Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop

by Secrets in Texas

  And after their close call, his adrenaline had been pumping full force. Sexual excitement was an understandable response to danger. That he could accept. But his interlude with Angel had been more than wanting to fulfill purely physical need with hot, uninhibited sex. Matthew wanted to make love with Angelina. Reassure her, treasure her, love her. And that scared him.

  He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his arm so he could see the covers outlining Angel. She breathed slowly, evenly, apparently unaffected by what they’d shared. Unfazed by what they might have shared.

  His body ached to complete what they’d started. His mind told him to avoid it at all costs. There was no room in their mission for emotion. The only rational course of action would be to step up his efforts to locate the information they needed. The sooner they had that, the sooner they could leave. And he could return to his well-ordered life.

  But suddenly his old life didn’t seem very appealing.

  ANGEL AWOKE EARLY, glancing at the clock. It wasn’t light out yet. She flipped and flopped for nearly half an hour before deciding to get an early start on the day.

  She took a shower, dressed and was downstairs just as the sun was beginning to rise.

  Approaching the kitchen, she heard the low murmur of voices. Surely Eleanor wasn’t awake this early? Angel had hoped to have breakfast well under way before the older woman came downstairs. A peace offering for the trouble they’d caused last night.

  Angel entered the kitchen and was startled to see Jonathon deep in discussion with Ruth. They were close, their murmured sentences too low for Angel to hear.

  Frowning, Angel wondered what he was doing here at this hour and what Ruth was doing up. Jonathon hadn’t been at supper the night before and hadn’t been there at prayer time. And she hoped to hell he hadn’t been upstairs when she and Matthew came in from their late-night mission.

  “Good morning,” Angel said.

  Jonathon stepped back. “I was counseling Sister Ruth.”

  His excuse came so easily she knew he’d used it many times before.

  “I can see that,” Angel commented.

  Ruth’s shining blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes glowed in the low light of the kitchen. She looked every bit like a woman seeing off her secret lover.

  Yikes!

  “I must meditate on several problems before the meeting today. Ruth, we can discuss this later.”

  “Yes, Brother Jonathon.” Ruth lowered her gaze.

  His gaze locked with Angel’s. He didn’t speak for a moment, as if waiting for her reaction. Or waiting for her to blurt out a secret. Like the fact that she’d seen a Humvee full of men visit the compound in the middle of the night.

  He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Please tell Matthew to be early to the meeting today. We have much to discuss.”

  “I will.”

  “Goodbye, ladies.”

  “Goodbye,” they replied in unison.

  Once Jonathon was gone, Angel said, “Good, I’m glad you’re up early. You can help me prepare breakfast.”

  “I’d love to help, Sister Angel, but I have lesson plans to prepare for the children.” She hurried out of the kitchen, her footsteps light on the stairs.

  Yeah, sure she’d love to help. When hell froze over. Angel had noticed Ruth managed to have other duties anytime cooking or cleaning was involved. As a sister wife, she would be next to useless. Thank goodness it wasn’t meant to be.

  When Eleanor came downstairs an hour later, Angel had platters of pancakes and scrambled eggs warming in the oven. The table was set.

  “What’s all this?”

  “The bacon should be done in a few minutes,” Angel said. “My way of saying I’m sorry for the trouble we caused.”

  “Don’t mention it. We’ll pretend it never happened.” A very un-Eleanor-like attitude of avoidance.

  “I appreciate that. Please sit down. I’ll go check to make sure Matthew didn’t oversleep.” She turned the heat under the frying pan to low and hurried upstairs.

  Entering their room, she was surprised to see Matthew sound asleep. The man never overslept. Good thing she’d been searching for an exit line to get out of Eleanor’s way.

  Angel stepped close to the bed, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but stopped. Finding him in this unguarded moment gave her the opportunity to study him. He wore a T-shirt to bed, presumably shielding her from the sight of his bare chest, which had been quite nice the few times she’d caught a glimpse. His face was relaxed except for small frown lines between his eyes. She longed to smooth them away with the gentlest of touches. Or maybe a featherlight kiss to his brow.

  His eyes opened and she took a step back.

  “Kind of creepy watching someone sleep, isn’t it?” His voice held a trace of sarcasm.

  “I’m starting to understand its merits. Especially with someone as guarded as you.”

  “Me? Guarded? I’m an open book.”

  “No, you pretend to be an open book. You’re like those proverbial still waters that run deep.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Aunt Eleanor.”

  “I came up to tell you breakfast is ready. I cooked it myself. An olive branch for Eleanor.”

  “Very commendable.”

  “You better get moving. Jonathon wants you at the meeting early. Said you have a lot to discuss. Maybe he’ll let something slip about the visitors last night.”

  Matthew sat up, the covers pooling at his waist. “I doubt it, but we can always hope. Now, a little privacy please?”

  Angel shrugged and headed for the door. “Hurry. You don’t want your breakfast to get cold. Since I cooked, I’ve decided we won’t wait for one late person, even if he is lord and master of the household.”

  Closing the door behind her, Angel thought she heard Matthew chuckle. The man had the oddest sense of humor.

  “MATTHEW?” ANGEL’S sleepy voice came from the bed the next morning.

  “Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Four-thirty.”

  “The farmer’s market—I almost forgot. Do you have my pocket PC?”

  “Yes. I’ll try to find a wireless connection, but I don’t know how closely I’m going to be watched.”

  Angel reached over and turned on the light. Blinking, she rubbed her eyes. “I remembered something in the night. A partial plate on the Humvee. It was a Texas plate. I wrote it down here somewhere.”

  She grasped a small pad of paper from the nightstand. Ripping off a sheet, she handed it to him.

  “You did this in the dark?”

  “One of my many talents.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Angel flushed. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s too early for double entendres.”

  “Sorry. I’ll remind you of it when you’re more awake.”

  “Please, don’t.” Her voice was low and serious.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened the other night?”

  “It was an anomaly. It shouldn’t happen again. I was totally unprofessional, and if my peers heard about it, my reputation would be toast. I could kiss goodbye any chance of making it into the Rangers.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Given the close quarters, it was probably bound to happen. Besides, your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Thanks, Matthew. I appreciate it.” She cleared her throat. “I, um, thought it was okay. Another time, another place, maybe things would have been different.”

  “Yeah, that’s the story of my life. Go back to sleep. And if you try getting into Jonathon’s study, please be careful.”

  “Always.” She lay down, pulling the covers up under her chin. “You be careful, too.”

  Matthew found himself humming as he left the room. Because there had been a warmth in Angel’s tone that told him she cared whether he lived or died. It was a start, wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MATTHEW ARRIVED AT the meeting hal
l just before sunrise. They’d be cutting it close if they were to pick fruits and vegetables and get them to the farmer’s market by nine.

  He needn’t have worried.

  Jonathon was directing placement of the last two boxes in the backseat of his Silverado. Two other trucks were loaded with produce.

  “Hi, Jonathon. I thought we were going to pick this morning?”

  “Morning, Matthew. Our neighbor to the south loaned us some men to pick and package last night. All that was left was loading. You ready to go?”

  “Yeah. I was looking forward to getting my hands dirty in the garden this morning, though. I’ve been getting cabin fever.”

  Jonathon clapped him on the back and laughed. “You didn’t complain too much the other day being cooped up with Angel. Besides, you’ll be outside at the market. Why don’t you go ahead and ride with Raphael? I bet he can squeeze in one more.”

  Matthew glanced over to the blue pickup where Raphael sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Sure. It’ll be like old times.” He counted the men and figured his uncle exaggerated about squeezing in.

  But when they went to get in the vehicles, it was a tight fit. That’s when he noticed nobody was riding with Jonathon.

  He walked around to the driver’s side of the blue truck. “Hey, Raphael, why don’t I ride with Uncle Jonathon? I don’t know why he didn’t suggest it.”

  “He’s going to Just Greens Restaurant first and a few places he delivers to personally. Then he’ll meet up with us.”

  “I’ll go offer my help.”

  “Matthew, stop. If he wanted your help, he would have asked for it. Get in the truck. You can ride shotgun.”

  Frowning, Matthew did as his half brother requested. It was the first time he could remember Raphael getting short with him.

  “Sure. No problem.” He settled in the front passenger seat.

  The ride to town was quiet. The other men didn’t seem inclined to make polite chitchat. They were all new to Zion’s Gate and didn’t seem to be anxious to get to know him.

  That was fine by Matthew. He was content to simply look out the window and watch the sunrise turn the sky a beautiful kaleidoscope of orange and blue.

  After the first few miles, the desert view became monotonous, not much different from Arizona in its bleakness. To make matters worse, Jonathon’s truck kicked up dust ahead of them, which managed to infiltrate the fresh-air return, making the cab stuffy.

  “How often do we go to the farmer’s market?”

  Raphael shrugged. “It’s held on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We go whenever we have an abundance of produce. Usually every other week. Sometimes we go even if we don’t have a lot, because Jonathon says we need to generate cash flow.”

  Matthew wondered if Zion’s Gate was really as strapped for cash as Jonathon led everyone to believe. Or if it was simply a ploy to squeeze a few more dollars in tithes.

  The hum of the engine and the unending expanse of desert lulled Matthew into an almost hypnotic state. He found himself wondering what Angel was doing back at Zion’s Gate. Baking bread? Sparing hornworms in the garden?

  The engine growled as the transmission down-shifted. Matthew noticed they were pulling over to the shoulder behind the Silverado.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “Sheriff. He’s pulling in behind us.”

  A deputy’s vehicle went cruising by on their left, blue and red lights flashing.

  “We weren’t speeding, were we?”

  “No. We never do. But we get pulled over every time we go into town.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re from Zion’s Gate.”

  “That’s illegal.” A trace of indignation made its way into his voice. He’d almost forgotten he was part of a similar law-enforcement crusade. But that was different.

  Raphael shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.” He lowered his window, waiting patiently.

  A few minutes later the sheriff approached. “Morning, fellas. I’ll need to see some ID.”

  “For what reason?” The question was out before Matthew could stop.

  The sheriff squinted at him as if he were trying to place his face from a book of mug shots. “We’ve had a report of coyotes transporting illegal aliens along this road. Several pickup trucks traveling in a convoy.”

  Very stupid coyotes to travel in a high-profile convoy during broad daylight. But Matthew managed not to voice his disbelief.

  “ID, gentlemen,” the sheriff prodded.

  Matthew reached for his wallet, removing his driver’s license. The other men did the same.

  The sheriff made notes on his pad with each ID he checked. When he came to Matthew’s, he looked up. “Arizona, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why’re you here?”

  “I’m visiting my uncle, Jonathon Stone.”

  “I hear Warren Jeffs hails from Arizona. You know him?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “He’s a polygamist. Rumor has it he built a big old compound near Eldorado.”

  “Oh.”

  The sheriff handed back the driver’s licenses. “You have a good day.”

  “You, too, Sheriff,” Raphael said.

  “This happens every time you go to town?”

  “Yes.”

  “I read that the Arizona and Utah authorities are looking for Jeffs. Do they think we know him just because he practices the principle?”

  “Pretty much. Jonathon hasn’t had anything to do with him for years. Jeffs and his bunch were the reason he left Arizona to begin with. Then things get hot in Arizona and Jeffs hightails it to Texas, too. It’s made things hard for all of us.”

  “I thought maybe Uncle Jonathon was overstating the problem with the local authorities. But I guess not.”

  “He’s got reason to be uneasy.”

  Raphael waited for the Silverado to pull forward. Then he put on his left-turn signal and fell in behind Jonathon.

  Matthew was torn between instinctive family loyalty and the knowledge that the authorities probably had darn good reason to keep an eye on his uncle.

  The rest of the trip into town was uneventful. When they reached the outskirts, Jonathon turned off on a side road and Raphael kept going straight.

  Delivering produce to a restaurant that specialized in salads seemed reasonable. Matthew wondered about the other customers Uncle Jonathon saw to personally.

  When they reached the farmer’s market, Raphael backed the truck in near their booth, where customers were already waiting. Matthew was grateful to get out and stretch his legs.

  He helped Raphael and the other men unload the produce. The clink of glass on glass in one box piqued his curiosity. His surprise must have shown, because Raphael said, “Honey. Ask Eleanor to show you the hives sometime. We sell it faster than the bees can make it.”

  Interesting.

  There was a similar clank in the next case. “More honey?”

  “Preserves.”

  “Do we sell it faster than the women can make it?”

  Raphael grinned. “Just about. Same with the craft items. Folks say the needlework is some of the best they’ve ever seen.”

  “Looks like a tidy little operation.”

  Shrugging, Raphael said, “You’d think Jonathon would be happy. But we never bring in enough to suit him. Sometimes I feel like telling him to man the booth himself and see if he can do better.”

  This was the Raphael he remembered. Not the careful man who weighed every word he uttered.

  “Jonathon’s pretty good at supervising, huh? But I bet he finds something else to do when there’s heavy lifting involved.”

  “You know it. His deliveries always take hours. Long enough that most of the work’s done when he returns.”

  Matthew filed the information away. The rest of the morning was a blur as he helped set up the booth, kept the displays replenished, gave Raphael a hand at the till.

  He swiped his sleeve across his fa
ce. “Whew, it’s getting hot.”

  Raphael pulled water bottles from the ice chest. He tossed one to Matthew. “Here. You don’t want to get heatstroke.”

  “Thanks.” He twisted off the cap and swallowed half the bottle. “Do we get a lunch break? I’d like to check out the shops and see if I can find a gift for Angel.”

  “It slows down about one o’clock. You can do a little shopping then.”

  “Good. I’ll be ready for a break.”

  “You’ve gotten soft, Brother.”

  Matthew smiled. It was almost like old times. “Soft? I bet I can still beat you at arm wrestling any day.”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see.” Raphael cuffed him on the shoulder, then went to help an older lady select produce.

  Raphael had been right. Once the sun was directly overhead, their business tapered off. Though the booth was in the shade, it was still warm.

  “You ready for lunch?” Raphael asked. “There’s a great taco stand a few streets over. And some shops that might have something Angel would like. Want to give it a try?”

  “Sure. As long as we’re not needed here.”

  “No. The other men have it under control. Let’s go.”

  Matthew fell into place beside Raphael. It seemed like the old days, when Raphael had been his best friend. He was sorry he hadn’t kept in touch.

  Despite the reminiscing, Matthew scanned business signs, trying to locate wireless access. They appeared to be in an older section of town with mostly small, independent shops. But he didn’t spot a single sign advertising wireless access.

  Mouthwatering aromas assaulted his senses, making it difficult to think clearly. They turned a corner and found the taco stand Raphael had mentioned. They ordered their meals and found a rickety table shaded by a tree.

  Matthew bit into his taco and sighed with bliss. “You were right. They make great tacos. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  “Getting soft just sitting around making your piles of money? Jonathon acts like you’re a billionaire.”

  “Not hardly. Sure, I’m comfortable, but I’m not about to make the cover of Forbes.”