Protector

by Diana Palmer

  “She gave you as a reference,” Hayes said, feeling stupid, “and presented me with a letter, written on your letterhead stationery with what I could have sworn was your signature.”

  “Should have called me, Hayes,” John said gently.

  “Yes. Yes, I should have,” Hayes said heavily. “Good Lord, I feel stupid!”

  “We all make mistakes,” John said. “But you should fire her.”

  “If I ever see her again, I swear I’ll not only fire her, I’ll have her up for fraud,” Hayes muttered. “Thanks, John.”

  He hung up. He let out a long breath. “Of all the dumb, idiotic things to do. Me, of all people!” he exclaimed. “I always check people out. But she seemed so naive and trusting. So honest.”

  “She had me fooled, too,” Zack confessed. “I liked her. She made coffee.” He glanced at Minette and laughed self-consciously. “Listen, I love to drink it but I can’t make it. It was a selling point in her favor.”

  “Where is she, would be my next question,” Hayes said grimly.

  “She didn’t show up for work this morning,” Zack replied. “Called in sick.” His eyes narrowed. He went over to the communications desk. “Hey, Bob, will you run over to Beverly Sands’s house—” he paused, looking at the address she’d given on her application “—24 Oak Street, and see if you can get her to the door? That’s right. Yes. Thanks. Let me know. Okay.

  “I sent Bob,” Zack said. “He’ll find her.”

  * * *

  But Bob didn’t find her. And, in fact, 24 Oak Street was the address of a small coffee shop that had opened just recently. No Beverly Sands there. Despite the size of Jacobsville, even the sheriff didn’t know the street address of every single house or business in it. But the mistake was painful.

  “Why didn’t I check that address?” Hayes asked, aghast, when Zack told him. “I’m the sheriff!”

  “You’re not perfect,” Minette replied gently. “Jacobsville is a small town. People trust each other.”

  “Yes, but I know better.”

  “I got pulled in by her, too, boss,” Zack reminded him.

  “So, now what?” Minette asked.

  “Do we have fingerprints, at least?” Hayes asked.

  “I was about to do that when we got mixed up with El Jefe and things heated up in the investigation,” Zack sighed. “I’d put it off as one of those things that wasn’t absolutely essential to be done in a rush...”

  Hayes threw up his hands. “Crackers and milk!” he cursed.

  “Doesn’t Eb Scott have some wild-eyed, unbelievably skilled computer tech in his employ?” Minette asked the men.

  They looked at her.

  “Information can’t be completely erased unless the whole drive is reformatted, and yours obviously hasn’t been. Right?”

  Hayes dug for his cell phone again.

  * * *

  By late evening, the computer tech was starting to re-create the lost file. It was taking time, because the information was fragmented. But the young man was certain he could pull it up. It was late, though, and he told the others they might as well go home.

  So, Hayes went back home with Minette and walked up on a very odd gathering in her backyard.

  “What in the world is going on?” Minette exclaimed when she and Hayes got to the back porch.

  Four men were facing each other. Three of them were yelling. They stopped at the sound of her voice. Suddenly they looked very sheepish.

  “Uh, hi,” one of the men said slowly. He attempted a smile.

  “Who are you guys?” Minette wanted to know.

  “Good question,” Hayes said, and he looked every inch a lawman.

  “That’s what we’re sorting out. Trying to sort out,” the one who’d spoken said. “Okay, that’s one of El Jefe’s men over there.” He indicated a taciturn man with dark hair and eyes. “That’s one of Sheriff Carson’s volunteer deputies, I think.” He indicated a man that Hayes recognized as a part-timer. “I’m sort of working for Cash Grier,” the spokesman added with a self-conscious chuckle. “And nobody can get him—” he indicated a tall, cold-eyed man with long, black unbound hair down to his waist “—to say who he is or even who he works for.”

  “I don’t have to say,” the man replied haughtily. “I’m a tourist. I was looking around for points of interest and I got lost.”

  “In the middle of the night on private property?” Hayes pointed out.

  The man, wearing jeans, shrugged and looked around. “I don’t see a single sign identifying this as private property.”

  “Who are you?” Hayes persisted icily.

  The tall man looked directly into his eyes. “Carson.”

  “I’m Carson,” Hayes shot back.

  “My name is Carson, too,” the man replied. “That’s all I’m telling you.”

  “Wait,” the first man who spoke broke in, “I know you. You’re the guy who went with Emilio Machado to South America to take back his country. You work for Cy Parks when you’re not off somewhere with Eb Scott’s group.”

  The man named Carson shrugged. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just a lost tourist.”

  “The points of interest are that way,” Hayes said, pointing toward the road that led to Jacobsville. “Start walking.”

  “Unfriendly place,” the tall man huffed. “No wonder it’s so small.”

  “You just go back and tell Cy Parks we have enough madmen out here running into each other. We don’t need any more cluttering up the landscape. And thank him,” Hayes added reluctantly.

  “Boss sent me here to do a job,” Carson replied. He folded his arms and stared belligerently at the other men. “Not leaving until I’ve done it.” He looked at Hayes, daring him to do anything about it.

  “Son of a...” Hayes started.

  “Now, Hayes,” Minette said gently as he took a step toward the other man. “More people, less problem.”

  “Sure, unless they shoot each other!” Hayes exclaimed.

  “I’m not shooting anybody,” the man named Carson replied curtly. “I don’t carry a gun.”

  “What, you talk people to death, do you?” the first man scoffed.

  Carson shifted his weight. “Don’t need to talk.”

  Hayes was noting something the others seemed to have missed: a huge bowie knife in a sheath at a strange angle on the tall man’s belt.

  “That’s an illegal weapon,” Hayes pointed out, indicating the knife. “I could have you arrested just for carrying it.”

  “I have a permit.”

  Hayes glared. “A knife permit? Who the hell gave you that?”

  “Cash Grier,” Carson replied. He didn’t smile, but he looked so smug that Hayes wished he was in some condition to slug that expression off his smooth face.

  “I don’t believe it,” Hayes said.

  “Don’t care,” Carson replied. “Arrest me if you want. I’ll prove it in court.” He did smile then, coldly. “My first cousin is married to the senior U.S. senator from South Dakota,” he added.

  It was a powerful threat. The gentleman in question was well-known in the media for his bad temper and his great concern for Native people.

  “Well, my second cousin works security for a bank in San Antonio,” Hayes shot back.

  Minette barely smothered a giggle.

  “Listen, we’re all out here for the same reason, to protect Miss Raynor,” the first man interjected. “Why don’t we just divide the property up into four sectors and each take one to patrol?”

  “You should run for public office,” Carson told the man. He pointed toward Hayes. “Against him.”

  “Not me,” the man chuckled. “I know this county. Trust me, he’s unbeatable unless he barbecues a tourist over an open fire.”

  The man named Carson, posing as a tourist, pursed his chiseled lips. “I would taste terrible,” he assured Hayes.

  It broke the ice. Hayes burst out laughing.

  “Oh, hell, get out of here,” he chuckle
d. “And could you guys please stop arguing and get back to work?” Hayes asked. “We’re never going to keep this place secure at this rate.”

  “Not our fault, really,” the spokesman apologized. “The tourist there—” he indicated the man named Carson “—tackled him—” he pointed to El Jefe’s man “—and things went downhill from there.”

  “I was trying to protect her.” The drug lord’s man indicated Minette.

  “Me, too,” Carson returned. “You looked like a drug dealer to me,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.

  “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not,” El Jefe’s man snorted. “You got a warrant?”

  Carson actually smiled at him. The smile made the man back up a step.

  “I’m very grateful, for all the help,” Minette added. “But coming out in the open isn’t going to help matters.”

  “She does have a point,” the spokesman said to the other three. “Shall we get back to work, gentlemen?”

  “A sound idea,” El Jefe’s man said, and the other man agreed. Carson didn’t speak. He pointed out the sector he claimed and walked off toward it.

  Minette and Hayes left them to it.

  “Well, I do feel safer,” Minette commented on the way into the house. “It was nice of my...father...to watch out for me. And Cy Parks and Cash Grier and you,” she added, so that she didn’t sound ungrateful.

  “And me,” Hayes said. He grinned at her, linked his fingers with hers and walked her into the house.

  * * *

  By morning, the computer whiz had found something. He called Hayes but was unwilling to give out the information even on what seemed like a secure line.

  “Can you meet me at your office?” he asked Hayes.

  “Sure. I’ll be right over.”

  Minette drove, against Hayes’s wishes. “I’m much better,” he reminded her with a grimace. “I can drive, at least.”

  “You can undo all the recuperation, too, Hayes,” Minette argued. “It won’t be much longer before you’re back at work. Dr. Coltrain said you’re making great progress.”

  “I’m impatient,” he said, glancing out at the passing scenery. “I’m not used to inactivity.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed watching movies and doing stuff with the kids. And with you. I’ve enjoyed the food and the company very much.”

  She flushed and laughed. “Thanks. I’ve...we’ve...enjoyed the company, too. None of us is used to having a man around the house.”

  He pursed his lips. “Do you think you could get used to having a man around the house?” he began.

  She caught her breath. She was so busy staring at Hayes that she didn’t notice the sudden acceleration of two pickup trucks behind them.

  Hayes looked up and started to say something, but before he could even get the words out, one of the trucks rammed the left front fender and forced the truck off the road. It barely escaped a roll. When it came to a stop, before Hayes could get his pistol out of the holster, two men with automatic weapons pointed at his head prevented any thought of resistance.

  “So, Miss Raynor,” one of the small men said with a flash of white teeth, “someone we work for would like to meet you.”

  “Over my dead body,” Hayes began.

  The pistol was cocked. The man looking at him didn’t seem angry or even disturbed. “You lived despite our boss’s best efforts, Sheriff. If you wish to stay alive even for a day longer, resistance would be quite unwise.”

  “Come with us,” the man near him said, taking Minette roughly by the arm. But when Hayes stepped toward him, defying the man with the pistol, he eased his grip. He spoke to the other man in a language that wasn’t Spanish. They grimaced, looked at their prisoners and the other man nodded irritably.

  “Let’s go,” the older of the two men said.

  They separated the prisoners. Hayes was bound and placed in one truck, Minette in the other.

  Minette had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen to her. She hoped that Lassiter had been monitoring the phone, and that he’d bugged her truck, as well. If he had, there was just a glimmer of hope that she and Hayes wouldn’t be found lying in a ditch in some unspeakable condition. If not...well, everybody died at some point, she supposed. She had to hope and pray that it wasn’t Hayes’s time, or her time. Not just yet.

  Much later, they were blindfolded and placed in the backseat of a powerful, expensive SUV and driven somewhere across the border at night.

  Hayes was chomping at the bit, embarrassed and furious that he hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings, that he’d let this happen. He knew that Minette was the target of the kidnapping, knew who was behind it, too. He had to hope that their friends were somewhere watching, waiting, in a position to do something to get them out of this mess that he’d helped land them in.

  He couldn’t move. He was bound and gagged and blindfolded. He was aware that they’d put Minette in the backseat with him, but he couldn’t communicate with her. They’d taken his cell phone and smashed it before the prisoners were transferred into the SUV. His hands were cuffed, with his own damned handcuffs, and the pain was pretty bad. At least they hadn’t locked his hands behind him, which would have potentially undone all the uncomfortable physical therapy he’d been having for weeks in an attempt to stop the muscles from atrophying. He still wasn’t recovered from the gunshot wound that this very group of bad guys had given him in the first place. He was furious. But he had to keep his head, if he was going to help Minette escape being killed. He hoped, he prayed, there was a way to do that.

  * * *

  It was dark and cold in the small house they were taken to. Hayes had been keeping track of time while they were driving, and he guessed that they were being transported across the border to Cotillo. These men belonged to one of two rival factions trying to gain sole ownership of the small Mexican state, what was left of the Fuentes crime family, now headed by El Ladrón, and the forces of El Jefe. It was a prime location, with mountains for cover and easy and quick access to the United States, with no border patrol or other federal law enforcement nearby. Presumably the winner would face off against the Zetas or some other powerful narcotics cartel in a bid for even more territory. It never seemed to end.

  * * *

  The house was dark. Apparently it had no electricity, because Hayes heard a match strike and then a radiant glow penetrated even the darkness of the blindfold he was wearing.

  The blindfold was removed. He looked first for Minette. She was standing beside him, still bound. Her expression was one of quiet resignation. Her blindfold, also, had been removed. They looked at each other with visible pain, knowing that it might be the last time.

  “Put them over there,” the man who’d kidnapped them said, indicating two cane-bottomed chairs near a window.

  Hayes protested when the man undid his cuffs and started to pull his arms behind him.

  “Wait.” Their captor pursed his lips. He smiled haughtily. “The sheriff’s wound is troubling him, no?” he chuckled. “Tie his hands in front of him and bind them to his ankles,” he told one of his henchmen. “That way, if he decides to act, he will inflict his own punishment.”

  Minette wasn’t accorded the same courtesy. Her wrists were tied together behind the chair, although they made no attempt to bind her feet. In her mind, she was going over possibilities, ways to escape, ways to save Hayes.

  He was doing the same, but with little hope. He cursed his injury, which was nowhere near healed. Even when it did heal, he was going to have to deal with months of rehab and even after a year, there would still be some loss of mobility and function in the shoulder where the bullet had penetrated.

  He cursed these drug traffickers, cursed his own stupidity in letting himself be captured, letting her be captured. Whatever they did to him, please, God, spare her!

  “Now, we wait,” their captor said with a chuckle. “You will be honored. My boss himself, Charro Mendez, is coming to deal with the two of you. He is
the mayor of Cotillo, but also the second cousin of Pedro Mendez, the leader of our drug cartel.” He smiled coldly. “Charro has told us to treat you with great care and respect. He does not want a hair on your head to be harmed.” He moved to Minette and leaned close. “He is bringing with him a man who is expert with camcorders,” he whispered, loud enough that Hayes could also hear him. He smiled from ear to ear. “So that we can record for your papa all the things that we plan to do to you.”

  The insinuation made Minette sick to her stomach. The kidnapping had been terrifying. But the look in that little weasel’s eyes was so explicit that she wished they’d just shot her in the first place and put her out of her misery. But of course, that wasn’t the plan at all. They wanted her father, the father she’d never known, to see her torment and know that he was responsible for it.

  Minette raised her chin. She didn’t smile, or blanche, or flinch. “My father,” she said quietly, “will hang your employer up by his thumbs and cut him to pieces.”

  “Yes, my lady, but you will be long dead if that ever happens,” he chuckled, standing erect. He looked at her with malicious pleasure. “I will ask for the privilege of having you first, for the benefit of the cameras.”

  She stared into his eyes, aware that Hayes was muttering curses nonstop beside her. “Bring weapons,” she advised softly.

  The man thought that was hilarious. “I like a woman with spirit,” he chuckled again. He turned away and tossed orders to his men. “Pepito, you keep watch. Don’t talk to them, okay?” he said in Spanish.

  “No, of course not,” the very young man agreed. He stuck his pistol in his belt. “I will be most careful.”

  “And no toying with the woman,” he added coldly. “You understand?”

  “She is too pale for me,” the boy laughed, but the laughter was hollow. He seemed very nervous.

  “Yes, you like your girls big and round, like your wife, yes? You remember your wife and children, Pepito,” he added softly, and the young man shifted nervously. “We will not be long. Charro has said that he will come later today.” He gestured the other two men toward the door, speaking to them again in that language Minette couldn’t comprehend.