The Ranger

by Angi Morgan

  “I doubt that. I haven’t been a fan of small-town cops for the past two years. They’ve had every right to distrust a drifter like me.”

  “Is that how long you’ve been undercover?”

  “You know I shouldn’t answer that, Brandie.” He politely turned his back as he did every time he watched her put the money in the safe.

  “Thank goodness. Two days’ proceeds still here.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’m glad it is, but why wouldn’t they think you were keeping the stash in the most secure place you have?” he whispered. “Unless...”

  “Unless what? I told you I have no idea what Rey is even looking for.”

  “Whatever it is, it won’t fit in your safe.”

  “Mitch?” Pete called from just outside the door.

  “That’s great. Just great. I recognize that tone. I should have checked my gear before calling him. Damn it.” Mitch squeezed his forehead. “Whatever happens, don’t call Cord. Promise me.”

  “What? Why?” Brandie was completely confused as she watched Mitch put his hands up and back out of the storage room.

  “You know the routine. Lock your fingers behind your neck and drop to your knees. Mitch Striker, you’re under arrest for the illegal possession of a firearm and illegal substances with the intent to sale.”

  “Great.” Pete hooked handcuffs on Mitch’s right wrist.

  “Tell him,” she mouthed when Pete’s face was turned. “Tell him who you are.”

  Mitch kept his lips pressed together tightly, wincing as his second arm was jerked behind his back.

  “Hey, take it easy. This is all a mistake.” She tried to make Pete see reason.

  “The mistake is that I gave this guy a chance to begin with. There’s something off about him, Brandie.”

  “You’ve got this all wrong. He’s—”

  “Don’t argue with the sheriff.” Mitch glared at her, shaking his head.

  Pete lifted Mitch’s arms backward. “Up. Come on.”

  “Are you really arresting him? Everybody owns a gun in this town.” Should she go against what Mitch said and stop him from being arrested?

  “Brandie, go home and get Toby. Keep him with you until I’m back. Go to your dad’s.”

  “Why do you think she needs protection?” Pete asked, being none too gentle with his prisoner.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I have to clean up this mess.”

  Mitch jerked Pete to a stop, causing her mechanic to hiss a little in pain.

  “You need to get to Toby. Don’t you see why they’ve done this?”

  “Stop talking. Sorry, Brandie, but this is a crime scene and you’ll need to hold off cleaning while we process everything.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “At least today. Just depends.”

  “Oh, good gravy. I don’t know why you’re doing this. Mitch doesn’t use drugs.” She followed them through the garage office entrance. “They came in here and planted that stuff.”

  Pete shook his head. “Regardless, I have to arrest him. Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Mitch said. “Take the sedan home, I haven’t checked your car. Will you let her take my car? I’ll save you the trouble of a warrant. Check it out. It’s not locked.”

  “I can’t let her do that.”

  “Come on, Sheriff. She needs that car.”

  A deputy pulled up in a second Tahoe. Pete put Mitch in his truck where the window was already cracked.

  “Mitch, you’re scaring me.” She kept her voice low while Pete spoke to Deputy Hardy.

  “They set me up, Brandie. They want me out of the way for some reason. Be overly cautious and spend the day at your mom and dad’s with the shotgun.”

  “Will Cord get you out?”

  “Someone from headquarters will let him know. I don’t know who will post bail. They’ve invested a lot in this cover. That’s how it normally works. Not my decision. Stay safe.”

  Pete climbed into his truck. “Hardy’s going to watch the place. You good driving home? If you’re worried about your car, I can drop you or have another deputy stop by to drive you wherever you need.”

  “I’ll be okay.” She looked at Mitch through the back window. The look she’d seen on his handsome face was back. Concerned, worried, analyzing...brows drawn into a straight line, he’d looked like that for most of the six months he’d been here. Yesterday had been different. She liked the man from yesterday and had really enjoyed breakfast this morning.

  As soon as Pete was out of sight, her father drove up. He got out of his car, took one look at her tires—none of them flat—harrumphed loudly and started toward the café.

  “Sorry, Mr. Quinn, um, this is a crime scene and we have to wait for the sheriff to get back.”

  “Nonsense, I own this place and you can’t keep me out.”

  The deputy stepped in front of the door. “Sorry, sir, but I have to.”

  “It’s a real mess inside, Dad, and there’s nothing we can do today. Will you take me home? Toby’s waiting.”

  He nodded grumpily. “Something wrong with your car?”

  “Mitch thinks it’s better if I don’t drive it ’til he has a look.”

  “That drifter’s taking on a lot of responsibility around here.” Her father didn’t hint at animosity. It dripped from every word.

  “Drifter? I thought you liked Mitch.” She was a little confused at her father’s hostility until she remembered that Mitch’s car had been at her house all night. Her father had probably already had an earful of questions from her neighbors. Some about yesterday’s break-in at the shop, lots about how he’d rescued everyone last night with his shotgun.

  Fending off questions of why Mitch had been at her house had taken him off guard. In the five years she’d been back after dropping out of college, no one had ever stayed at the house she rented from her father.

  “I like him fine as the hired help. He’s a drifter. I expect him to move on any day. Maybe we should advertise for another mechanic.”

  “Why would we do that if he’s good at his job? None of this is his fault. He stayed to make sure we were all right last night.”

  “I could have done that if you thought it was necessary. And if he’s the hero in all this, then why did they arrest him?”

  “It’s all a mistake.” She couldn’t tell him Mitch had been framed by Rey King. That would lead to a host of other questions she wasn’t prepared to discuss at the moment.

  “I don’t know why you hired him without a criminal background check.”

  She had taken care of verifying everything about Mitch Striker. Her dad was going to argue with her no matter what she answered. It was more important to consider what Mitch said. Why wouldn’t he want her to call Cord? Because if he showed up then Pete would wonder what was so special about Mitch.

  Stay with Toby, he’d said.

  “Oh, my gosh, he thinks Toby is in danger.” Chills rippled down her back and across her body. “Something’s wrong, Daddy. I’ve got to get home.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I hate small hick towns. The door was unlocked like I said. Good.” Rey King directed his men through the hands-free mic on his cell. “The cops took the mechanic so she’s on her way home. Stay on the phone and stay ready.”

  He and his men had been in Marfa all night—ransacking and watching. If the mechanic hadn’t slept over at Brandie’s, Rey would be at his home with Patrice having breakfast and...other things. He was stiff from sitting in the car. Each time he’d caught some sleep at that run-down café, one of his men would wake him with the news they hadn’t found anything. He’d thrown a chair into the jukebox during his last frustrated rage.

  A car pulled up and parked in the driveway of Brandie’s house. She ran to the front door. Before her father was out of the car, she stood on the porch with her son in her arms. They waved, and the old man returned behind the wheel of his faded Buick and drove away. An old lady joined Brandie, blew kisses a
t the boy and took the steps carefully back to the house two doors down.

  “Five minutes for Brandie to get relaxed and we go inside. She must know where the package is. The only person that hurts her is me. I am not losing everything because of this bitch or because one of you gets trigger-happy.”

  Rey adjusted his suit along with the new gun holster as he got out of the car. He loved the feel of the holster and secretly practiced drawing his new Glock 21 .45 ACP. He liked the sound of the name and firepower of the bigger caliber.

  It was a shame he couldn’t use it today, but it had been easier to get the mechanic thrown in jail instead of confronting him. Drug charges were taken seriously in this little town.

  Brandie came to the door at his knock. She was smart enough to keep it closed. Her son looked like he was still on her hip. His eyes were wide and as bright blue as hers. Most people would think he looked like his mother, but Rey could easily see the resemblance to his father.

  “Come on, Brandie. Open up. We need to talk.”

  “I can hear you just fine.” She twisted the dead bolt in an attempt to keep him outside.

  “What? I’m not sure what you’re saying.” He lowered his voice and put his hand to his ear. He could see the ruse wasn’t working. No sane person would open the door to a threat.

  “It’ll go better for you if you open up voluntarily,” he said in his regular tone.

  “When did you start acting like a gangster? You were my history professor and advisor. I can’t believe I shared anything about my life with you.”

  “I still teach, Brandie. You know that.” Then, just loud enough for his hands-free, he gave the go-ahead to break in the back door. “Now.”

  “I don’t know what you want. I don’t have anything of yours. So go away and leave us alone before I call the sheriff.”

  “We both know you won’t do that. And why.” Rey tugged on the bottom of his jacket again. The bigger gun definitely made the jacket more snug. He watched the neighborhood for signs that someone had noticed him walking there or that they heard the muffled screams inside the house. The dead bolt turned again and the door pulled open.

  No drapes moved across the street and no sounds escaped from Brandie as he shuffled into the living room.

  “How do you live like this?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “This reminds me of the place my mother rented when I was young like your boy. I do prefer the home I have her in now.”

  The little boy hadn’t started crying yet. Although, he looked like his lungs were about to explode in Zubict’s arms. Brandie’s mouth had been quickly taped shut as he’d instructed. Zubict’s partner had her arms pinned behind her back. She spoke volumes to her son through her expressive eyes.

  “Let’s be clear. You stay quiet and nothing happens to either of you. Nod if you understand.” He waited for the reluctant agreement. She really had no other choice and finally moved her head. “Take off the tape, but one word and your son will disappear. You believe me?”

  She nodded again, and he signaled his men. Zubict took the boy to the back of the house, and Rey enjoyed the panic in Brandie’s eyes. Then the shock of pulling the tape made her wince in pain. To her credit, she closed her lips and swallowed any sound.

  “I guess the next time I ask to come inside for a visit you’ll allow it?” He shooed her backward with his hand until the back of her legs met the old chair in the corner. “I need my package. No more pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “But I don’t. Really. If you would just tell me what to look for I—”

  His palm slammed against her cheek to shut her up. The sting didn’t hurt as much as it empowered him. It dimly compared to the ecstatic surge he felt at being in control and slicing through her excuses.

  “You can hit me all you want. If I don’t know, I’ll never have the answer you’re looking for.” She stuck her chin out, eyes closed, ready for another slap.

  Rey unbuttoned his jacket and pulled his .45 from the shoulder holster. He stuck it under her chin. When the metal barrel connected with her skin, her eyes popped open with the knowledge that he could—and would—kill her.

  “If you are of no use to me, then I could leave that boy in there an orphan.” He leaned in closer so only she could hear him. “At least an orphan in everyone else’s eyes. You and I know the truth. I will pull the trigger. Don’t ever doubt that. I might reunite father and son.”

  He stood straight, twisting the barrel a little harder to make his point, then putting the pistol away.

  “Was Glen working for you? If he left something at the café, it must still be there or someplace close. Tell me and I’ll find it.” Brandie’s body showed her relief even if her words weren’t grateful.

  He believed her. He had her son, had control of her world. He looked around the four walls she called home. If their product had been sold, he would have heard about it. And there was nothing to indicate she’d come into cash. If she had, she would have ditched this town a long time ago and headed to a real city. She’d written about it in essays enough. Romanticizing history. It was the reason he’d given her a B in his class.

  “Out.” None of the men in his employment ever hesitated. He liked that. He heard the back door shut. “Cocaine. Thirty-five bricks of cocaine. It’s been missing for seven months.”

  He could see the question in her eyes, but she didn’t voice it. Why was he looking for the shipment now? Why wait so long? Because it hadn’t been his problem before last month. The organization made it his problem and promised more if he recovered it or the man who had stolen it.

  “You don’t need to know anything else. The less you know about this the better. If you do good, we might be able to use your place and give you a cut. I doubt your mechanic would have a problem with extra cash flow.”

  “I don’t want your drug money. All I want is for you to get out of my life and leave us alone.”

  He slapped her again. Harder. This time silent tears fell across the bright pink staining her left cheek. She’d hold her tongue if she knew what was good for her.

  Yes, he preferred for people to jump when he said jump. Give a directive and have it obeyed. He wouldn’t tolerate anything else no matter who he ordered. His men were grateful to be employed and a part of his organization.

  When he returned the cocaine to the men behind the curtain, he wouldn’t need to hide behind boring history any longer. He would be making it. He’d say farewell to snotty college students.

  “You seem to be forgetting that I’m the man who knows your secret, Brandie. The man who could destroy your world with one simple truth. I know the father of your child.”

  “So what? Why would anyone believe you? You don’t have any proof.”

  “But I do.” He sat on the broken-down couch. “Since you’ve been so reluctant to help me this past month, I decided to do a little research. You remember that research is my specialty, seeing that I’m a history prof and all.”

  “You’re lying.” She closed her eyes and stiffened, prepared for the slap he didn’t deliver.

  His cell notification let him know his men had successfully left the city limits. Time to let Brandie in on what they’d accomplished. “Test me and find out if I’m bluffing. It’s a calculated move allowing you this much knowledge. I’m confident you’ll come through for me.”

  “You are an arrogant bastard. I will never work for a drug dealer. You can never pay me enough.”

  He opened his cell to the picture sent by his men. Toby was lying on the floorboard. His distinctive blond hair sticking out beneath a greasy blanket.

  “You’re misunderstanding me, Brandie.” He flipped the screen toward her. “Currently, the return of your son is the only payment I intend.”

  She leaped forward, and he recoiled quickly, but her short claws still managed to catch his neck. He pulled back his fist and hit her in the side of the head. She fell and was unconscious when he left her house.

  Rey controlled hi
mself and leisurely walked to the car, his fingers tapping the sting of scraped skin. Served the bitch right that he’d hit her. The feel of his gun reminded him how close he’d come to pulling it and ending her life. She had one chance to redeem her place in his game.

  If she failed, his new weapon would get some practice.

  Chapter Ten

  It wasn’t the first time Mitch had spent a day—or two—in jail. If he continued working undercover with the Rangers, it wouldn’t be the last. He’d had a lot of interesting days for the past two and a half years as an undercover agent. His skills under the hood of a car made it easy to move up and down the Mexican border and Texas coastline.

  If there was one thing Mitch had learned it was that there would always be more scum out there ready to step in and fill the gap of an organization that law enforcement brought down. He didn’t know how Cord could work this job year after year. It seemed hopeless. Take out one bad guy, up pops another.

  What was the point? People like Brandie and Toby were the point. He needed to get them someplace safe. Convince her that leaving was better for her and the kid. If only they knew what the former mechanic had hidden and where. He could return it, letting Cord know the details and maybe—just maybe—King would stop threatening Brandie.

  “Bail’s been posted, Striker,” a deputy called from the hallway door to the holding cells. “Never had someone go to the trouble to post it anonymously before.”

  “About dang time,” he muttered to himself, knowing that headquarters had come through.

  The deputy took him through processing. The sheriff impatiently waited on the other side of the cage, pacing, scrubbing his hand across his lower jaw. Something had happened. It couldn’t be good if Pete was waiting to ask him for help.

  Mitch stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and faced the barred door. The look of dread on his opponent’s face made explanations unnecessary. Mitch’s gut kicked acid into his throat. Toby. “They have the kid?”

  Pete nodded, leading the way out of the jail. Just outside the door, he grabbed Mitch’s arm. “If you have anything to do with Toby’s kidnapping...”