Loving Ranger

by J. C. Wilder

  The detective was dressed in a black suit that cost more than Jace probably made in a month. He was curious about the man’s background as it was obvious Ortiz was used to the finer things in life. Everything about him, from the car, which he’d bought with cash, to his clothes, screamed wealth. If Jace didn’t know the man was a straight arrow, he’d suspect the guy was on the take. What cop could afford Italian suits at a couple grand apiece?

  “You’re never going to get that piece of shit running, amigo.” Ortiz was smiling.

  “Care to put a wager on it?”

  “¿Parezco a un tonto?” Ortiz braced his hands on the top of the sagging fence then jumped over it with lazy grace.

  “I’d be the last person to call you a fool.” Jace grimaced when he noticed the greasy smears on his shirt. Next to his partner, he looked like a bum. Then again, Ortiz probably thought the term dress down meant removing his tie.

  Ortiz’s easy smile turned hard. “We’ve got big problems.”

  “More than the Feds?”

  “Si.”

  Both men stared into the open engine compartment. Any onlooker would think they were discussing the car though Jace doubted Mateo knew a spark plug from a gas cap.

  “Floater turned up in Griggs County last night.” Ortiz moved to the side of the car, putting his back to the club. “You mentioned an altercation between Esteban and his driver last week?”

  Jace swore under his breath.

  “Turns out his driver, Manny, was a Fed.”

  Jace absorbed the information like a blow to his gut. Last Friday when he was coming back from grabbing a bite at the apartment, he saw Esteban pistol-whip his driver. Two members of his security team had picked up the dazed man and hurried him into the back seat of a dark sedan. The next day, Ramirez showed up with a new driver, and Manny hadn’t been back since.

  “They had an agent working undercover with one of our perps and they didn’t think we might need to know this?” Fury laced his words. If they’d known about Manny then maybe Jace could’ve done something to prevent this. What, he didn’t know.

  Mateo leaned forward, his fists braced on the car. “You know how those bastards operate. They think we’re local-yokels who can’t find our dicks with both hands.”

  Jace snorted. Truer words had never been spoken.

  “Bet LT blew a nut.”

  “Walker chewed the pretty-boy Fed a new one.” His grin turned feral. “They don’t want us playing in their sandbox here, but we’re the only option. You know the case they’re building against Jimenez?” Ortiz withdrew a small photo from an inside jacket pocket.

  “Another Fed named Grace MacNeill has been missing for eight months. Last seen in upstate New York where she worked in the Jimenez household as a nanny. When she missed a routine check-in they sent agents to her apartment, and the entire place had been wiped clean. Didn’t even find a hairpin, amigo.”

  A young, blonde woman stared up at him from the photograph. With her heart-shaped face and blonde hair, she looked a hell of lot like his youngest sister. His gut clenched. She had a familiar look in her eye, one he’d seen in his own ten years ago. Excited and eager to make a mark in the world, the photo was probably taken on her first day with the F.B.I. He would know, as he had one just like it, taken when he was hired by the Haven Police Department.

  “She looks like my little sister.” He grunted.

  “MacNeill has four older brothers with some impressive credentials. A Texas Ranger, Navy SEAL, F.B.I and one is with the C.I.A. Black ops.”

  Their gazes met.

  “From what I hear, they’re pissing off the wrong people while they search for her.”

  “Sounds like I’d enjoy having a beer with them.” His gaze dropped to the photo once more. He couldn’t help but think of his youngest sister. Jace was very close to his family and he couldn’t even imagine what the MacNeills were going through. Eight months not knowing where she was had to be hell on earth. If she were his sister he’d be losing his mind.

  “LT thinks the Feds don’t have anything concrete on her disappearance. One day she was there and the next, gone like she never existed.”

  “After all this time…” His words trailed off.

  Ortiz nodded. “I think so too. It’s too dangerous to keep her alive for this long.”

  With two federal agents, one dead and the other missing and presumed dead, it was no wonder the Feds came in with a heavy hand. Two of their own had gone down, and all of their asses were on the line.

  “This case is rapidly turning into a cluster-fuck,” he muttered.

  “That’s an understatement.” Ortiz glanced at his watch. “I gotta get moving. When are you in the club again?”

  Jace pocketed the photo. “Tonight, then I’m off until next Thursday thanks to the Feds.”

  “Lucky you.” He grinned. “Headed home then?”

  “Yeah, probably. LT seems to think I need some time off.”

  “No kidding, you’ve been working three weeks straight. Go home, relax, find a woman to take your mind off this mess.” His partner continued speaking as he backed away. “Me, I like to find a nice heavyset woman who loves to cook. She can take care of two hungers at once.”

  Jace waved him off as the image of Sissy naked, clad only in an apron came to mind. He pushed it away. Now was not the time to think about food, sex or Sissy. He was still on the clock for another fifteen hours or so.

  After securing his tools in the trunk of the car, Jace headed upstairs to his apartment. As far as cheap rentals went, this place wasn’t bad. It was relatively clean and the bedroom and living room windows overlooked the club, making surveillance a breeze.

  Securing the door behind him, Jace laid the photo on the kitchen counter. The resemblance to his sister was more than a little disturbing. Like Grace, Gemma was also a blue-eyed blonde with a sweet smile. Both women were apple pie and vanilla ice cream though MacNeill had to be tougher than she looked to be an agent.

  From what he’d read on Jimenez, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone simply because they were a woman. He was the kind of guy who’d pull the wings off flies just for fun. Jace had come face to face with him last night, and the look in the other man’s eyes was chilling, even to him.

  From the evidence he and Ortiz had gathered, the brothers were small potatoes when compared to Jimenez and the Diez Hombres. So what was Manny, a federal agent, doing on Esteban’s security team?

  His gaze flitted to the white resin backsplash behind the sink. His secure laptop with hundreds of pages of notes was hidden behind the thin plastic. His gut was telling him that they’d yet to uncover it or they’d missed something. With ten years of police work under his belt, he listened to his instincts. On more than one occasion they’d saved his hide.

  Which doesn’t explain why you ignored your gut and took this damned case to begin with.

  He snorted. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d taken the case to put some distance between himself and Sissy. The ninety miles separating them had given him time to think. After so many years of shameless flirting, both of them had known it was only a matter of time before nature took its course. And when they did, well…Sissy had lied about rocking his world.

  She’d knocked it off its damned axis.

  Unbidden, memories of their one night together washed over him. The sounds she’d made when he sucked her nipples, her laughter, the scent of her skin and the greedy way they kissed…

  And when she whispered “I love you” when you left her bed.

  Photo in hand, he lit one of the burners on the gas stove. So here he was, three weeks later and still tied up in knots because of three little words. They were good friends, and neither of them could deny their mutual fondness for each other. But love? Never had he imagined her emotions extended that deep.

  Holding the photo to the open flame, the paper began to smoke then caught fire. The edge curled inward and Grace MacNeill’s face faded to black. He’d stared down a crack-he
ad holding a gun pointed at his heart but when a five-foot-something waitress whispered three words, he’d run like a coward.

  What was up with that?

  Dropping the smoking remains of the photo into the sink, he braced his hands on the counter. His immediate family was out of luck when it came to love. Pops had fathered five children with four different women without ever finding his happy ending. It wasn’t until Sophie, Gemma’s mother, had come along that his father had given any thought to settling down. But his marriage plans were derailed when Sophie had been killed by a drunk driver. To this day, twenty years later, Pops still mourned her.

  Nine years ago, Jace’s twin, Jeff aka Cowboy, was involved with a piranha named Charlene Whittier. Char wiped out his bank account and humiliated him in front of the entire town. After her dramatic exit from his life, Jeff was a changed man. His laid-back brother now went through women like Halloween candy. He refused to allow any woman close enough to walk away with anything more than a handful of memories.

  Even Josie and Gem had their own encounters with the curse leaving only Jace and Ryan unscathed.

  Jace dated as much as his job would allow, and he stuck to one hard and fast rule. Never bed a woman more than twice. As far as he was concerned, two sexual encounters could still be considered causal while three headed into uncharted territory for him. His siblings called him a man-whore and they weren’t far from the truth. His relationships, if they could be called that, were short-lived but at least his heart was intact.

  Sissy was the only women who’d been his friend before becoming his lover.

  Cursing under his breath, he stalked to the postage-stamp-sized bathroom, tearing off his shirt as he went. Which was why he’d ignored his gut and taken this case. Usually it was the other way around, and that was where he’d made his mistake. Many years of shared memories stood behind them, and he truly liked and respected her. They’d weathered good and bad times together. They had history.

  No matter how hard he tried to put her into a box like the women before her, he couldn’t. Sissy wasn’t someone he’d picked up for sex and some laughs. Not only was she a close friend to him, she was also tight with his family. Many nights she’d sat beside him at the dinner table with friends and family surrounding them. He’d taught her how to drive a car, and she’d introduced him to peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches.

  It had taken only one night of amazing sex and three little words to change everything.

  Chapter Two

  Dying should be easier than this.

  When Sissy pried open one eyelid a blast of sunlight sent a stabbing pain through her skull. The resulting groan was long and heartfelt though she was the only one around to hear.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she stared at the water-stained ceiling of her bathroom. Was there anything more pathetic than dying on the bathroom floor in a crappy trailer? What a sad way to end a totally unspectacular life. She could see the newspaper headline now.

  Local waitress dies in bathroom, remains consumed by feral cats.

  Um, ew?

  Beautiful waitress dies ALONE, Ohio Governor declares day of mourning.

  Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.

  She let her eyes drift shut as she tried to concentrate on anything other than how lousy she felt. Her boss was probably pissed as hell right now. Her shift at the Grille should’ve started at ten, and that time had already come and gone. If the nausea and headache didn’t kill her then Bitsy would finish her off.

  Then again, if she put Sissy out of her misery then at least the dry heaves would stop.

  Taking several deep breaths, she was grateful when the need to hurl ebbed. Until a week or so ago she felt fine. Her job was physically demanding so she made an effort to eat well and get plenty of rest. Seeing that napping was her favorite hobby, that wasn’t too difficult to accomplish.

  With it being summer and vacation season in full swing, she’d taken on extra shifts to fatten her anorexic savings account. But she’d always worked extra hours when they were offered and she’d never suffered any ill effects from it.

  It started when she noticed feeling more tired than usual. She’d come home from work only to fall into bed face first yet still feel tired when her alarm went off. Originally she’d attributed it to the longer hours and the unseasonably hot and muggy weather, but now she wasn’t convinced. Neither excuse could account for the newest symptom, nausea.

  Using the wall for support, Sissy managed to sit upright. With her crap-lousy luck she’d probably picked up some disease unknown to modern medicine and the cure would be heinous. But if they named it after her she’d be famous. Her lips twitched.

  And who said there was no silver lining to puking up your intestines?

  Her hand trembled when she pushed her hair out of her eyes. Why did she feel so weak? When she licked her lips she noticed her mouth tasted like she’d been chewing on pencil shavings. Did she forget to brush her teeth last night?

  Wearily, she rubbed her tired eyes. She could only imagine how she looked. After performing astounding feats of projectile vomiting the best she could hope for was the death-warmed-over look.

  Outside, the sound of footsteps crunching across the gravel driveway caught her attention. Great. The last thing she needed was a witness to her humiliation. The unexpected metallic screech of the front door opening sent her fumbling for a bath towel to cover her ratty nightgown.

  “Girl, where the hell are you?” Bitsy’s voice boomed through the trailer. “You were supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.”

  With every step her boss took the floor vibrated beneath Sissy’s butt. Bitsy’s pale blue gaze was locked on her like a laser as she thundered down the short hall. Her bright auburn curls were half-covered by a green bandana, and she wore standard Grille uniform—khaki pants and a white T-shirt with the business name silk-screened over the pocket.

  “I’m dyin’,” Sissy croaked.

  God, she even sounded pathetic.

  “Sick?” Concern replaced the annoyance on Bitsy’s round face, and her mouth went slack. “Land sakes girl, you’re a mess. How long you been this way?”

  “Coupla days. This mornin’ is the worst so far.”

  Bitsy touched Sissy’s forehead. “No fever.”

  A familiar scent assaulted her nose and her nausea came rushing back. She slapped a hand over her mouth. “You been cleanin’ the fryer?” Her words were muffled.

  “Yeah, Butch had a family thing this—”

  Sissy caught the look of alarm on her boss’s face when she lunged for the toilet. Even though her stomach was empty the scent of dirty fryer grease made her give it a shot anyway. Once the storm had passed, she pushed away from the toilet.

  This latest bout of nausea left her coated in sweat and shaking so hard that defying gravity was no longer an option. Pressing her cheek to the cool linoleum floor, she felt Bitsy’s footsteps as she moved away.

  Good, now if the room would stop spinning she’d be set.

  “I swear you don’t have the sense God gave a goat.” The sound of cupboard doors opening and closing meant Bitsy was searching the kitchen…or tearing the place apart. “Why don’t you ever have any food?”

  “My boss is a real a-hole.” She winced at the pain in her throat. “She’s been makin’ me work long hours, and I have no time to get to the store.”

  “Ha! Still a smartass I see. It’s good to know you aren’t dying.” Bitsy hurried back, and a sleeve of soda crackers appeared on floor in front of Sissy’s face. “Eat some of these.”

  “Not hungry,” she whimpered.

  “Didn’t ask if you were hungry, eat some anyway.” She pulled a few saltines from the bag and shoved them into Sissy’s hand. “It’ll settle your stomach.”

  Reluctantly, Sissy bit off a corner then made a face. “They’re stale.”

  “Like that’s my fault.” She headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Water,” she croaked.

  �
��Hell no, that’ll make you sicker.”

  “Whisky?”

  Taking Bitsy’s bark of laughter as a no, Sissy finished one cracker and was working on the second when she returned.

  “Found a lemon soda in the bottom of your cabinet.” Her boss helped her sit upright then thrust a plastic cup into Sissy’s hand. “Probably been there since nineteen sixty.”

  “Sorry to disappoint ya but my trailer wasn’t built until seventy-one.”

  “Well, it looks much older.”

  She couldn’t be annoyed with Bitsy’s sarcasm. Her friend wasn’t happy unless she could hear the sound of her own voice. Besides, her prickly personality hid a heart as cuddly as a porcupine. Yeah, Bits was a loveable old fart.

  Not.

  “Keep eating them crackers and don’t gulp your drink or you’ll get sick again,” she ordered.

  “Anythin’ else?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

  “Yeah, you look like hell. When was the last time you took a shower?”

  “Nineteen seventy-two, year after the trailer was built,” she quipped.

  Hiding a grimace, Sissy took a sip of the icy liquid. For a second she thought it might require an encore but, to her relief, it settled in her belly. Four crackers and half a glass of soda later she was starting to think she might not be dying after all.

  “I don’t know where I picked up this bug, but I hope ya don’t get it.” She reached for another cracker.

  “If I did it would be a miracle,” Bitsy chuckled. “How are your breasts? Do they feel tender?”

  Sissy’s head came around so fast her neck popped in protest. “Excuse me?”

  “When did you have your last period?” Bitsy stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her massive chest. If she had a cigar she’d look like a female version of Hellboy.

  Stunned, all Sissy could do was gape at the other woman. Her breasts? What kind of a question—

  She thinks I’m pregnant.

  Sissy shook her head. “I know what you’re thinkin’ and that ain’t it. I just had my period in the middle of June…”

  Bitsy’s fat penciled eyebrows shot skyward. “I hate to tell you this but it’s late July, Sissy.”