by Carolina Mac
Tyler groaned as he rolled Annie onto her back and thrust his manhood roughly inside her. He hadn’t had sex in so long this first time back with his beloved would barely take the edge off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday, May 31st.
Santa Fe. New Mexico.
TYLER woke blinded by the sun streaming through the sheer white curtains on the bedroom window. He had a special attachment for this little apartment above Annie’s store. It was the first place he’d ever spent the night with her.
He turned his head away from the sun and watched Annie sleep, her black hair feathered out against the pillow, her skin tanned and perfect. His love for Annie and the night they’d spent together overwhelmed him. She was the only one who’d ever made him feel like a man. Complete and whole. A man who’d achieved his purpose. He’d never let go of her again. Not for any reason. They’d come too far to go back now, and he wasn’t a kid anymore.
He rolled over, pulled her into his arms and cuddled her. “I love you, Annie.”
She opened her gray eyes and smiled at him. “I’m still tired, cowboy. That was quite a rodeo.” Her hand wandered down his thigh and she stroked him gently. “You have a load of morning timber, sugar.”
Tyler smiled and wondered if that would make a good country song.
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE pointed at the empty seat at the dining room table and wanted to know where Tyler was.
Since it was Sunday, Paul and Wendy had joined the boys for breakfast and brought along their little daughter, Shannon. Sunday breakfast was a Quantrall family tradition.
“Ty had to take care of something,” said Paul. “He had to meet a guy—like a craftsman—to put a new back on his guitar.”
Jesse stared at Paul and thought the story sounded fishy. “Why didn’t I hear about this before?”
Paul shrugged. “Guess you were busy busting heads.”
Skylar breezed through the door with Charity in her arms, all dressed in pink with a matching bib on. “Do you want to have breakfast with your Daddy?” She smiled that wide smile and fastened the baby into her highchair. “How is everyone on this glorious Sunday morning?”
“We’re well, Skylar,” said Wendy from the opposite side of the table. “And you seem in a joyous mood.”
“Life is good. Why not celebrate it every chance you get?”
Why do I feel like raining on her parade?
Jesse concentrated on eating his breakfast and tried not to listen to Skylar and Brian trying to ‘out cheerful’ each other. It was a goddam joke. Nobody in their fuckin right mind could be that happy.
He finished his first cup of coffee and was contemplating a second when Skylar leaned over and said, “Come on, Jesse, share a happy thought with us.”
He pushed his chair back, left the table and made his escape onto the porch. Where the hell was Tyler and why was Paul lying for him? His brother had to be with Annie and didn’t want him to know.
Doesn’t matter to me. We’re divorced.
Jesse was lost in his thoughts and didn’t hear Skylar come outside. She stood next to his chair and said, “Today’s my day off and I thought I’d go riding if I’m allowed to use one of the horses.”
“Sure, of course. I’ll show you which ones the hired hands use, and you can ride any of them.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry if I annoyed you at breakfast. I’m a little too upbeat sometimes.”
“That’s okay,” said Jesse. “In your line of work, being happy is an asset. Probably rubs off on the children.”
“I’d like to think so.”
He stood up and waited for her to go down the steps ahead of him. Always the gentleman. As they strolled to the barn she kept on talking.
“When Tyler hired me, I asked about riding and he said I could ride whenever I had spare time. I was going to ask him to fix me up with a horse today, but he’s not at home.”
“Nope. He ain’t home,” said Jesse.
Where the hell are you, Ty?
Jesse grabbed the barn door and jerked it wide open. “Always cooler in the barn.”
Skylar walked down the wide center aisle oohing and awing over the Appaloosas. “Such gorgeous animals.”
Jesse showed her four she could pick from. Working horses the men rode every day and she couldn’t make up her mind. He found his patience wearing thin.
If you want to ride. Pick a horse.
While she walked back and forth from stall to stall trying to decide, Jesse strode down to the end of the aisle and went into Corky’s stall. “Want to ride out to the trailer, boy?”
Corky nickered and Jesse grabbed his saddle. He was almost finished saddling up and had forgotten about Skylar when she appeared outside the stall.
“I think I’ve got the saddle on right. Could you check it for me?”
“Uh huh.” Jesse walked behind her staring at her butt in her tight blue jeans.
Nobody has a gorgeous ass like Ace.
She seemed to have the saddle on right. He tightened the cinch a little and she was ready to go. “There you go. You know how to cool him out when you come back?”
“I do, yes.” She gave him the eye for a second. “I thought you were fixing to ride with me.”
“No, I’m riding out to my trailer. I have work to do out there.”
“Okay, I just thought…”
“Go ahead, Skylar, I’ll let you out then close the barn door.”
Skylar led her horse outside, mounted up and road through the cattle guard. She cantered slowly at first, then picked up speed and headed for the fence line.
Jesse watched her ride away, jumped on Corky and took off at a gallop in the opposite direction. “Let ‘er go, boy. We haven’t been out in a while.”
Governor’s Private Residence. West Austin.
CAT had one of her security men drive her across the city to hide out at her own house for the weekend, but she’d brought a briefcase full of work with her all the same.
Comfortable in her den wearing a track suit and drinking a glass of wine, she looked forward to a lazy Sunday out of the public eye. Barely into the first document she had to read, her cell rang. Her private number and she didn’t recognize the caller.
“Hello?”
“Governor Campbell?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Doyle Marshall, I’m an attorney in Dallas and I’m being harassed by your cop kid, Blackmore. I want you to do something about it before I take it to the media.”
Cat laughed. “And you think I have any influence over what Ranger Blackmore does? That’s a joke.”
“I want him stopped.”
“He doesn’t harass people, sir. If he is in your face, it’s for a reason and believe me, nothing will make him back off.”
“We’ll see about that, Governor.”
Cat shook her red hair and stared at the phone. Mr. Marshall is scared of Blaine. She smiled.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE was spending his rare Sunday off with Misty and Carm at home in the kitchen. Neil was coming over and they were all going to Neil’s ball game at the park. He was playing short-stop with the best team in Austin for the summer.
The screen on Blaine’s cell lit up with the picture of the black cat and he made a face. “I don’t want to talk to anybody.” He pressed ‘talk’ and waited to hear the problem, because if the Governor was calling, there damn sure would be one.
“Hey, sweetie, sorry to call you on Sunday—just as sorry as I was to get this call in the first place—but Doyle Marshall called and complained about you. He wants me to get you off his case.”
“No kidding. He went straight to the top.”
What he thinks is the top.
“Fantastic news, Cat. Why would he care if he had nothing to hide? What else did he say?”
“He said I better do something before he takes it to the media.”
Blaine chuckled. “What an asshole.”
“I want that fucker for Cornish’s murder, Cat. If he didn’t do it, he knows who did. One of his bozos laid Cornish out on your fuckin lawn and they are gonna be so sorry. Marshall reeks of something and I’m gonna get him.”
“I’m happy to bring such good tidings, sugar. Keep me posted on what you’re planning.”
“I’m conjuring something up right now.”
Cat was giggling when she ended the call.
FARRELL ran in from the fish pond where he was sitting on the iron bench having a drink with Mary. “Did you holler for me, bro?”
“Yep, I hollered. Drive Mary up to Dallas so she can interview Doyle Marshall. I need to hang him out where his little group of shooters can use him for target practice.”
Mary ran into the kitchen behind Farrell with her empty wine glass in her hand. “Oh, this sounds like fun, Blaine. What kind of questions should I ask him?”
“Who killed McLean Cornish? Why did you have McLean Cornish killed? Was McLean Cornish winning in the battle for tighter gun controls? Why did you ask Governor Campbell to have Ranger Blackmore back off? Is there something you don’t want him to find out? Shit like that.”
“Okay, shit like that,” said Mary, writing in her notebook as fast as she could. Her face was flushed with excitement. “Let’s go Farrell.”
Farrell wasn’t moving. “This is my day off.”
“You can have tomorrow off,” said Blaine.
“Bullshit. I never get Monday off.”
Blaine shrugged. “So, I lied.”
Mary giggled and ran to find her purse.
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE had settled in his trailer with a cold Lone Star to watch a game. He needed space and peace and quiet as much as he needed proper food and rest to deal with his heart condition.
The dogs barked and ran to the door, but Jesse hadn’t heard anything.
Nobody knows I’m out here.
He opened the door and Skylar was standing there in her cowboy hat looking all perky.
Jesus, I can’t get away from her.
“Hi, did you want something?”
She gave him the wide-angle smile. “No, I just wanted to see your trailer.”
Jesse stood with the door semi closed and didn’t invite her in. “Why?”
“I thought it was probably a romantic getaway spot.”
“Was a couple of times but not anymore. I’m in the middle of something, Skylar, not to be rude, but I need some down time.”
She smiled. “So, you’re not asking me in?”
“Nope. Not today. I’ve got things on my mind.”
“I’ve got things on my mind too, since the first day I met you, Jesse.”
Oh, fuck, is she coming on to me?
“Look, girl, I’d appreciate it greatly if you’d ride back to the barn, cool Zorro out and put him back in his stall. Can you do that?”
“Sure, I can.” She turned around and stomped across the deck.
Jesse closed the door and locked it. “What did I do to deserve a crazy fuckin nanny?” He grabbed another beer out of the fridge and went back to the game.
North Dallas.
FARRELL parked in front of a large residence in north Dallas and glanced across the console at Mary. “Judging by all these pricey vehicles, it looks like your guy might have some Sunday company, girl. You okay with that?”
Mary smiled. “Blaine wants us to flush him out, so maybe it will be better with witnesses.”
Farrell grinned. “Funny girl. Let’s have a nice dinner after we’re done with Doyle and maybe we’ll get a hotel and sleep over.”
“Don’t you have to work in the morning? I do.”
“We can get up early and shower together at six.”
“I can shower at six if you can.” Mary winked at him and Farrell chuckled.
Mary rang the doorbell and a young woman in a gray uniform showed them into the foyer. “The Marshalls are entertaining out by the pool. I’ll show you the way.”
The maid showed them to the pool area in a beautifully landscaped yard behind the house. About twenty people lounged at round glass tables under colored umbrellas.
Mary walked across the flagstone patio to the table where Doyle Marshall was sitting and introduced herself. “Mr. Marshall, I’m Mary Polito from the Austin Statesman.”
Doyle Marshall looked at her with a drunken smirk on his face. “And why are you here, Mary Polito, crashing my private Sunday barbeque?”
“Ranger Blackmore sent me to ask you a few questions for tomorrow’s column. He said you told Governor Campbell you were interested in media exposure.”
“He is such an unpredictable fucker, isn’t he?”
“He can be,” said Mary. She opened her notebook and took out a pen. “Who killed McLean Cornish?”
Farrell watched the reactions of everyone at Marshall’s table, and a couple of the men looked shocked by Mary’s question.
“I don’t know, and I already told Ranger Blackmore the same thing. I don’t know.”
“Why did you have McLean Cornish killed, Mr. Marshall? Was he winning the battle for tighter gun controls?”
Marshall took a sip of his drink and smiled. “Like I told Ranger Blackmore at headquarters, I had nothing to do with Cornish’s death. I was here in Dallas sitting right here next to my pool when he was shot.”
“The Dallas police can’t seem to corroborate your alibi, Mr. Marshall,” said Mary. “I’ve talked to them and they’re having trouble coming up with a solid witness.”
“Witness or no witness, I was here.”
Mary glanced around at all the tables and pointed with the end of her pen. “Which one of your members is a sniper?”
The men at Marshall’s table laughed and guffawed.
“All of them,” said Marshall. “We’re a gun club and we have a range.”
“Why did you ask Governor Campbell to have Ranger Blackmore back off? Do you have something you don’t want him to find out?”
“There is nothing to find out, Miss Polito. But I don’t enjoy being harassed by the super cop. No one would.”
“Would you like to make a statement for my column, Mr. Marshall. I’m sure my readers would like to hear from you.”
“I know you have a following, Mary Polito, and yes, I’d like to say, even though I wasn’t a fan of McLean Cornish and his lobbying tactics, as an attorney and an officer of the court, I’d be pleased to see his killer brought to justice.”
Mary jotted down Doyle’s remarks, zipped up her briefcase and stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Marshall.”
“Appreciate your coming all the way from Austin for the interview, little lady.” He gave Farrell the stink-eye. “And this is your bodyguard?”
“Uh huh. This is Farrell Donovan.”
Marshall offered his hand. “Donovan. Let me walk you out.”
Mary jumped into the shotgun seat and put her briefcase and purse in the back. “Did you get it done, sweetheart?”
“Uh huh. Lot’s of time. Everybody was watching you and nobody was looking at me.”
“Let’s go get that nice dinner,” said Mary. “I’ve always wanted to have a steak at Dakota’s.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Monday, June 1st.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
THE BLACKMORE CREW were huddled around the kitchen table getting their orders from Blaine for the day when Farrell walked in looking sleepy and slightly disheveled. “Dallas must be farther away than I thought,” said Blaine. “Grab a coffee. We’ve got a helluva lot to do.”
“Sue matched a print on one of the threats Cornish received by mail,” said Travis. “We’ve got a name—Bert Palacha.”
“Lil,” said Blaine, “get an address for him if you can.” To Travis: “You and Carlos go get him. And Jesus, be careful. Remember these assholes are all gunnies. Make sure y’all are cocked and locked
before y’all get anywhere near him. Call Jesse as soon as you have Palacha in custody and have him meet you at headquarters to brace him.”
“Yep, got it, boss,” said Travis.
“Luke is back to work,” said Blaine, “his arm isn’t a hundred proof, but the doc said he could work. Surveillance should be okay. Farrell was able to place a tag in Doyle Marshall’s house in Dallas last night. Marshall will be in his office during the day, but I want Luke and Fletcher set up by five o’clock on Marshall’s residence. So, you guys get some sleep, pick up the unit at three o’clock and go.”
Fletcher nodded. “Got it. Be back here at three. To Luke: “Want to crash at my place until it’s time?”
“Sure,” said Luke. “Save me driving back to the ranch.”
“Lil, call Paul Leggatt and try to get a list of his members. Make up any story you want. If you can’t get anything out of the old snake in the grass, take Rick, drive out to his ranch and work your feminine wiles on him in person.”
“Yep, I’ll go get the address for Palacha first, so the boys can get going.”
Farrell refilled his mug and slumped down at the table. “What am I doing, boss? I’m tired. Can I have today off?”
“Maybe later. First, I need you to go to the central library and find out about the book. Only a theory, but whoever killed the student—if he was killed—took the library book and dropped it trying to get away from the scene. Why? Why did the killer want the book? It was only a reference book that the victim was using for a paper. See if Bren Chavez was a frequent flyer at the library and if anybody knew him.”
“Okay. I can handle librarians.”
Blaine waited for it and Farrell never let him down.
“What are you gonna be doing, bro?”
“I’m driving Misty to her speech therapist downtown because Dec is tied up bringing Jack home from the hospital.”
All the boys gave a thumbs up. It had been a long hard road for Jack Prima since Ewing Thompson shot him.