“Bex, honey, Tag and I have a proposition for you.”
Her face went wary but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead her steady green gaze shifted between them. “All right.”
His heart clenched like he’d been mule kicked and sweat broke out on the back of his neck.
“Stay with us,” he blurted out. “Permanently.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Tag muttered. “That was smooth, Romeo.”
Wade glared at his friend. “You could do better?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Guys?”
They looked at Rebecca. Her smile was soft and inviting.
Tag exhaled and his hand trembled on the table. “That looks like a yes,” he muttered. “Is it a yes?”
Rebecca stood and stretched. Her lithe body got Wade hard all over again.
She smiled again. “Well, it’s not a no.”
Wade stood so quickly he shoved his chair back and over with a clatter. He skirted the table and cupped her shoulders just as Tag appeared at his side.
“What can we do to make it a definitive yes?”
“Give me some time, for one thing. This is all happening so fast. I only got here four days ago. I came to Texas to defend a man accused of murder and instead two cowboys are working on stealing my heart.”
Wade rubbed her arms. “I’ll take that.” He looked over at Tag. “What do you think?”
Tag’s expression was as open as Wade could ever remember seeing it. “I think she’s a smart woman,” he said huskily. “I’m willing to give you as much time and space as you need.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
“It’s almost two,” Tag said. “Why don’t we get back to bed and try to rest? I’m sure tomorrow is going to bring a new ball of fun. Thank God the damn wedding will be done and over with. Then they can all leave and we can get some peace and quiet. Besides, I have two meetings with Donald Alcott and Charles Reynolds.”
Rebecca hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” Wade asked.
She sat back down. “I don’t know. I just had this weird feeling wash over me.”
“Your sixth sense kicking in?” Tag asked sharply.
“Maybe?” She rolled her shoulders. “While you’re meeting with Alcott and Reynolds, I need to contact Donovan Garner with the Boston Police. I think I know who is behind the threats and the finger.”
Her mouth trembled and Wade knelt beside her.
“Who?”
“A client I wouldn’t take on. He was not very happy when I declined.”
“What’s his name? We’ll get Boone on his ass,” Tag said.
Rebecca shook her head. “No, he needs to stay focused on this and the new information Wade came up with. Donovan can handle it.”
Tag stared down at her. “Going to be stubborn, huh?”
A wan smile crossed her face. “Aren’t I always?”
“Yep.”
Wade rose and held out his hand. “All right, bed it is.” He looked at the computer and his palms itched. “I’ll admit I’d like some more time with the program. I feel like I’m just on the verge of figuring out what those damn numbers mean. It’s a good thing school ended last week. Gives me time to work on this.”
“Tomorrow,” Tag said. “You’ll have the house to yourself. Besides, it’ll help keep you out of trouble and my hair.” He grinned. “On the plus side, you won’t have to go to the wedding.”
“Excellent point,” Wade said. “Not to mention, I’m a much better hacker than a crime fighter. Guns make me nervous.”
“I thought all Texans loved guns,” Rebecca said.
“That’s a myth.”
Tag snorted. “He’s bullshitting you, Bex. He’s a dead shot with a rifle and most hand guns.”
“Dang it, Tag, I’m trying to be all Clark Kent here.”
Rebecca laughed. “Sorry, Wade, you’re the furthest thing from milquetoast I know. Now come on, you guys, I feel like cuddling.”
Wade grinned and smacked her butt lightly. She yelped and leaped forward. The look she gave him was sultry and full of invitation.
He hurried after her.
Chapter Sixteen
Tag rolled up to the sheriff’s office at five to seven. Even seeing Donald Alcott lounging against Deputy Carson’s desk wasn’t enough to sour his mood.
“Sheriff,” the kid exclaimed. “We’re still on, right?”
“Yeah, come on back. Sam, can you hang around for another couple of hours?”
“You paying me overtime?” Amusement twinkled in her hazel eyes.
“Playing hardball already, huh?”
“Yep.”
Tag grinned. “Good. I throw a lot of crap around here.”
She tapped a blunt fingernail on her desk. “I knew that before I took the job, Sheriff. Believe me, I can take it and give just as good.”
Tag smothered a chuckle. Good thing Boone wasn’t in yet or he’d have been all over that comment like sex on a porn set. “Just checking. I’m still working out the kinks on the schedule with Stewart. I’d like him to be double on with us until he’s a little more sure in the job.”
Alcott shifted and scratched his nose. “Wasn’t he a cop up north somewhere? Years ago?”
Tag eyed the reporter. “You seem to know a whole lot about the people in this town for someone all the way from Bastrop.”
Alcott dropped his backpack on the desk behind Sam. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and bounced up and down on the soles of his tennis shoes. “I told you, I’m very good at my job.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So, was he?” Sam asked.
Tag nodded. “He has six years with a small town in Pennsylvania.”
“Why wasn’t he working then?”
Quelling his rising impatience wasn’t easy. “I’ll fill you in later.”
Chagrin crossed her features then she looked at Alcott. “Oh. Right.”
“Hey, don’t clam up on my account. I know all about Mrs. Stewart and her home business. It’s doing pretty darn good, too. So well that Mr. Stewart didn’t have to go to work when they moved down here.” Alcott gave a sly grin. “Until now. The reasons for that are a mystery. Don’t suppose you want to enlighten me, do you Sheriff?”
“No,” Tag said. He looked at his watch. “You’ve got twenty minutes before we’re done, Alcott.” He walked toward his office.
He could feel the reporter hotfoot it after him.
Tag put his hat on the rack and reached for his belt then hesitated. He might be uncomfortable as hell with his service belt on but Alcott was still an unknown.
“Sit down,” Tag ordered as he sank into his chair. “What do you want?”
Alcott pulled out his small notebook and flipped through the pages. He chewed on his fingernail for a long moment.
Tag sighed. Loudly.
Alcott squared his shoulders. “Sheriff, care to comment on what happened to your sister?”
Strangely, the question didn’t bother Tag nearly as much as it would have before last night. He felt the soothing touch of Rebecca’s hands on him and the gentleness of her voice as she’d comforted him.
“She died in an accidental shooting.” He grimaced. “I was holding the gun.”
“Well, hell,” Alcott said softly. “I didn’t think you’d just pony up to it like that.”
“If you’re looking for some kind of leverage, kid, you’re going to be disappointed. What happened to my family is a matter of public record.”
Alcott narrowed his eyes. “But the people of Freedom don’t seem to know about it. At least, none of the guys at the Chrome Barrel knew.”
A flick of irritation hit Tag, but he drew in a breath that lasted to the count of five and managed a tight smile. “It’s a painful subject. I’m sure you can understand why I don’t blather on about it.”
The reporter slumped to the chair. “Crap.” He chewed on his nail some more. “Fine, it’s old news. I won’t bring it back up.
” He leaned forward and grabbed on to the edge of the desk. “But listen, Sheriff. I’m desperate to get out of Bastrop. A man can only write about so many cows and rodeos and blue-ribbon pies.”
Tag almost felt sorry for the kid. Almost.
“I’m not asking for confidential information,” Alcott continued. “Just some juicy stuff on Fischer’s killer so I can write up a few good stories. I’m hoping they’ll get picked up by the wire services and I can finally kick the cow patties from my shoes once and for all.”
“Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t,” Tag said. “The kind of sensationalism you’re looking for would only jeopardize our investigation.”
“A few questions, please?”
Tag looked at his watch again. 7:25. “You’ve got five more minutes. Shoot, but I can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”
“Good enough,” Alcott said. He pulled out a pen and set his notepad on the desk. “Why is the FBI involved?”
Tag shook his head. Of course the kid would start with the most salacious question. “Agent Shepherd was here before Fischer’s death.”
Alcott groaned. “Okay, let me try something a little different. I know Shepherd was here to work on an on-going investigation into antiquities trafficking.”
“How’d you know that?”
Alcott grinned. “Sources. Was Fischer involved in that? Was that why he was killed?”
“I can’t comment on the FBI’s investigation. Hell, Alcott, this is a waste of time. I don’t have the information you want right now. The best I can say is we’ve collected several pieces of DNA-rich evidence that are currently being processed. I have high hopes of obtaining an identification from that DNA very soon. Contrary to popular belief and bullshit television shows, getting results back takes a while. Even for the FBI.”
Alcott’s face turned wary. “You have DNA? From the jail cell?”
“Among other places,” Tag said. “That’s for publication.” He stood. “Look, kid, how about this? Back off and let me do my job. When I have everything wrapped up, you’ll get a full exclusive.”
He was shocked to hear himself make the offer but it felt like the right thing to do.
After all, the reporter agreed to let Anna’s death fade away again. He owed him a little something.
Alcott narrowed his gaze as he rose. “You promise?”
“Yeah.”
Sunlight swept through the office as the outer door opened. Tag saw Boone come inside and make a beeline for his temporary desk. The dark look on the agent’s face sent a shaft of unease along Tag’s spine. “Deal, Alcott?”
He exhaled sharply then stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
Tag shook his hand then waved him out of the office.
Boone was in the doorway a few seconds later. “Any word from the Boston detective?”
“No.” Tag cursed. “I’ll give him a call.”
The tall FBI agent took Alcott’s chair. “I don’t like this, Tag.”
“You getting some kind of Cherokee vibe off it?”
“Maybe. It’s just strange something like this would happen right in the middle of this mess.”
Tag picked up the receiver. “Bex thinks she has an idea who might be behind it but she won’t tell me. Said she didn’t want to interfere with our investigation.”
“You let her get away with that?”
“For now.” Tag shifted his attention to the phone. “Detective Garner, please.”
“He’s on a call. If you’ll give me your name and number, I’ll have him get back to you.”
Tag recited his information and hung up. “You hear from the lab yet?”
“No. I’ve got Tarah and Mike both pestering the lab techs up there but they can only move so fast. We want answers but we need them to be usable in court, too.”
“I know.”
“How’d Wade do with that program of Fischer’s?”
Tag gave Boone a smug smile. “Pretty damn good, actually. He extrapolated a shit ton of information.”
“What?” Boone shot to his feet. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was close to two in the morning and he still has a lot of work to do on it. He’s going to drop Rebecca off in a little bit then go back home and keep at it,” Tag said. “How are your boys coming?”
He snorted. “I don’t even think they’ve made it that far, yet.”
Another swathe of sunlight beamed into the room. Tag looked up and groaned.
Boone chuckled. “Reynolds has been all over town asking questions about Alfons Huber. You’d think the guy was some sort of superhero instead of an architect.”
Tag grunted.
Reynolds stopped by Sam’s desk and smiled down at her.
Boone’s smile disappeared. He rose. “’Scuse me.”
His long, black-clad legs ate up the short distance and Tag couldn’t smother his grin at the way the agent deftly moved the stocky Reynolds away from Sam. Not that she couldn’t have handled him herself. She could take the researcher down with one hand. He studied Reynolds’s fit physique and adjusted it to two hands.
But he’d bet on his deputy any day of the week.
Fischer had just been living in luck when he’d gotten the drop on her at Jake Logan’s place.
Tag strode to the doorway. “You’re punctual, Mr. Reynolds,” he said.
The man smiled widely. “It is a common family fault, I admit. Even dear Alfons had a penchant for punctuality. Where would you like to start?”
“What information are you looking for?” Tag countered.
“I admit I would like very much to see the entire building. All the rooms, including the cells.” He gave the iron door to the prisoner cells an apprehensive look. “That is, if it’s clean back there? I understand there was a lot of blood. I don’t do well with blood, I’m afraid. Another trait my ancestor and I have in common. I heard he was at the Calico Queen one night and a gunfight erupted. A fellow was struck in the head and fell nearly on top of Alfons. Blood poured out of the man’s wound and all over Alfons, who fainted dead away.” Reynolds shrugged. “I’m not quite that bad.”
The guy talked so much it made Tag’s head hurt. “It’s all cleaned up,” he assured Reynolds. “I can give you a quick tour and answer a few questions. The wedding is at nine and I’d like to get over there and make sure nothing happens.”
“Yes, of course. I admire your dedication to your duty. May I leave my briefcase here?” Reynolds pointed to a desk.
Tag noticed Alcott’s backpack was still there. He’ll be back for it.
“Sure.”
Reynolds popped the lock on the case and pulled out a digital camera then shut but didn’t latch the leather. “All right.”
For the next twenty minutes Tag endured question after question about Huber’s preference in building materials, observations on his efficient use of space, and a plethora of gushing compliments on how well organized the entire place was.
He didn’t know twenty minutes could last so damn long.
They returned from the jail cell and stopped at the desk. Rebecca had arrived but she was sitting at Doreen’s desk with a phone to her ear. She smiled and waved at him.
Tag nodded back.
Reynolds held out his hand and Tag shook it. He was eager for the man to leave.
“Sheriff, thank you for taking the time to show me around. I just know Herr Huber would be delighted to learn his buildings still stand. And without much renovation, either. Do you know the house he built for his wife in Boston is still upright and sound? Harleston House is what he called it. They moved there after leaving Freedom.” Reynolds leaned in. “I’ve heard he haunts the house searching for his wife. Ah, such a love. I think I would do the same.”
“I’m sure you would,” Tag said, but he didn’t have a clue what the man was babbling about.
“Mrs. Huber is said to have held séances every month trying to contact her husband after he passed. I find that so romantic.”
The man’s accent
deepened with each word and Tag was half afraid Reynolds was about to break into tears.
“Yes, romantic. Well, glad I could help.” He checked his watch. 8:45. “Time for me to head to the Hitching Post.”
Reynolds replaced the camera and a notebook in his attaché case and snapped it closed. “I would like to attend myself,” he said.
For a stone-cold minute Tag was afraid the man would ask to join him.
“But I’m afraid I must leave now. My flight is at twelve and you know how Austin traffic is.”
“A crap shoot at best. Good call on leaving early,” Tag said.
“Good-bye, Sheriff. Thank you again.”
Reynolds walked down the aisle. He said good-bye to Sam and Boone then nodded to Rebecca, who had been staring at him with a puzzled expression. As soon as Reynolds looked at her though, Tag saw her face smooth into a polite mask. Finally the man pulled open the door and stepped into the Texas sun and Tag breathed a sigh of relief.
Rebecca strolled up to him. She looked hesitant but happy to see him.
To hell with propriety.
“Come here, you.” Tag hauled her into his arms and hugged her tight.
Rebecca’s laugh smothered against his chest but her arms wound up his back and squeezed.
“Think she can breathe?” Boone asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam replied. “He’s squishing her pretty good. I know Yankees are generally disliked but she’s kinda grown on me.”
Tag released Rebecca and glared at them. “Wiseasses.” He looked down at her. “What did you find out from Garner?”
Her face went solemn and a little pale. “They identified the finger. I mean they identified to whom it belonged. A woman named Carrie Dawson.”
“Do you know who she is?” Boone asked.
“No.” Rebecca swallowed hard and Tag felt a tremor go through her. “They haven’t found the rest of her, either.”
“Did you give Garner your tip?” Tag asked.
She nodded. “They have a lead on a print they got off the courier box containing the finger.”
“Who did you tell him about?” Boone demanded.
Her spine stiffened. “Detective Garner can handle this, Boone.”
Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 25