“This area’s become a drug route between Mexico and Canada,” he said. “And we have reason to believe someone local is in on the action.”
“Dealing drugs?”
“Firearms. We believe one of the cartels is getting supplied out of Branson County. The drugs come north, the cash and guns go south. One of our locals gets a sliver of the pie in exchange for heavy metal.”
“You mean like… machine guns?”
“Handguns, machine guns, whatever the client wants. The guy we’re looking at—he’s a big collector around here. Only we’ve developed evidence that he not only collects guns, he shaves off serial numbers and supes up the weapons before sending them south. Makes a nice profit doing it.”
“So, this guy… what does he look like?”
“Why?” Colin gave her a sharp look. “You think you might have seen him?”
“I don’t know.” She stared blankly through the window and tried to recall the details from yesterday evening.
“When you were at the truck stop?”
“Someone approached me in the parking lot,” she told him. “I was climbing out of the van and had my back to him. He said something like, ‘Hey, you got the wrong—’ and then I turned around and he looked surprised.”
Colin was watching her intently.
“I was wearing my baseball cap,” she added, “so I figured he had me confused with someone.”
“Did you see what he was driving?”
“An SUV. Maybe a Tahoe? It was blue or gray, I think. I can’t really be sure.”
“What did he look like?”
She blew out a sigh, trying to recall. “I don’t know. Kind of tall and bulky.”
“Was he bald? Did you notice any tattoos on his neck?”
She slid him a look. Clearly, he was describing a specific suspect. “I don’t know about tattoos. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, like yours. But he wasn’t bald. He had a cap on and white hair peeking out.”
“White hair?” He frowned at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, why? Do you know who it is?”
He shook his head.
“You know him, don’t you? I can tell.”
He shot her a look. “The less you know about this, the better.”
Holly shook her head and looked out the window.
“And the sooner you get back to Bozeman, the better. After this delivery, I’m taking you straight back to Al’s to pick up your van.”
Holly stared out the window at the snowy landscape, and suddenly, it reminded her of cocaine. It had never occurred to her that drug cartels had their tentacles this far north. And now, she was being targeted by one, or someone working for one, because of something she’d stumbled into purely by accident.
Her mountain of unpaid bills was starting to seem like the very least of her problems.
“Don’t worry,” Colin said, giving her a thoughtful glance. “I’ll see what kind of protection we can get you, in the event you have to testify.”
“Testify?”
“About whoever approached you in that parking lot.” He gave her a look. “It could be someone important.”
“The guy with the white hair?”
“I’m guessing it’s Ice Man. He’s the link between the cartel and our firearms guy—a link we’ve been investigating for a long time. But we’ve never had a positive ID on him. Or even an eyewitness.”
Holly gaped at him. “You don’t have an eyewitness! All I saw was some guy in a parking lot. He barely said two words to me.”
Colin shifted his attention to the road, where the sign for the White Falls Inn had come into view. Holly glanced at it, panicked.
“Colin, I don’t want to testify. I want to deliver my flowers and go back to my life in Bozeman.”
He turned up a steep and narrow driveway. “You will.”
“I’m serious! I don’t want any part of this. I’ve got enough stuff to worry about with my sister on my case and a struggling business and loans from art school—”
“Just relax, all right? This is all conjecture at this point.” His phone buzzed again as he curved around a graceful driveway and pulled up to a white clapboard house flanked by towering fir trees.
A trio of men in tuxedos rushed out to meet the van, followed by a blond woman in a black pantsuit. This was Patty, the wedding coordinator Holly had met on the few occasions when she’d been privileged enough to do an event at the prestigious White Falls Inn. Patty had obviously recognized her and was making a beeline for the Suburban, already barking orders at the staff.
Colin’s phone buzzed again as the men yanked open the cargo doors. “Hey, you need a hand with this?” he asked. “Because I need to take this call.”
Holly shoved open her door. “Take it.”
“I’ll be here when you finish.” He checked his watch and a look of concern flitted across his face. “Come straight back, all right? We need to get you safely back to Bozeman before anyone realizes you’re here.”
~*~
“I have a lead on Ice Man,” Colin told his boss.
“Shit, where you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”
“You know that florist I told you about? She may be able to ID him for us. Someone approached her last night at Mae’s Truck Stop, right after she pulled up in her van. I thought it was Lopez, maybe mistaking her for Hooks, but—”
“Hooks is dead.”
Colin’s blood turned cold. “What?”
“They found him in a ditch this morning over in Calvert County,” Bruce said. “Double-tap to the head. And get this—his van’s missing. So looks like the swap went down without us, only it wasn’t a swap, but a grab. Not only that—his whole place has been looted. Guns, computers, phones, everything. Someone swept through there like a horde of locusts.”
Colin tried to process the information. The man he’d been closing in on for months was dead. The person they’d hoped to bust and then flip so they could go after the bigger fish—Ice Man and Lopez—was gone.
“Lopez knows we’re onto him,” Colin said, watching uneasily as Holly pulled another load of flowers from the back of the SUV. He turned away from her and lowered his voice. “He’s shutting it down, eliminating loose ends.”
“I know, I know. We’ve got to move fast. So, what’s this about Ice Man? You said you have an ID?”
“Slater.”
“Who?”
“Tom Slater. I think he’s our guy.”
“You think Sheriff Slater is the Ice Man?”
“He matches the witness description to a T,” Colin said. “And besides, it makes sense. We know Ice Man’s connected. We know he knows Hooks. And we know he somehow manages to get word to Lopez’s crew every time a major drug seizure is about to go down.”
“But they had a big bust there just last week.”
“Yeah, Slater had a big bust. He’s the only cop in three counties who’s managed to make a seizure in the last two years. Lopez probably handed it to him on a silver platter in exchange for looking the other way on everything else—like the weapons trafficking going on right under his nose.”
“This is the sheriff we’re talking about,” Bruce said, still sounding unconvinced.
“Think about it,” Colin said. “It makes everything fit.” And it also put Holly smack dab in the middle of a sensitive investigation.
“Who’s this witness again? You said she’s from Bozeman?”
“She’s a florist up here doing a wedding,” Colin said, growing increasingly worried as he considered the problem. Holly had reported the shooting last night, which meant the sheriff’s office knew exactly who she was, right down to her home address.
She wasn’t safe in Bozeman—not if Ice Man and the sheriff were one and the same.
Colin scanned the area, looking for a pretty brunette in an oversized leather jacket. Where the hell was she? His gaze landed on the glassed-in reception room with a view of the waterfall that gave the town its name. He spotted the w
edding coordinator just outside the door. Tuxedo-wearing staffers were rushing in and out, setting things up.
Well, they were going to have to do the rest without Holly. She wasn’t going to like it, but that was too bad.
“I need to go,” Colin said. “I need to get Holly out of here.”
“Who?”
“The witness.”
Brakes squealed and Colin turned around. A gray Tahoe peeled away from the building and went roaring down the drive.
Chapter Four
Holly bit down on the gag, fighting the urge to retch at the sour taste of it. Her cheek was pressed against the cold floor of the vehicle and a heavy weight on her legs prevented her from moving.
“I’ll be at the juncture in ten minutes,” the man said to someone over the phone. Holly strained to listen over the pounding of her heart. “What the hell do you think? I couldn’t just pop her there in the driveway.”
They hit a bump and Holly’s head knocked against metal. She stifled a reaction. She didn’t want this man—the same guy who’d approached her in the parking lot yesterday—knowing she was awake. If he thought she was still out cold, she’d have a better chance of doing… something. She didn’t know what yet, but she was desperately trying to put together a plan.
Why hadn’t she had her guard up? When she’d stepped out of the reception room to get the last load of flowers, she’d heard someone behind her. She’d turned to look, never expecting to see the man from the parking lot lunging for her. He’d touched her with something—probably a Taser—and it was like stepping on a live wire. Next thing she knew, she was being loaded into a cargo space like a sack of potatoes.
Holly squeezed her eyes shut and tried to envision her surroundings. The floor was metal. There were no seats back here, and she was surrounded by bags of animal feed. But her nose told her there was something else back here, too. The distinctive scent of gun oil—a smell she’d always associated with her dad when he’d come back from the firing range—floated around her, and she knew she was being transported with a cache of weapons.
Holly’s heart raced. A sour lump rose up in her throat and she struggled to swallow it down so it wouldn’t choke her. Obviously, this man was armed. She wasn’t. And her hands were zip-cuffed behind her back, making it impossible for her to defend herself. What was she going to do when he got wherever he was going and opened those doors?
Colin.
She thought of the determined look on his face when he’d left the cabin last night. She thought of the easy way he’d handled his gun. Colin could help her, but she wasn’t even sure he’d realized she was missing yet.
And her minutes were numbered. She couldn’t rely on him—she had to come up with something else.
Another hairpin turn and Holly slid against something solid. She tried not to fight the movement. She wanted to look limp and helpless so that maybe—just maybe—she could take him by surprise.
“What the—”
The van pitched sideways. Metal shrieked. Holly’s eyes flew open as they slammed into something and her body careened against a hard surface.
Curses erupted from the front. A door squeaked open and she heard shouting outside.
Holly struggled to sit up and immediately felt dizzy. Bags of animal feed had fallen on top of her and she bucked them off.
Rat-tat-tat-tat.
The staccato of automatic gunfire made her freeze. Who was shooting? Holly crawled to the cargo door and sat up on her knees so she could reach the latch with her cuffed hands.
Rat-tat-tat.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she struggled to pull the latch.
A single shot rang out, followed by a hail of machine-gun fire.
Colin! she thought frantically. Did he not realize what he was up against?
She pressed her weight on the latch. Suddenly, the door swung open and she tumbled backward onto the snow-covered ground. She blinked up at the blue sky and realized she was on an incline and gravity had aided her fall. She rolled to her knees and looked around.
Rat-tat-tat-tat.
Bang.
The shots were somewhere to her right—much too close for comfort. Maybe she should have stayed inside. But if—heaven forbid—her captor managed to kill whoever had run him off the road, she needed to be far away from here when he tried to flee.
A flash of metal caught Holly’s eye. Several guns had slid out when the cargo doors opened. She spotted something big and black and mean-looking. A nickel-plated pistol. And a pair of handguns that looked just like her dad’s.
Rat-tat-tat.
Holly leaned sideways awkwardly and picked up one of the handguns. She had no idea if it was even loaded, but at least it was something. She looked at her surroundings. The empty road offered no cover. There were some woods to her right, but that was where the shots were coming from.
Holly glanced at the road again and decided to risk it. She struggled to her feet and darted across the highway.
~*~
The flutter of movement caught Colin’s eye as Holly sprinted across the road.
Rat-tat-tat.
He heard a high-pitched yelp as she dove into the ditch.
Christ, what was she thinking?
“Holly, stay down!”
Colin steadied his arms on the hood of his truck and took aim at the shooter’s hide. He nailed the tree, but the bullet didn’t penetrate.
A flash of muzzle fire to the left. Shit, he’d moved. Colin lined up another shot and hoped to hell Holly would stay low.
Bang.
Another hail of gunfire, and Colin knew his truck was quickly turning to Swiss cheese. This guy was using heavy artillery. He was making his way to the Suburban, too, because his Tahoe was clearly out of commission. Colin knew the shooter’s plan, because it was the same plan he would use if he were stranded out here with a fleet of feds on the way—he was going to make a dash for Colin’s vehicle, kill anyone who got in his way, and hightail it out of here. It was a good plan—and backed up by machine guns, it was a great one. Colin was down to two bullets—not even a spare magazine because he was in one of the ranch vehicles instead of his truck.
Rat-tat-tat-tat.
This storm of bullets was directed at Holly, and Colin felt a swell of anger.
“Holly, keep low!”
The gunfire shifted toward him. Glass shattered on the side of the Suburban.
“Turn yourself in, Slater! Every fed in the state is converging on this location!”
It was an outright lie. Colin’s team was fifteen minutes away, and it consisted of two people. Unless they got their hands on a helicopter—highly unlikely—they wouldn’t get here in time. Meanwhile, the real cavalry was in Missoula, plotting another sting operation that was never going to happen.
Two rounds. Colin considered his options. He could slink away from the Suburban, and Slater would probably be deep into Canada by nightfall. Or Colin could try to stall him and hope for backup.
He glanced at the ditch where Holly was hiding. A hush fell over the woods. The only sound was his own heartbeat.
Had she been shot? Was she dead right now or bleeding out in the ditch while he stood here less than fifty feet away?
A flash of green. Score! Slater had given away his location—which was much closer than Colin expected.
But now, Colin had the advantage. He had two shots left, and he intended to use them.
~*~
Holly lay on her side in the snow, contorting herself into a pretzel. She had to get her hands in front of her. Without her hands, she was defenseless. She squirmed and strained, doing her best to keep her head down as she frantically attempted to squeeze her legs through the loop of her arms.
Another burst of gunfire had her heart leaping into her throat. Colin. The fact that he didn’t return fire couldn’t be good. He was either out of ammunition or wounded.
Bang.
Rat-tat-tat.
Bang.
And then nothing. Only s
ilence.
Holly held her breath, waiting for something—anything—that would indicate which man was still standing.
A car door squeaked and then slammed. She heard a noisy growl as someone gunned the engine. Tires squealed as the Suburban sped away.
“Holly!”
And then he was there, in the ditch with her. He tugged loose the gag.
“God, you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” He had a pocketknife in his hand and reached to cut her bindings.
“What happened? Is he gone?” Holly jerked her hands free and scampered to the top of the ditch. She peered down the road, where the white Suburban was shrinking from view.
She grabbed the pistol from the ground and scrambled to her feet. “Quick! He’s getting away!”
“Holly, look at me! Are you hit?”
She squinted down the barrel and fired. The truck veered left sharply. It careened off the road and flipped into the ditch.
“Holy shit! You hit him.” Colin looked at her with disbelief. Then he glanced at her gun “Where did you get that thing?”
Holly’s answer was drowned out by a noisy whump-whump overhead. They both looked up as a helicopter suddenly appeared above the treeline.
“Who’s that?” she yelled above the noise.
Colin turned and smiled at her. “Reinforcements.”
Chapter Five
Holly added the last snapdragon to the vase and stepped back to study her work. Not bad, considering. At least the customer hadn’t wanted roses. They were the ultimate Valentine’s cliché, and Holly liked it when men asked for something with a little more flair.
The cowbell on the door rattled and Holly shivered at the icy blast of air.
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