Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Jennifer August

“I still want to know.”

  “No.” She turned her back on him and looked up at Tag. “What do you say we go to a wedding?”

  His heart somersaulted and he grinned widely. “Let me get my hat.”

  Moments later they joined the throngs of people heading down the various streets toward the Hitching Post. The couple getting married had invited everyone to the ceremony and since Freedom loved a good wedding, nearly the whole town was in attendance.

  A live quartet played quietly just to the side of the altar. Lewis paced nervously in front while his best man tried to calm him down. Four more young men lined the front of the venue. Each gleamed in silver tinted tuxedoes with sleek gray cummerbunds. They looked like mafia wannabes.

  Tag settled Rebecca in a chair near the back then leaned against one of the poles holding up the wooden pavilion. He scanned the crowd and nodded to the folks. Clint Howard, Jessie Vargas, and Donald Alcott all sat in one row. Tag was surprised to see the reporter until he remembered the kid said covering the event was his original reason for being in town.

  Hank, Betty, and Catherine were close behind them but Hank kept craning her neck around and staring at The Page Turner. Her face was twisted in a mass of concern.

  Arte Kushing, clad in a hideous brown-and-black plaid sports coat, sat behind Hank and patted her shoulder. Tag frowned and wondered what had the woman so upset. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  Maljib and Bosco Evans hurried to vacant seats beside Arte. The men sat down just as the quartet launched into the Bridal March. Everyone rose and turned to look back.

  A collective gasp followed by a long ah of appreciation swept through the congregation. Tag studied the bride. Her raven-black hair was piled loosely on her head and shot through with a diamond tiara. Her gown was cut low and showed off her ample—and probably fake—cleavage. The bodice sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the slats of the pavilion and he squinted from the sharp glare. The skirt fell in a straight sheath to her feet which were also encased in blinged-out shoes.

  Tag snorted.

  He’d bet a month’s salary she was all flash and not much substance.

  Rebecca elbowed him.

  She had a frown on her face and was looking at the crowd. He followed her gaze. Betty and Catherine were gathered around Hank, who had tears streaming down her face.

  A knot formed in Tag’s gut. Those did not look like happy tears. He started to walk over but Rebecca grabbed his arm. “After the ceremony,” she muttered.

  The woman in front of them turned and shushed her.

  Tag glared and the woman spun back around.

  Once her father had delivered Kristen to the groom, everyone settled back into their seats. Tag again took up residence against the pole.

  Pastor Babbage cleared his throat. “It is my honor to welcome you to the wedding of Kristen and Lewis. They have chosen to pledge their lives to each other here at the Hitching Post in honor of love and hope.” The pastor beamed at the couple. “Kristen was especially taken with the deep love that Alfons Huber held for his wife. Indeed, our architect so adored her that when she died in 1879 he became a lost and broken man. Legend had it that she appeared to him one night and pleaded with him to rejoin the living. To show the world he was still a brilliant man. The visit seemed to shake him from his stupor and he did, indeed, rise up from despair. He traveled around the country giving lectures on architecture and the power of love.”

  Babbage’s face grew solemn. “I like to think that, when Alfons died two years later during a train robbery, his wife welcomed him with a glad and loving heart.”

  The woman who’d shushed Rebecca sniffled loudly.

  Tag rolled his eyes.

  “If you sit very still and listen closely, you can hear their sighs of contentment whispering in the trees that surround our pavilion. It is as if the very wood holds on to their love and imparts that most wonderful feeling to all who wed here.”

  Feet shuffled and chairs squeaked as people shifted. Tag sure as hell didn’t hear any sighing. The pastor was just warming up and launched into a monologue about the sanctity and strength of love and marriage. Tag checked his watch. He was surprised to find it close to nine forty-five.

  The pastor continued to drone for another ten minutes before finally, blessedly, beginning the actual ceremony. Five minutes, two rings, and one very long kiss later, the crowd was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Casternak.

  Everyone rose and applauded as the happy couple walked down the aisle then darted left into the bridal suite.

  The wedding coordinator took the mic and informed everyone who had a paper invitation the reception hall was open and Kristen and Lewis would join them after photos.

  “That’s strange,” Rebecca murmured.

  “I don’t blame them,” Tag said. “I’d only feed the people who had invitations, too. The rest of these guys are like locusts. They’d have nothing left but olives in no time flat.”

  “Not that.” A delicate frown furrowed her brow. “The pastor said Huber died in 1881 during a train robbery.”

  Tag looked over the aisle where Hank was struggling to her feet. Her tears were dried up but now she had the look of a bull about to buck a cowboy. She headed in his direction.

  “So?”

  Tag’s phone rang. “Hang on,” he told her as he pulled it out of his pocket. He tensed as he answered. “What’s up, Boone?”

  “We got a hit on the DNA. Both samples from Fischer’s jail cell and his hotel room match.”

  Tag inhaled sharply. “Who is it?”

  “It’s a guy by the name of Allen Van Sisk, plus about a dozen other aliases. The interesting thing is he’s been all over the globe in the last ten years. Including Afghanistan around the time of the ambush. He’s got his fingers—or someone’s fingers—in interesting and profitable pies. Things like selling munitions and slave trading.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Tag said. He reached for the pole just as Hank pulled up in front of him. Rebecca put her hand on his chest.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “Sheriff, something’s dreadfully wrong,” Hank said.

  He held up his palm. “What else?”

  “I don’t think Van Sisk is working alone. He seems higher up the food chain than Fischer but I’m convinced he’s still just a minion. I’m downloading his rap sheet and dossier now.” Boone’s voice went flat.

  “Send a picture to my phone.”

  “Will do.”

  Tag ended the call and looked first at Rebecca then Hank. “What’s wrong, Hank?”

  “Sadie is missing.”

  He stiffened. “What do you mean?” He looked around the area but didn’t find her. She would not have missed this wedding. She never missed a wedding held at the Hitching Post. Not only did she love the whole wedding atmosphere but she tended to rake in a ton of customers once the festivities were done.

  “She didn’t come,” Hank said. “I wanted to go to her apartment but Betty and Catherine talked me out of it.” She glared at the two women.

  “I thought she was still mad at Hank,” Betty said.

  “Mad about what?”

  “Hank kissing Mr. Reynolds. Sadie was sweet on him,” Catherine said.

  Hank lurched around. “I did not kiss him. I don’t know how that vile rumor got started but it wasn’t true. Sadie is my best friend and I would never hurt her like that.”

  Catherine nodded. “I know, I know. It could also have something to do with Donald Alcott,” she said.

  “Why?” Tag scanned the milling people for the reporter but didn’t spot him.

  “Sadie caught him snooping on her desk yesterday afternoon. He gave her some cock-and-bull story about having dropped his pen there but she didn’t buy it.”

  “What time was that?” Tag asked.

  “About three or so.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Hank confirmed. “She was so hot she came into the store and told me all about it.” Hank�
�s face crumpled again. “She asked me about kissing Reynolds and I told her I didn’t. I swear it’s true. She gave me a little smile and walked away. That’s the last time I saw her. She didn’t come to dinner like she was supposed to.”

  “You didn’t call her?” Tag asked.

  “I did,” Hank said. “But she didn’t answer. I thought maybe she was still fretting over the rumor and that I should give her some time.”

  Tag patted Hank’s arm. “I’ll run up to her apartment and check on her. Maybe she’s just feeling poorly.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Rebecca said.

  He started to refuse but something in her green eyes stilled his tongue. She looked upset and the beginning edges of panic flitted in her eyes.

  “One of those feelings?” he asked softly.

  She nodded once.

  Tag held up his hand. “Everyone stay here.” He gave Hank, Betty, and the rest a stern glare. “I mean it. I’ll be up and back before you know it.”

  He started across the pavilion toward The Page Turner with Rebecca at his heels.

  “She lives above the store,” he said as they waited for a car to pass. “What’s bugging you?”

  They headed across the street. The storefront had a closed sign on it. Tag peered in but saw only darkness and the glow of Sadie’s computer. He’d warned her a hundred times about leaving it on. That kind of stuff was a tempting beacon for a thief.

  “Something’s off with Huber.”

  Tag slowly turned around. “What? The man’s been dead over a hundred years. How is that possibly relevant? Let’s go around back. Sadie keeps a spare key in her flower pot for emergencies and deliveries.”

  Rebecca’s eyes bugged. “That’s not safe.”

  “This isn’t Boston, darlin’, but yeah, I’ve yelled at her about that, too.”

  He found the key and inserted it. The lock clicked and he opened the door.

  “The stairs to her apartment are back here.”

  “How did Huber die?”

  Tag looked back at her with a puzzled frown. “In a train robbery. Weren’t you listening to the pastor?”

  “Yes,” she said impatiently. “But did you listen to Charles Reynolds this morning?”

  Tag froze. He gripped the wooden rail with tight fingers. “What are you talking about?” He tried to replay the conversation but it was a blur of boredom and impatience.

  “Just before he left your office, he said that Huber’s wife held séances to contact him in Boston.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Huber’s wife died two years before he did.”

  “Yeah. You’d think someone who was researching his ancestor would have known that.”

  Tag’s gaze shot to the top of the stairs where Sadie’s apartment door stood still and dark. “Stay here,” he told Rebecca.

  He drew his weapon and eased up the stairs. He could feel Rebecca following him but couldn’t do anything about it now. He tested the knob.

  The door was locked.

  He lifted up the frog statue sitting on the floor and pulled out the key. Within seconds, the door swung open.

  Only silence met his ears. He held up his palm to Rebecca and she shook her head madly.

  Tag ground his teeth with frustration then popped out his Taser and handed it to her.

  “Be careful,” he mouthed.

  She nodded.

  Tag crouched and moved into the room. He visually swept the hallway then ducked his head around the jamb leading into the living room. He didn’t see anything.

  The small, neat kitchen and attached dining room were also empty.

  He made his way toward Sadie’s bedroom. He turned the knob and pushed open the door as he dropped to one knee.

  No one came rushing out and he inspected the area before rising to his feet. All he saw was Sadie’s room as pin neat as ever. Everything looked to be in the right place.

  He stepped into the room. “Sadie?” he whispered. There was no answer. Just as he was about to step back he noticed the bed. Sadie’s prized handmade quilt and furry pillows covered the bed just as they always did. But today the diamond pattern in the center of the quilt was slightly askew and pointing toward the far side of the room.

  Tag surged forward and rounded the bed.

  “Jesus,” he whispered.

  “Tag?” Rebecca’s tremulous voice sounded close behind him.

  He dropped to his knees and reached out with trembling hands.

  He’d found Sadie Rose.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Damn, I have to get out of this town. They’re going to figure it out soon. Damn old woman. Why’d she have to catch on, damn it?” He hadn’t enjoyed killing her but sometimes his job demanded he do unpleasant things.

  He flipped open his suitcase and started packing then remembered the recording from earlier that morning in the sheriff’s office. He grabbed his digital recorder and turned it on. The stupid FBI agent and the delectable deputy never even knew it was going. He’d set it on the desk behind them while he was meeting with the sheriff.

  “Anything new on Fischer’s hard drive?” Samantha asked.

  He paused in the act of folding a shirt to adjust his crotch. His one regret was not having the proper time to woo the deputy. He’d approached her twice at the Chrome Barrel but she’d politely blown him off. The last time he’d been tempted to wait for her and put a bullet in her head but he managed to calm down.

  Women were nothing more than vessels for his satisfaction. He’d find another one elsewhere.

  Once I leave this hick town.

  He realized he’d missed the entire conversation and had to restart the recording.

  “Anything new on Fischer’s hard drive?”

  “Wade’s managed to crack it,” Shepherd’s smooth voice replied. “Found a good deal of information that corresponds with what we’ve been able to gather.”

  “You think it’s bigger than just a murder, don’t you?”

  “You know I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Hmm. I bet I could get you to talk.”

  A long beat of silence and then another. He stared at the small recorder.

  “I know I could get you do a lot of things, Samantha. All you have to do is say the word.”

  “Forget it, Boone. I told you. I’m not interested.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Which is what you’re full of.”

  There was a jangle of noise and confusion before he heard the door slam shut.

  “Morning, Boone, Sam.”

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Shepherd replied. “How was your night? Safe, I assume?”

  The words held an underlying meaning but he didn’t have a clue what about.

  “Yes,” Rebecca Lyons replied. “Wade says hi. He’s going back to Tag’s to work on the program some more. He’s very close to cracking the whole table. He’s positive he can identify at least two of the people who are on the list.”

  He inhaled sharply and grabbed his phone. He turned off the recorder just as the line rang.

  “What?”

  “I’m leaving Freedom but I have to make a stop.”

  “For what?”

  “There was information on Fischer’s laptop and that computer teacher figured it out. He’s alone at the sheriff’s house right now. Boss, he’s identified at least two people on the list.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “You’ve been very sloppy. I don’t like sloppy.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” Sweat ringed his collar at the threat in the man’s voice. Usually that tone meant very unpleasant things for the person on the other end.

  “No. It won’t. Take care of this situation then get your ass back here. I have a drop scheduled for a couple of half-tons and need you to coordinate it. Do you think you can do that?”

  The sarcasm actually relieved him because it meant he wasn’t going to die.

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. Are w
e going through the usual channels?”

  “We’ll discuss that at 21:00 tonight.”

  The phone clicked off and he shuddered. Reprieve flashed in his mind. He didn’t know what had gone so wrong with this mission and that bothered him. How was he supposed to fix it for the next time?

  He spent the next ten minutes methodically wiping down the entire room even though he knew he shouldn’t have bothered. The FBI analysis was going to come back to his real name sooner or later and they’d never connect Allen Van Sisk with Charles Reynolds.

  He packed the two small bags in his car then drove to the office. Benjamin Whitcombe was behind the counter going through the register with a loupe. He looked up and smiled.

  “Mr. Reynolds, how are you today?”

  He forced a smile and debated shooting the hotel owner. But like his prints in his room, there was nothing to connect him to his real identity in that register. “Fine, Mr. Whitcombe. I’m ready to check out. Need to head up to Boston for the last bit of research on Alfons.” God, he was sick to death of that damn architect. From everything he’d read the man was a pansy who fainted at the sight of blood and couldn’t live without his wife.

  Now there’s a man who was pussy whipped.

  “Excellent,” Whitcombe said. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay with us.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The hotel manager pecked on the ancient computer. “We’ll settle everything here plus any incidentals that might have accrued.”

  “I didn’t touch the minibar,” Charles assured him. “I spent a lot of time at the Chrome Barrel.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll just double-check and mail you a bill if I find anything.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  “I’m surprised you are not at the wedding,” Whitcombe said.

  “I have a noon flight out of Austin so I couldn’t attend.”

  “Oh, yes, I understand. I would be there myself if not for the Calico Queen. She doesn’t run herself. If you’ll sign here, we’ll be all done.”

  Charles signed the bill Whitcombe handed over the counter. “Take care, Mr. Whitcombe,” he said as he pushed out into the Texas sun.

  He climbed into his rental and started the car. In less than five minutes Freedom was in his rearview mirror.