by Aimée Thurlo
When she went back out into the room, Paul still had his shirt open. Those low-slung jeans seemed to fit even lower on his hips now, or maybe that was just her imagination.
“You planning to finish getting dressed soon?”
“I’m decent—or am I distracting you?” He gave her a slow, devastating grin.
“No, you’re annoying me.” Paul was relentless when he wanted something, and at the moment he appeared to want her. The knowledge thrilled her and made her ache for things she had no business wanting.
“You’re not being truthful with me or yourself,” he said, taking a step closer.
She held her ground, refusing to back away. “You’re used to getting your way with women, Paul, but I’m out of your reach.”
“Not at all,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath almost touching her lips.
She stepped around him and gathered her things. “Paul, I came to New Mexico to do a job. That, and staying alive, are my only priorities.”
“Life is short. Enjoying special moments is sometimes all we’ve got,” he said. “Don’t pass them up.”
She heard the dark undertone woven through his words. His past was marked by the loss of people who’d mattered to him. Although she understood what drove Paul, she lived her life by a different set of rules. “I’m not your type, Paul. I want a lot more from a guy than a good time in bed. It may sound old-fashioned, but there it is.”
“So you’re looking for your forever guy?”
“I’m not really sure there’s such a thing, at least for me, but without something solid to back it up, physical attraction fades away. I want the whole package, not just pieces of it.”
“You might end up taking on more than you can handle.”
“As I see it, the real danger is settling for something less.” She said it firmly, needing to believe it, but Paul had awakened a new yearning inside her. It remained deep inside her heart—a temptation couched in two simple words— “what if.”
Chapter Thirteen
They’d returned to their original room, and now it was Kendra’s turn to watch Paul sleep. She’d had to insist that he try to get some rest. Finally, after tossing and turning for a long time, he seemed to have drifted off.
Kendra sat next to the small table at one end of the room, staring at the latest issue of New Mexico Magazine. On the cover was a photo of children playing in front of a picturesque casita.
She sighed softly. As much as she loved the marshals service, she knew the job would make it almost impossible for her to become a single mom. Yet investigative work was what she did best. She’d considered working in the private sector, but no job in her field would ever come with a guarantee of regular hours. She’d also need a decent paycheck that included good benefits. Without all that, she still wouldn’t be able to qualify as an adoptive parent.
The obstacles that stood in her way seemed insurmountable. Maybe some dreams weren’t meant to be.
As she leaned back and stretched, she heard soft, padding footsteps in the hallway. She went to the door, her hand on the grip of her pistol.
Kendra listened carefully and heard what sounded like a scratching sound near the electronic lock. Maybe it was nothing, housekeeping or an inebriated motel guest, but too much had happened already for her to ignore it.
“Paul!” she whispered harshly.
He was up instantly, and from her position near the door, he seemed to figure out the rest.
“Throw it open,” he said, his words barely audible. “I’ll handle it.” He flattened against the other side of the door.
Kendra slipped off the security chain, then held up one finger, then two. There was no three. In a lightning fast move, she pulled the door open.
Paul yanked the man into the room and threw him down onto the floor. Kendra moved in, her weapon aimed at his chest.
It was Preston. Kendra immediately lowered her weapon.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, creeping around out there, bro?” Paul demanded, offering his brother a hand up. “You have a death wish?”
“You never sleep, so I figured you’d be the one keeping watch. I used our signal.”
“Signal? I didn’t hear anything except footsteps and an odd scratching sound,” she said.
“That’s the signal,” Preston said. “It was something we came up with back home whenever we wanted to sneak out of the house. Whoever stayed behind was supposed to cover for the other one. We had different rooms and if we’d gotten together to make plans, Hosteen Silver would have heard us.”
“I think he knew and just chose to ignore it,” Paul said.
Preston chuckled. “I came up with that particular signal because it sounds like a cat scratching, and Paul’s like a stray with nine lives. The son of a gun lands on his feet no matter how many times you toss him across the room.”
Paul laughed. “When was the last time you could do that?”
“Have you had these selective memory problems long?” Preston countered without missing a beat.
“Guys,” she said, interrupting them. “Preston, I assume you’re here for a reason. Has something new turned up?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I paid John Lucas a visit this morning and my hunch paid off.”
“I don’t know the name,” Kendra said.
“Lucas owns a gun shop and a very popular shooting range just outside the city limits,” Preston said. “The rounds that were used against both of you were hand cast from linotype, so I figured the gunman might want to purchase additional supplies soon. Lucas is the only local source of metal for cast bullets.”
“John’s pretty closed-mouthed, particularly around cops. How did you persuade him to loosen up?” Paul asked.
“Enlightened self-interest,” he said, not elaborating. “He told me to speak to Gil Davies. He said that if there was out-of-town talent working here, Gil would know.”
“I’ve heard the name, but I can’t place the guy,” Paul said.
“He runs a survivalist training camp. He’s also suspected of dealing black market guns, but no one’s ever been able to get any evidence to back that up. What we’ve got is more rumor and gossip than anything, but I trust my informant. If he says Davies is the man to talk to, you can count on it. The problem is that Davies is out of my jurisdiction. You’ll need to talk to him, Kendra.”
“Where exactly do I find this Gil Davies?” Kendra asked.
“He has a small place just off Highway 145 north of Cortez, Colorado, about fifteen miles from my brother Gene’s ranch. I’ve been told he’s not friendly to uninvited guests, so watch your backs. You’re more likely to be greeted with firearms than open arms.”
Kendra glanced at Paul, and for the first time found she could read what was going on in his head. She recognized the signs—that initial rush of adrenaline, mingled with iron-willed control. It was the latter that he’d draw on to exercise restraint.
“You know where we’re headed, right?” she asked Paul.
“Yeah, no problem. It’s a little over an hour from here. Nine-thirty now, we’ll get there by ten-thirty.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” she said.
“Stay alert for surprises,” Preston said as they walked out. “There’s nothing but empty highway once you pass through Shiprock and turn north.”
“We’ll handle it,” Kendra said, acutely aware of the weight of the badge on her belt.
* * *
A HALF HOUR later, beyond the reservation town of Shiprock, the road stretching north before them seemed endless. She shifted in her seat, absently noting the series of tower-like mesas to the east.
“Restless?” he asked.
“Yeah, the scenery is beautiful, but I need something to focus on. How about going over some contingency plans?”
Paul shook his head. “Planning every detail is just a way of fooling yourself into thinking you have control over the situation. That false sense of security can be dangerous.”
“If you plan
for the most likely eventualities, you have a better chance of achieving your objectives,” she said.
He smiled at her. “That sounds like something the colonel taught you.”
She laughed. “It is. The colonel always got things done, and he expected the same from my brother and me. He taught us independence and responsibility, and never tolerated excuses of any kind.”
“You’ve barely mentioned your brother. I gather you two aren’t that close?” he asked.
“No, we’re not. In the colonel’s household we looked out for ourselves and learned not to ask for help. He expected us to be leaders, not followers, so depending on someone else was considered a sign of weakness.”
“So, you and your brother each went your own way?”
“Exactly.” She smiled. “I know you’re close to your brothers, but Gene went his own way, chose ranching instead of law enforcement. Does he still belong to the pack?”
He nodded. “Yeah, we’re all there for each other anytime, no matter what. But you’re right. Gene’s always marched to his own drummer.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “The guy was practically born to be a rancher. He has an amazing way with animals, particularly horses.”
“And you don’t?” she asked, sensing what he’d left unsaid.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Paul said with a wry grin. “That’s why it made no sense when Hosteen Silver left his horse to me instead of Gene. His last request was that I learn to be friends with Grit.”
“You own a horse!” she said, enthusiasm evident in her tone.
He smiled. “You like horses?”
“I love them, but excuse me for interrupting your story. Tell me more about Grit. Why is it difficult for you two to become friends?”
“There’s really no story. We’re not friends because, basically, the horse hates me. To date, he’s never let me ride him. Every time I’ve tried I’ve ended up facedown in the dirt. I was the one who named him Grit because that’s what ended up in my mouth each time I was tossed,” he said, laughing. “I’ve done everything I can think of to get on better terms with that animal, but Grit’s not interested.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” she said.
He looked at her in surprise. “That’s exactly what Gene says, but I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible. It’s important.”
“I don’t follow,” she said.
“It’s part of the puzzle Hosteen Silver left for me.” A minute or two stretched out as he tried to decide how much to tell her. Kendra had a sharp mind and investigative training. The fact that she wasn’t directly involved might mean she’d be able to offer him new insights on Hosteen Silver’s letter. “I could really use your take on something, but it involves family business, so it would have to stay between us.”
“I can keep a secret when it’s not case related, and I enjoy working with puzzles. I’d love to help, if I can.”
“I’ve already told you a little about Hosteen Silver and the kind of man he was. After he passed away, we discovered that he’d left each of us a letter. The ones that have been opened so far have contained both a prediction and a final request. What he asked of me was that I become friends with his horse. That also plays a part in what he foretold for me.” Seeing the questions in her eyes, he gave her a shortened version. “He said that enemies would become friends, and friends enemies, but Grit would show me the way, if I became his friend.”
“Maybe that was his way of making sure Grit would always be looked after,” she said.
Paul shook his head. “The horse was already in good hands living at my brother Gene’s ranch. Had he asked Gene, it would have made perfect sense, but he asked me. Gene thinks maybe Hosteen Silver wanted me to learn patience, but I don’t buy it. As an investigator, I’ve already got more than my share of that.”
“And the horse has always given you problems?”
“From the very beginning,” Paul said, nodding. “I tried to befriend him lots of times, but he’s never been interested.”
“I’m not an expert, but I know a little about horses. They can kick, buck and bite if you make them angry enough. Maybe the lesson wasn’t about patience as much as it was about not trying to force certain things.” She paused and took a breath. “What do you think? Does that sound like him?”
He considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, it does. When I look at Grit, I see an animal I’m going to have to outlast, intimidate or fight, and that affects how I deal with him,” he said with a wry smile. “Thanks for your insight, Kendra. Figuring out what Hosteen Silver was really trying to say has never been easy for any of us.”
“Thanks for letting me help.”
A half hour later they drove up a long, narrow dirt road in southwestern Colorado’s ranching country. At the end of their bumpy ride they found a closed metal gate with a sign that read Last Stand Ranch. No Trespassing.
“It’s closed but not locked,” she said. “Maybe he’s expecting a delivery.”
“Once he sees us, he’ll be mighty disappointed.”
“Let’s drive in and find out, but let me lead. I’m not so threatening.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And you think I am?”
“It’s the package. You seem to know how to work it.” Biting back a smile, she didn’t give him time to answer. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter Fourteen
The road just beyond the gate was so rutted it took them nearly five minutes to reach the freshly painted, white wood framed house. About fifty yards to its left stood a classic bright red barn. Paul parked next to a utility pole off to the side of the main house.
“Quiet and peaceful, not my vision of a survivalist’s home,” Kendra said after exiting the pickup. She checked the position of her weapon. “Let me take point. I’d like him to assume we’re a couple who got lost. Once we’re face-to-face and he can see my weapon, I’ll identify myself.”
As he got out of the pickup, Paul looked around. His fetish felt heavy, a sure sign that something wasn’t quite right.
“Something feels...wrong.” He held up his hand, asking for quiet. In the distance was the rumbling sound of metal clinking and clacking. “Reloading equipment—one of those vibrating case cleaners,” he said, then gestured to the barn.
“If he’s over there processing some ammo, that might explain why he didn’t hear us drive up,” she said. “Let’s check out the barn first.”
Paul hung back like she’d asked, his gaze taking in the area, searching for the danger he felt but couldn’t see.
“If he’s around guns, I don’t want to take him by surprise. I’m going to identify myself as soon as I walk in,” Kendra said, then entered the barn. “U.S. Marshal—” she called, but suddenly a hand snaked out from behind a stack of hay bales and yanked her back.
“Don’t like trespassers,” the burly man growled, pinning her against him in a chokehold.
Kendra stomped hard on his instep, then slammed her elbow deep into his gut. He bent over, his hold easing slightly, and she twisted free.
In the blink of an eye, Paul hurled himself at the man, tackling him to the ground.
“U.S. Marshal,” Kendra snapped, moving in, weapon in hand. “Stop.” The two men were still struggling, so she couldn’t get a clear line of sight.
The man punched Paul in the chest, trying to break free, but Paul grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully, and rolled him onto his stomach.
The man groaned, then finally stopped resisting. “Okay, you win,” he mumbled.
Paul released him, then rose to his feet and stepped back, clearing the way for Kendra.
“Don’t move,” Kendra said, coming up, her pistol aimed at the man’s spine.
“Relax, little lady,” he said, raising his head off the ground a few inches, trying to see her.
“Deputy Marshal,” she corrected. “You can stow the ‘little lady’ routine. Now roll over and sit up. Keep your hands away
from your body.”
“Yes, ma’am. I had no idea you were law enforcement. We’ve had home invasions and break-ins around here lately, so I was just defending my place, like any man would. You didn’t identify yourself until now.”
“I did, right before you began to choke me,” Kendra said. “Bad move. Instead of asking you a few questions and moving on, I’m placing you under arrest. Looks like you’re going to be doing your talking at the closest police station.”
Paul stepped away and called the local sheriff’s department while Kendra kept her gun trained on the man. “You’re Gil Davies, I take it?”
“That’s me, so now that we’ve been properly introduced, you gonna tell me what you want?”
“Some information,” Kendra said.
He smiled slowly. “Forget what happened here, and you might convince me to cooperate. If you take me in, forget about it.”
Kendra looked him in the eye, trying to read him, but before she could answer, Paul came up and touched her on the shoulder.
“He’s got a stash of black market gun parts in a box over there that can turn assault rifles into fully automatic weapons,” he said.
“Looks like we’ll be finishing this off at the station,” Kendra said. “If you want to trim off a little prison time, Gil, start talking.”
“The parts your partner saw were purchased outside a gun show in Durango. If you look in the box, you’ll see the ID badge that proves I was there.”
“To be in possession of those gun parts requires a boatload of specialized ATF permits. Care to show me the paperwork?”
He shrugged. “I bought them from a guy selling stuff out of his trunk in the parking lot. Just one good ole boy to another.”
“Enjoy prison,” Kendra said.
“So you came here just to check out gun parts?” He shook his head. “That’s not what you really want to know, is it?” He smiled slowly. “Your choice. Take me in, and that’s the last thing you’re going to hear from me.”