought the reports came back showing they were legit.”
“They did. But have them checked again, anyway. It wasn’t too long ago that they uncovered that group of corrupt officials calling themselves the Lion’s Den down here. Just because the agency thinks they got rid of all the bad apples doesn’t mean they did.”
“I thought Bobby said the sheriff was on the level,” Annabelle countered.
“Maybe he is. But the man’s sleeping with his ex-wife and she’s chummy with Ricky Mercado. Many a man has been known to do something stupid because of a woman.”
“Speaking from experience, Collins?” Annabelle asked him.
“Not me, Harte. No way would I ever let a dame tie me up in knots the way Mason’s done Wainwright.” And even as he said it, Sean knew it was a lie because he’d let Annabelle Harte tie him up in so many knots he had trouble even looking at another woman.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s still in love with her? And that she might still love him?”
“Nope.”
“I forgot,” she said, disdain in her voice. “You’re the Ice Man. The guy who loves the ladies and leaves them.”
“That’s me,” he said. “Now, why don’t you be a good little agent and go see what the boys have got for us. Maybe we’ll be lucky and wrap this case up in time to make it home for the weekend.” And maybe he’d finish this assignment before he made an ass of himself and confessed that he was in love with her.
At the sound of her retreating, Sean sighed and picked up the binoculars again. He had a job to do, he reminded himself, and went into full agent mode. He’d worked too long and too hard setting up this operation and had practically forced Haley Mercado to help get this far. Having Haley’s baby kidnapped had nearly derailed everything. That he and his people had been unable to find the little girl had been a major frustration. But having Callaghan pull strings to bring the Mason woman in for the case had been a bigger source of irritation. He didn’t believe in psychics. It’s why he’d told his boss he wasn’t going to work with the woman—just as he hadn’t worked with the sheriff. He couldn’t afford to let anyone find out that Haley Mercado was the baby’s mother. But that didn’t mean he was going to sit back and let the woman or her ex-husband sheriff screw up everything now. He wasn’t. Not when he was so close to putting cuffs on Del Brio. He was going to bring down Del Brio and the rest of the crime family and put an end to their new line of business—smuggling stolen Mayan artifacts out of Mexico. Thanks to Haley’s taped conversations at the Lone Star Country Club, he knew a major shipment was being made soon. He’d also made sure that Del Brio himself would be on hand to make the exchange of goods for money. He was close, closer than they’d ever been before to nailing the crime lords. And no way did he intend to let some hick sheriff and the guy’s ex-wife screw things up now.
“What is it?” Angela asked Justin late the next afternoon as he turned in his seat and looked through the rear window.
“There’s been a green sedan following us for the last hour,” Justin explained, and turned back around. “I wanted to see if he was still back there. He’s not.”
“We were being followed and you didn’t tell me?”
It was late already, sunset less than thirty minutes away. And so far, the day had been a complete bust, except for the spy game someone had been playing with them. “I figured it was probably your friend Mercado or one of those goons he hired to act as your bodyguard.” Which was what he had assumed when he’d spotted the blue pickup truck tailing them for a good part of yesterday.
“If someone’s been following us, it wasn’t Ricky or anyone sent by him.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Ricky gave me his word that he would back off, and Ricky has never gone back on his word to me.”
She said it with such conviction that Justin believed her. Which meant that someone else had been tailing them. But who?
“Just up ahead is where I took the wrong road and got lost.”
“Go ahead and take it again. Let’s see where it leads.”
It led to nowhere, Justin soon discovered as they drove for another twenty minutes during which time the road itself became narrower and less traveled. By the time they’d pulled to a fork in the road, the condition of the roadway had diminished considerably, which the throbbing in his shoulder attested to. They also hadn’t seen another vehicle for more than twenty miles.
“Right up ahead is where I pulled off.”
“Let’s do it, then,” Justin told her, and she pulled the truck over to the side of the road. Exiting the truck, he walked down the road a piece, noted the overgrown brush and neglect. And all he could
think of was how vulnerable Angela would have been all alone out here in the middle of nowhere.
“There’s an old ranch house of some kind farther down this road,” she told him. “It looked abandoned.”
“It probably is. If I remember correctly, about twenty-five years ago there was talk of putting a highway through here. Most of the places along this stretch were bought up then and the people moved out. But politics being what they are, it all got changed and the highway was built somewhere else. As far as I know, this place has been uninhabited since then.”
“But I thought I saw tire tracks down here,” Angela said, and continued ahead of him along the uneven path.
Justin stayed close on her heels and studied the tracks, noted the cigarette butts tossed in the brush. He looked up ahead and made out the shadows of an old place that appeared empty. It was too isolated, he thought, that lawman’s instinct kicked in again. He didn’t want Angela out here in the open. He’d have to come back another time—alone—to investigate. “Probably just kids out joyriding,” he told her. “It’s getting dark. We better get back.”
“We wasted a whole day because of me, didn’t we?” she asked once they were in the truck and headed home.
“Not wasted,” Justin told her. “We had to check it out.”
“I can’t help feeling I’ve let her down.”
“Who?”
“Lena. She’s counting on us to find her, Justin. We have to find her. Before it’s too late.”
“We will,” he told her, not wanting to be moved by the depth of her compassion and commitment, but moved all the same. He also didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was just as worried about the little girl as Angela was. “Maybe tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
But they didn’t find her the next day, or the next, or any of the days during that week or the next one. And with each passing day, Justin could feel an erosion of his resolve to keep things strictly business between Angela and himself. The days were tension filled and exhausting. But it was the nights that were the hardest. Because at night when he lay awake in bed, tired but too on edge to sleep, he thought of Angela upstairs, remembered that magical night of lovemaking they’d had before everything had gone to hell.
Justin splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t keep this up much longer, he admitted as he dried his face with a towel and began to dress. He’d almost said to hell with it all several times the previous day and pulled Angela into his arms. He needed some space, a chance to get his head on straight, he reasoned as he tucked in his shirt, zipped his slacks and buckled his belt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grabbed his socks and boots and began pulling them on.
Besides, he needed to handle some things in his office without being distracted by Angela’s presence and his feelings for her. He exited the room and headed for the kitchen and was surprised to find Angela already there. “You’re up early,” he commented, and tried not to notice how beautiful she was standing there barefoot in an ugly blue T-shirt that hit her midthigh.
“Actually, my stomach was bothering me. I came down to get some crackers to see if that would help.”
“You weren’t feeling so hot yesterday, either,” he commented. He went to her and cupped her face in his hands. It was then that he noted the smudges under her eyes and that her skin was paler than normal. He placed a hand to her forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.”
“I don’t. I just have an upset stomach,” she informed him, and nibbled on the cracker she was holding. “It’s probably something I ate. Let me finish this and I’ll go shower. I should be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
Concern for her warred with his responsibilities as sheriff. For a moment he considered changing his plans. Then he decided he couldn’t. Too much was going on right now. Two of his sources had indicated that something strange was going on at Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting. He needed to check it out without dragging Angela into it or risking her tipping off Ricky, even inadvertently. “Why don’t you take the morning off? You said you were feeling tired yesterday, and it doesn’t look like you’re feeling any more energetic today.”
“I’m okay.”
“But why push it? The truth is, I’m not going to be able to hit that list of ranches with you until later, anyway. I’ve got some things I need to handle in the office. Bobby’s on his way here now. When you’re ready and feeling better, he’ll bring you down to the office.”
“Justin, I refused to let Ricky stick me with his bodyguard. What makes you think I’ll allow you to stick one of yours on me?”
“Don’t be stupid, Angela. Someone tried to kill you.”
“Trust me, I’m aware of that fact. But I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. Go to work, Justin. And don’t worry about me.”
“I am worried, dammit. And I’m not leaving you alone here. I don’t want you unprotected,” he argued.
“But it’s not what you want that counts. It’s what I want. And I don’t want a bodyguard or a baby-sitter. I’m not your concern anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Angela—”
“Go to your office, Justin. And don’t worry about me.”
But he did worry, Justin admitted as he drove to his office. He worried about her all morning, through the noon hour when he’d been positive someone had been listening on a phone extension while he’d been speaking with Dylan Bridges. He worried again at four o’clock that afternoon when he tried calling Angela at her condo and got her answering machine. And he was still worrying about her when he entered the restaurant at the Lone Star Country Club to meet with Luke Callaghan and saw her sitting at a table with Ricky.
Twelve
“Don’t look now, but your ex just walked in, and he’s heading this way.”
Let him come, Angela thought. If he was angry, tough. So was she. When he stopped at the table where she was sitting, Angela glanced up at him and met his icy glare. “Hello, Justin.”
“I tried to reach you at the condo to tell you I got tied up, but you didn’t answer.”
“That’s because I wasn’t there.” She turned to Ricky, not wanting him to catch the brunt of this, and said, “Ricky, would you excuse us for a moment?”
“I’m going to go get a beer. Want one?” Ricky asked as he slid back his chair.
The thought of beer made her stomach pitch. “No. I’m fine.”
“You didn’t have to get rid of him on my account,” Justin told her.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she countered. “I did it for him. This is between you and me, not Ricky. I don’t want him caught in the cross fire.”
Justin frowned at her and sat in the chair Ricky had vacated. “You want to tell me what you’re talking about, because judging from the steam coming out of your ears you’re ticked off at me.”
“You’ve got that right. I am ticked off. And I’m sure you’ve got a pretty good idea why.”
“I don’t have a clue.” He nearly spit out the words. “All I know is that I’ve been trying to reach you all day and when I couldn’t, I sent Hank out to your place to check on you.”
“You sent your deputy to check up on me?” she said, doing her best not to raise her voice.
“What did you expect me to do? You’ve been tired and complaining about your stomach the past couple of days, so I got worried.” He took off his hat, set it on the tabletop and jammed a fist through his hair. “I thought maybe you were really sick or that something had happened to you when I couldn’t get you at the condo or on your cell phone.”
Angela hesitated. Her anger slipped a notch because she had forgotten to recharge her cell phone the previous night. As a result, it had been dead when she left the condo—a fact she hadn’t discovered until she’d tried to use it. “So what’s your excuse for having Bobby tail me today?”
Justin’s frown deepened. “I didn’t have Bobby tail you. He was out on patrol most of the mor
ning, and I had him watching Del Brio this afternoon.”
“Then what was he doing at two of the places I was checking out today?”
“I don’t know, but you can bet I intend to find out,” Justin told her, and from his thunderous expression, Angela couldn’t help feel a little sad for Bobby Hunter.
“You really didn’t have Bobby following me?”
“No. But if I’d known you’d planned to go off on your own again I might have.”
Before she could respond, Ricky returned to the table with a dish of hot, golden, deep-fried onion rings. “I know how much you like these things, so I got us a batch,” he said, and placed the dish in the center of the table. “You planning to join us for dinner, Wainwright?”
Justin slid his chair back and stood. He picked up his hat. “No, thanks. Unlike Angela, I’m a little more particular about whom I break bread with.”
“Let it go, Ricky,” Angela said, grabbing his arm for fear he would follow Justin and call him on the put-down. “Please.”
“For you,” he said, but the light of battle still gleamed like steel in his dark eyes. He shoved the plate of onion rings toward her. “How come you’re not diving into these things yet?”
Angela’s stomach swayed at the scent. “Thanks, but I’m really not very hungry. You go ahead,” she managed to say, and grabbed the soda she’d been nursing earlier.
“That’s a first. Since when have you ever needed to be hungry to eat onion rings?” Ricky teased, and popped one of the tasty treats into his mouth.
Ricky was right. What in the devil was wrong with her? She usually had enough energy to fuel a power plant, but she’d been lethargic and her stomach had been giving her fits for days now. As soon as she got back to San Antonio, she was going in for a full physical, she promised herself.
“Hey, Ricky, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a burly guy with a cigar clamped in his jaw said upon entering the club and spying them. As he hurried over to their table, Angela remembered Ricky identifying him as Sal the night of the hospital dedication. He removed the cigar from his mouth and said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but I need to talk to Ricky for a minute. It’s important.”