by Sharon Sala
“You heard me,” Cross muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose with the tip of her finger as she swiveled her chair to face a map on the wall behind her desk.
“Where’s the buy going down?”
Boone mentioned a county road a few miles south of the city of Norman. Cross stood up and leaned forward, poking a red pin on the map to mark the drop, then calculating the time it would take to get some agents in place.
“It’s too late for backup to get there ahead of you,” she muttered. “You should have called sooner.”
“I don’t want backup, I want Cherry’s boss. This deal needs to go through without incident.”
Cross frowned and rubbed at a pain shooting up her temple. She already knew that. It just didn’t make her job any easier.
“So what you’re telling me is, you only called because you wanted to ‘reach out and touch someone,’ right?”
Boone grinned. His captain had a way with words. “No way, Waco. I called to tell you to put a light in the window. Daddy’s coming home.”
A soft snort that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle was all Boone heard before the line went dead. He disconnected, then, out of habit, punched in a few random numbers, then disconnected again. It was an old trick he’d learned early on. Even though his contact was supposedly secure, there was no way he was giving anyone a free ride to his source by letting them pick up his phone and hit redial to find out who he had called.
He looked into the rearview mirror again. White and yellow eyes were bearing down upon him. The smile on his face was deadly.
“Okay, Cherry, let’s see how good your boy really is.”
Boone stomped the accelerator, ignoring the needle on the speedometer when it moved past eighty, then ninety, then into the red. Climbing...climbing...then off the dial.
Everything to his right was a blur. The vehicles he was passing became nothing more than a flicker of shape, light and color. His gaze was focused on the darkness ahead and the narrow beam of light cutting through it.
A short time later, he glanced up in the rearview mirror. The reflection of headlights from the cars he was passing ran together like a bright yellow ribbon, but the wall-eyed headlights of his tail were no longer in sight.
Only after he began to ease up on the gas did he realize that he was gritting his teeth against an impact that never came. His jaw was clenched, but his hands were steady, his nerves calm. With one smooth, easy motion, he moved back into the right-hand lane, sliding in between a bull hauler and an eighteen-wheeler, where he continued to ride until his exit appeared.
Again he moved to the right, taking the off-ramp like a bird going home to roost. With nothing but guts for backup, he took the county-road bridge that arched over I-35 and headed for the location of the buy.
Within the hour he’d found the place Cherry had marked on the map and pulled off the road and into the driveway of the abandoned farm house. Off to his right was a faint trail leading toward what appeared to have once served as a hay barn.
Just as Cherry had directed, Boone circled around behind the barn, coming to a stop out of sight of the road. He killed the lights but left the engine running.
Five, ten, then thirty, seconds passed while his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. An overcast sky kept moonglow at a minimum. Only now and then was he able to detect anything more than the subtle shapes of trees and bushes. He reached down, feeling for the butt of his gun, protruding above the holster at his waist. The hard, familiar shape was comforting to a man who had no one to depend on but himself. Another minute passed, and then another, stretching nerves already humming with nervous energy.
And then, without warning, three men emerged from the old bam and started walking toward him. Adrenaline surged. They were carrying guns! He took a deep breath, pulled out the .357 and got out of the truck with it ready to fire. It was time to party.
One man growled. “Where’s Snake?”
“In jail,” Boone answered. “Cherry sent me instead.”
Someone cocked the hammer on a rifle, and Boone’s senses went on alert. He moved a step closer, making sure they could see that they weren’t the only ones armed.
He heard one man mutter, “Watch it, Slick. He’s packin’.”
“Who the hell are you?” Slick asked.
“Name’s Boone MacDonald. If you got a problem doing business with me, then let’s call the whole deal off now, before someone makes a mistake they can’t fix.”
Feet shuffled, voices whispered, one to the other. Boone stood with his back to his truck and his finger on the trigger. The rest of the deal was out of his hands.
A few moments later Slick lowered his rifle. “You tell Cherry if his plans change again, he’d better let us know. Strange faces make us antsy.”
Boone snorted softly. “I’d say that just about makes us even. So...show me some green.”
Again whispers cut through the silence. Finally one of the men split from the pack and headed inside the barn.
Guns lowered. The other men started forward. Boone still held his gun.
“Let’s just wait on your buddy,” he said softly.
They stopped. Still muttering, they waited. Moments later, the man returned, carrying a sack.
“Nothing personal,” Boone said, “but I’d like to see what you brought for lunch.”
Someone snickered as the sack was tossed to Boone. He caught it in midair and opened it. Moonlight revealed large stacks of the used twenties and hundreds he’d been led to expect. He started backing toward his truck, without taking his eyes off the trio.
“No fancy moves now,” Slick warned.
Boone paused. “It’s behind the seat. Help yourself.”
Once again Slick was in control. “Go get it, Donny,” he ordered.
Boone stepped aside, giving way to a tall, lanky man wearing baggy jeans and tennis shoes. The cap on Donny’s head bore the Dallas Cowboys logo, and the chew in his mouth was bigger than his nose. Even in the half-light, Boone could see it pushing at the interior of his cheek. As Boone moved aside, the man spat before leaning in to retrieve the package, then handed it over.
“You don’t mind waiting a bit longer now, do you?” Slick asked as he dug inside the package to make sure he had what he was paying for.
“No skin off of my nose,” Boone said. “Just so everybody’s happy.”
He watched for smiles of satisfaction. When they came, he was ready to go. Lingering too long around a buy could get a man killed.
“It was real nice meeting you boys,” Boone said, and slid behind the wheel of his truck. To his relief, the trio seemed as willing to part company as he did.
He watched while they disappeared into the barn. Less than a minute later, an engine started. Lights came on, and a dirty black four-by-four bounced out of the doorway, heading toward anonymity with speed.
Only after they were gone did Boone start to relax. At least the first half of this night was over. He pulled his truck inside the barn, using it for cover the same way Slick and his boys had done earlier, then settled down to wait for the long-distance burr still stuck to his tail.
More than ten minutes passed, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d guessed wrong about Cherry. Maybe he hadn’t sent Tommy Joe after all. But no sooner had he thought it than his nerves went on alert.
A car on the road beyond was beginning to slow down. Boone sat up straight. When he saw the headlights turning into the overgrown driveway, he grinned. The car and its lopsided leer came toward the back of the barn. When it stopped, the lights went out with a drunken wink. And when Tommy Joe’s familiar figure rolled out from behind the steering wheel, Boone eased out of his truck with Denver’s money in hand, careful not to make any noise.
Tommy Joe was sick with worry. Denver was going to be real mad. Not only had he lost sight of Boone on I-35, but now he’d gotten here too late to see if the buy had gone down as planned.
He got out of the car and circled it twice, eyeing the surround
ing countryside with a nervous stare.
Dang old Snake, anyway. If he hadn’t gone and gotten himself tossed in jail, none of this would be happening.
Tommy Joe kicked at a tuft of grass and then groaned when his toe connected with a half-buried rock. It was a perfect ending to a washed-out night. There was nothing left for him to do but go back and tell Denver Cherry the truth. He was starting to get back in his car when he looked at the barn. In his mind, the black, yawning maw of the open doorway was like a big, wide mouth laughing at him for his mistakes.
The barn! He’d better take a look around. If he didn’t and Denver asked him if he had, he’d catch hell again. Tommy Joe wasn’t good at much of anything, not even lying. Cursing beneath his breath, he began heading toward the barn for a last-minute check.
The hand squeezing his windpipe moments later was only half as frightening to Tommy Joe as the voice whispering in his ear.
“Looking for something?” Boone asked.
Tommy Joe gasped, his hands flailing as his air flow began to shut down.
“Damn you, Boone,” he squeaked. “Let me go!”
Boone turned loose, but with a last, warning push. Tommy Joe slumped against the wall, rubbing at his neck and trying not to quake at the hard, angry glitter in Boone MacDonald’s eyes.
“No need getting all riled,” Tommy Joe grunted. “I was just following orders.”
He started to duck as Boone tossed a sack in his face, then caught it in reflex. His good humor returned when he looked inside. But his grin died when he looked up. There was no mistaking that Boone MacDonald was thoroughly pissed.
“Damn it, Boone. Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me! You know what Denver’s like. He gives the orders. We follow.”
The flat of Boone’s hand slammed into the middle of Tommy Joe’s chest, pinning him against the wall.
“Tommy Joe...”
“What?” he muttered, while wishing himself a thousand miles away.
“Since you’re so damn good at following orders, then I’ve got some for you.”
Tommy Joe nodded, then feared Boone might not be able to see in the dark and added a nervous “Okay.”
“I want you to take Cherry his money, and I want you to tell him something for me when you do. You tell him that I don’t lie...and I don’t trust people who do. Now, when I leave here, I‘m going to see my woman, and I’d better not see that damned car on my tail again.”
“Sure thing,” Tommy Joe muttered, trying to get free of Boone’s grip. It didn’t work. To his horror, he felt the cold end of a gun barrel pressing against his temple. “Oh, God!” he muttered. “Don’t shoot me, man! Don’t shoot! It ain’t my fault!”
“Shut up!” Boone muttered. “I’m not through with you. I also want you to tell Cherry I’ll be back in a couple of days to get what’s owed me.”
“Will do,” Tommy Joe said quickly, anxious to appease the big man’s anger.
With a muffled curse, Boone spun and stalked out of the barn toward Tommy Joe’s car.
Seconds later the gun went off, and Tommy Joe fell to the ground. When he found the guts to look up, he realized that it wasn’t him that Boone had shot at, it was his right front tire.
He scrambled to his feet, crawling and then running, the sack of money clutched tight to his chest.
“Are you crazy?” he screamed, staring at the shattered rubber. The tire was ruined. Angrily he tossed the sack on the froot seat before scrambling to open his trunk.
Boone shoved the gun into its holster and then turned.
“You’d better hurry,” he said. “Someone might just get curious about that gunshot and come to look.” With that, he walked away.
Tommy Joe was cursing loudly as he scrambled through the trunk, pulling out his jack and lug wrench. But when he went back for the spare, it was nowhere to be found.
“Boone! Wait!” Tommy Joe yelled. “A spare. I don’t have a spare!”
Boone grinned, and even at that distance, Tommy Joe shivered. It was a cold, mirthless smile that made his guts knot.
“Denver told me you didn’t have a driver’s license, either, but that didn’t stop you from driving. There’s an allnight station about seven or eight miles back. Guess you’ll have to drive on the rim, huh?”
Tommy Joe started to curse. “Wait, damn it. You can’t leave me here like this.” He was digging through his pockets in panic, well aware of the lack of cash in the wallet he was carrying. “I don’t have enough money to buy a new tire.
Boone’s smile broadened as he pointed toward the car. “Sure you do. There’s a sack full of bills in the front seat of your car.”
Tommy Joe groaned. Denver would kill him for sure if he spent a penny of unlaundered drug money. To add insult to injury, as the taillights of Boone MacDonald’s truck disappeared, it began to rain.
The day dawned gray and gloomy. Rain threatened on an hourly basis, but a drop had yet to fall. Rachel hadn’t been at work two hours when elation hit. She was handed a goldplated excuse not to go to the dance with Griff, and she couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty that it had come at the expense of one of her fellow workers. Ken Wade’s family emergency had changed the week’s work schedule for everyone. After volunteering to take her co-worker’s shift, she felt ashamed of the thanks that he heaped on her head.
“You would do it for me,” she’d said swiftly, and then made herself scarce.
She bolted for the office and shut herself inside before heading to the phone. Now she had a good excuse to turn down Griffin Ross’s invitation to the dance. She dialed his number, then counted the rings.
His secretary picked up. “Ross Savings and Loan.”
“Hi, Lois, this is Rachel. Is Griff busy?”
The pleasant smile on Lois Klein’s face froze in place. She knew it wasn’t Christian to envy, but she envied Rachel Brant’s place in her boss’s life with every ounce of her being.
Glancing across the floor to the glassed-in walls of Griffin Ross’s office, where he sat at his desk, deep in a mountain of paperwork, she toyed with the idea of lying, then relented.
“He’s always busy,” she said. “But he’s alone...and, of course, he’s in to you. Just a moment, please, while I ring you through.”
There was tension in Lois’s voice, and Rachel felt sorry to be the cause. It was common knowledge that Lois Klein was very much enamored of her boss.
“Wait!” Rachel said, almost shouting into the phone to keep Lois from putting her on hold.
Lois frowned. “Yes, was there something else I could do for you?”
Rachel took a deep breath; she had to be careful not to say too much. “Uh...about the fund-raiser Saturday night.”
Disappointment stilled the expression on Lois’s face. “What about it?”
“Are you going?”
“No, I’m not,” Lois said.
Her answer was too swift and abrupt. Rachel knew she’d been right about Lois’s feelings toward Griff.
“Gee, that’s too bad, but I know how you feel. Neither am I.”
The secretary’s eyebrows arched with interest as she glanced at Griff. “But I thought you and...”
“Have to work,” Rachel said, and then pretended to sigh in disappointment.“It’s too bad that Griff might have to go alone. Unless he can find someone who hasn’t already made plans, I suppose he’ll just have to go stag.”
This time the corners of the secretary’s mouth tilted up to match her eyebrows’ arch.
“Indeed!” she said, unable to believe the underlying hint she was picking up in Rachel’s conversation.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “So...if Griff’s not busy, I guess you’d better put me through. I’ve got to give him the bad news.”
“Sure thing,” Lois said brightly. “Please hold.”
One small click sounded in Rachel’s ear, and the next thing she heard were the deep, resonant tones of Griffin Ross’s voice.
“This is Griffin Ross.”
&nb
sp; Rachel stiffened. Just the sound of his voice made her nervous. In the past, no matter how many times she tried to dissuade him from further pursuit, he’d outtalked and outmaneuvered her every time. But this time she had to be strong.
“Griff, it’s me, Rachel. Sorry to bother you at work, but—”
“You’re never a bother!” he said brightly, and kicked back in his chair, ready to chat.
“About Saturday night,” she began.
“I’ll pick you up around six. We can grab a bite to eat beforehand. Nothing too heavy, though. I expect they’ll have—”
“I can’t go.”
He straightened, unaware that his secretary was eyeing him from across the room.
“I have to work,” Rachel added. “Ken Wade had a family emergency, and everyone’s shifts have changed.”
Griff wanted to argue, but be knew it would be futile. He could hardly have a fit in front of the customers and staff of Ross Savings and Loan. The finality of her announcement was obvious, and he knew her excuse was valid. He’d already heard about the Wade family’s trouble, yet he couldn’t help adding, “This is unfortunate, Rachel. You know, if you’d consider us once in a while, and let our relationship grow instead of being so self-centered, you wouldn’t have to be working at that damned gory job.”
Ignoring the other slights to her character, Rachel frowned as she stood up for the thing she loved most. “Griff, you don’t know me at all, or you wouldn’t say that. I like my job.”
Griff panicked. He’d never heard such authority in her voice. “Darling, I’m sorry. I was just disappointed. How about if I call you tonight, after you get home? We’ll make plans for another—”
“No, I don’t think so.”
He started to sweat. “I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he whispered, and spun around so that no one in the outer part of the building could see his face. “Please, Rachel. You know how I feel about you.”
She sighed. “Yes, I think I do,” she said. “And that’s why I think it’s time to put a stop to this, before it goes any further. I like you, Griff, and that’s as far as it goes.”
“But in time, I’m sure, you’ll come to—”