Cowboy, Undercover

by Vicki Tharp

  Jenna was walking from the barn to the big house and flagged Tessa down. She wanted to keep driving. The last thing she wanted was company, but she also didn’t want to be rude. Especially since, because of Mac, Jenna had graciously given her and Jack a place to stay.

  Tessa stopped and buzzed her window down.

  “What are you doing home in the middle of the day.” Then Jenna got a good look at her and said, “Is it Jack?”

  “No.” The word squeaked out as if her lungs had run out of air. She couldn’t say any more, afraid she’d completely break down.

  But Jenna didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. She opened the door, and pulled the keys from the ignition. “Come with me.”

  Tessa stared at Jenna’s proffered hand, before finally taking it and letting Jenna help her out of the Jeep. With a protective arm around her shoulder, Jenna led her up the back steps and into the kitchen.

  “Sit,” Jenna ordered.

  Tessa pulled out one of the stools and sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Jenna went straight for the freezer and pulled out a half-gallon of Rocky Road ice cream. Rocky Road. Seemed appropriate.

  Tessa sat and plopped the tub between them. They each picked up a spoon, and dug in. In silence, they whittled away at the ice cream until it was almost half gone. Tessa felt a little sick to her stomach, but that didn’t really slow her down much.

  Jenna dug out a chunk of marshmallow. “You wanna talk, or you wanna eat ice cream?” She dove back in for one of the walnuts and crunched it between her molars. “I’m game for either. But it might be nice to be able to explain to Angel the next time I ride him why I’ve suddenly gained ten pounds.”

  Tessa took her time answering. Nibbling at the spoonful of ice cream as she looked around the kitchen deciding what she wanted to say. If anything.

  While Jenna was waiting for her to answer, she reached across the bar and grabbed the rolled-up newspaper. She went to free it from the plastic cover, but Tessa stopped her. How had she thought she could keep this from anyone at the ranch? Even if they hadn’t had a paper, the way news traveled around there, no one would be able to step a foot off the property and not hear what had happened.

  Tessa pulled the paper from the sleeve and laid the front page out in front of Jenna. Tessa dug in for another spoonful of ice cream and waited for the questions to start flying.

  “Oh, wow.” Then Jenna looked closer at the picture. “Oh, wow.”

  “You said that.”

  “That was before I could see it was you.” She stabbed her spoon in for another bite. “Quinn’s been begging me for helo sex. Begging. Is it as uncomfortable as it looks?”

  Tessa laughed despite herself. As far as questions went, that hadn’t been one she’d expected. “Not as uncomfortable as you might think. The bruises on my knees are almost healed.”

  Jenna bumped Tessa’s shoulder with her own. “I know in a small town there is bound to be a bunch of crap coming your way, but before we get into all that can I point out the silver lining in all this?”

  Tessa almost choked on a chocolate chunk. “There’s a silver lining?”

  “Sure.” Tessa motioned with her spoon for Jenna to continue. “You have a rocking silhouette.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Tessa ladled on the sarcasm on the way the southern boys ladle gravy on a chicken fried steak, thick and heavy.

  What to say? What to say? If Tessa was going to talk, she was going to throw it all out there. It felt as dangerous as letting go of the stick and flying with no hands. “That silver lining won’t be around for long. Between the ice cream and possibly another pregnancy.”

  “Back that train up. But hold that thought, we need to get comfortable for this.” Jenna grabbed the Rocky Road, and Tessa followed her past the long dining table to the big brown leather couch in the den. The room was warm and rustic, with a deer head mounted over the big rock fireplace. It was the type of idyllic place she pictured large families gathering around at Christmas time.

  Jenna let Tessa hold the tub on her lap but sat close enough to reach it. “Start from the beginning.”

  “Well, you already know about the helo sex.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder indicating the newspaper article. “I got into work late this morning. Spinks stopped the briefing and called me into the office. Basically, he wants to know who I was with, and he suspended me without pay pending further investigation.”

  “What did Gil say?”

  “I never said it was Gil.”

  Jenna gave her a look that said puh-lese. “Who all knows?”

  “You. Quinn… I think. He would have to be extremely slow not to have connected the dots as to who it is.” Tessa went for another bite, but her stomach rolled over. She set the tub on the coffee table.

  “He won’t say anything. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “It may be a moot point. If I want to keep my job, I may have to tell the investigators, but I wanted a chance to talk to Gil first. Mine’s not the only career this could affect.”

  “Call him. He wouldn’t want you losing your job over this.”

  “I can’t—” She was about to say she couldn’t contact Gil while he was undercover, then she remembered the story he’d given Jenna about his grandmother. “He’s got enough on his plate dealing with his grandmother’s death. He doesn’t need this too.”

  “He’s a big boy, Tess, he can handle it. In fact, he’ll probably be mad if you don’t tell him right away. He’d want to know.”

  Tessa shrugged, and because she didn’t want to get into why she couldn’t call Gil, she told Jenna about the emergency custody hearing the next day.

  “Damn. That sounds bad.” Jenna wasn’t one to blow sunshine up your ass. Tessa appreciated that.

  “It’s not good.”

  Tessa went to get up. She couldn’t wallow all afternoon. She had to…she had to…crap. She had nothing she had to do. She wasn’t flying anytime soon.

  Jenna grabbed her arm and sat her back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “You can’t basically tell me you think you’re pregnant and walk out of here without spilling.”

  Crap. How could she have forgotten about that? Tessa collapsed into the corner of the couch. It was thick and cushy. Maybe if she were lucky, it would swallow her whole. “I probably have nothing to worry about.”

  “Was it from that day?”

  “No. Last night. The hayloft. I think we owe you for a bale of hay.” Tessa scrunched up her nose. “Sorry about that.”

  Jenna waved her hand as if to say not to worry about it. “The hayloft is an excellent choice. Hard to find privacy around here sometimes.”

  “Maybe, but after the helo and the hayloft, a bed is looking mighty good.”

  “No protection?”

  “Condom broke, and I’m not on birth control. I haven’t had a reason to take them these past few years.”

  “If it was last night, you could see a doctor, it’s not too late for to prescribe—”

  “I thought about that, but the doctor couldn’t see me today and tomorrow I’m in court and then it’s the weekend, and then that window of opportunity is pretty much closed. But in truth, I don’t think I would have taken it anyway.”

  “You’re a pretty kick ass mom, and Gil would step up. He’s that kind of guy.”

  “I know, but if he didn’t, as hard as having another baby would be, I also know I can go it alone.”

  Spinks had assigned Gil a late model Chevy Tahoe from the motor pool that had been confiscated during a big drug bust a few months back, thanks to Finn and his task force. It smelled like Cheech had been smoking weed in there for years. Good pot from the smell of it.

  Unfortunately, the air vent deodorizer couldn’t touch the stench.

  He pulled up to the gate of an estate nestled in the shadow of the Rockies about twenty-five minutes outside of Murdock. The hilly topograp
hy of the land made it impossible for him to see the house from the road, but early that morning, Spinks had pulled up the aerial view online.

  The large house—more like a mansion—was tucked in behind the rolling hills, with a large swimming pool, and what had looked like several outbuildings that could be horse barns, or they could have been the perfect buildings to stash a bunch of weapons. But if this guy was The Wolf, Gil doubted a man as cautious as that would hide stolen military weapons on his own property.

  If Finn’s sources were right, this was their guy. Now all Gil had to do was find some evidence to prove that. Gil glanced at the folder beside him one last time before he pressed the button at the gate.

  There was a short write up about Bradley Martin. Financier, from what the guys could dig up in the short time they’d had. What a financier was doing in the middle of Wyoming was anyone’s guess, and Gil’s guess was it was all a front for weapons smuggling.

  Whoever answered the gate, buzzed him in. It was about a five-minute drive up to the house. The driveway ended in what he could only describe as a large cul de sac. The mansion on the left, all stone and log exterior with soaring roof lines and enough windows to need a window washer on staff. On the right, a matching six-car garage with an outside staircase to what looked like some sort of living area over the top.

  Gil parked in front of the house, turned the rear-view mirror toward him one last time. Seeing the new him, the military haircut, with his face shaved clean was a sight he hadn’t seen in too long. It took him back to his first day as a recruit when he was lean muscled and baby-faced. A time when he didn’t know how innocent he’d been until the military turned him into a man. He tucked those thoughts away as well as his thoughts of Tessa… and the broken condom.

  He ran his hand through what was left of his hair, and that did more to bring him back to reality than anything else. He took one last look and slipped into character. For the foreseeable future, he was no longer Gil Brant, but his alter ego he’d played for eighteen months, Gil Goodman, aka Moose.

  The street cred he’d earned as one of El Verdugo’s top men had been crucial in helping to set up this undercover operation. Luckily, those who’d known him before then were either dead or in prison for a very, very long time.

  He climbed out of the SUV, retrieved his suit coat from the back seat and shrugged it on. This wasn’t a black T-shirt and black tactical pants, AR-15 strapped across your chest kind of gig, like it had been for El Verdugo. This was upscale. Business suits and shoulder holsters. Gil tugged at the collar of his white dress shirt. Damn shame.

  Before he could make it to the front door, someone called out to him from the top of the stairs of the garage. Gil walked over and met the man halfway with an outstretched hand. “Gil Goodman.”

  “Nigel Burton, head of security.”

  Burton was about six foot. Broad chested. Thick arms. Had a nose that probably had been broken more than once. He had the same short hair as Gil and was wearing the black tactical pants, except he’d mixed up the look by going with a dark gray T-shirt instead of the black. Maybe Gil was overdressed after all. He could only hope.

  Gil hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the mansion. “I’m supposed to be meeting with Mr. Martin in about ten minutes. He inside?”

  “He’s on a conference call, fighting fires. Had some things come up. I’m supposed to get you settled and get you on the gun range. He should be done by the time we are.”

  “Gun range?”

  “We gotta make sure you can shoot as well as you say you can. Plenty of guys say they can.” Burton shrugged. “But they can’t. We don’t take that kind of chance when our lives and more importantly, Mr. Martin’s life, could depend on it.”

  “You guys really see a lot of action?”

  “Not usually. But Mr. Martin is a powerful man. He’s made more than his fair share of enemies along the way.”

  “As a financier?”

  Gil fell into step as Burton turned and they walked toward the garage. “You’d be surprised. You gotta step on a lot of necks to get to the top.”

  Burton showed him around the top floor of the garage which amounted to a large den with a couple of extra-long, black leather couches in front of a big screen TV, a kitchen area with a table that could seat eight, a communal bathroom, and six doors that all opened onto the central area. A typical open concept space, except for the oversized gun safe tucked into one corner.

  Burton unlocked the number 3 door and held it open for Gil. Burton walked in behind him. “Nothing fancy, but at least you have a full-sized bed, a bedside table, and a closet. Not huge, but it’s enough. Sure as hell beats an army cot in a tent in the desert.”

  No joke.

  “How long you been a merc?” There was no doubt in Gil’s mind this guy had served. It wasn’t unusual for some guys to find jobs as mercenaries, guns for hire, after getting out of the military. Guns were what they knew, and the para-military life seemed to suit them. Though most were legit.

  “Since I got out. Six years. You?”

  “About the same.”

  “You like it?”

  Gil cut him a grin. “Pay’s a hell of a lot better.”

  “No shit.” Burton chuckled. “Anyway, there are a couple employment forms on the table you need to sign. W-2. Non-disclosure. That sort of thing. Then we’ll hit the range. You might want to change before we head out there. You’ll have a chance to shower and get cleaned up before you meet with Mr. Martin after.”

  “Sure.” They walked out, and Gil found the paperwork and a pen and claimed one of the chairs.

  “I’m going to head on out to the range.” Burton pointed away from the mansion. “Follow the path and the sound of gunfire. You can’t miss me.”

  Gil filled out the forms and changed into his tactical pants and T-shirt in record time and met Burton out on the range. There were gun ranges, and there were gun ranges. This wasn’t a paper target at twenty yards kind of thing. They had multi-shooting stations, different distances, cover to hide behind and shoot, targets that popped out and you had to decide shoot or don’t shoot. All with a high berm behind to protect against stray bullets. It was an impressive, top-notch range.

  Burton ran him through various scenarios. He’d probably run seven magazines of ammo through his Glock before they moved onto the rifle range. Again, more of a tactical setup than a point and shoot. For this Burton handed over an M-4. A real one. Complete with the burst selector switch. Not one of those M-frauds sold in the civilian market.

  Legally, there were few ways to get your hands on a weapon like that. Illegally… that was an entirely different scenario. “Haven’t held one of these babies since I got out. Where did you dig this up?”

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Burton said it with a smile. Gil figured he was most likely kidding.

  “Fair enough.” Gil would let that drop. He was in no hurry to arouse any suspicions.

  Burton ran him through another set of close quarter drills. They ended the session by burning through a clip on full-auto, because, hell, why not?

  “Damn nice range,” Gil said.

  “Thanks.” Burton’s chest puffed out a bit. “Mr. Martin gave me a budget and set me loose. A few things I might change if I had to do it over again, but overall I’m happy with it.”

  Gil picked up his Glock from a nearby table and replaced it in his shoulder holster. Burton slung the M-4 across his shoulder and clapped Gil on the back.

  “Did I pass?” No question in Gil’s mind that he had. Besides his military training, he’d had extensive training with the ATF. Even with time off since he’d been shot, he was pleased with how sharp he’d been.

  “Close enough,” Burton said, but there was clear admiration in his eyes. “Let me guess. MP?”

  Military police. “Good guess. What gave it away?”

  “You look like a cop.”

  Gil scoffed. “Why would you say that?”

  “A fee
ling.” Burton slowed and eyed Gil a second. “Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself.”

  Gil laughed him off. “I’m just walking, dude. But shit. No. Not a cop. I mean I tried. They didn’t want me. Had a few issues with authority in my younger days. Besides, better pay in the private sector. No regrets.”

  “Word is, you were with El Verdugo for a while.”

  “Yeah.” Gil glanced at Burton, curious as to where he was going with this. “So?”

  They’d almost reached the garage. Burton stopped, his hands on his hips as if he had something to say. “Did it ever bother you? Working with… questionable employers?”

  Gil played it cool. Acted like he was contemplating his answer when what he was really doing was trying to figure out if Burton was playing Gil or if maybe Burton knew something and was himself questioning his own loyalties. If so, Burton might turn out to be an ally if shit went sideways.

  Gil settled on an equivocal, “I get paid to protect. That’s what I do. The rest is above my pay grade.”

  Burton’s expression shifted. Gil couldn’t tell if the man was satisfied or disappointed with Gil’s answer.

  Burton’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of one of his thigh pockets and read the text. “Mr. Martin will be ready for you in fifteen.”

  The interior of the mansion was what Gil would describe as rich rustic. All wood and rock and aged leather. He and Burton walked past a two-story rock fireplace with the typical assortment of animal heads stuffed and mounted and looking rather pissed.

  Down a short hallway, Burton led Gil through an open office door. Bradley Martin was hanging up the phone as they entered.

  “Mr. Martin, this is Gil Goodman, the new security hire I told you about.”

  Martin came around the desk. Gil didn’t pay much attention to men’s designer business wear, but that suit had to cost more than a crate of M-4s.

  The man couldn’t have been more than five foot ten on a good day. Younger than Gil would have expected. Mid-thirties at most, but he had this cocky, self-assured air that chaffed at Gil before the man even said a word.