by Vicki Tharp
Gil stuck out his hand. “Mr. Martin.”
Martin left him hanging. Gil cleared his throat and dropped his hand. He hoped like hell Martin was The Wolf. He’d have one hell of a good time taking this asshole down.
“Leave us,” Martin said to Burton. To Gil, he said, “Have a seat.”
As Gil sat, Martin walked back around his desk and sat. “I usually hire security based on personal recommendation only, but it seems I have an urgent need that couldn’t be filled by normal means.”
Gil crossed his ankle over his knee but didn’t say anything. There hadn’t been a question.
“You came highly recommended. Though I do have a couple questions for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Gil figured Martin was the kind of guy who would get his rocks off with the deferential “sir.” Especially coming from a larger, stronger, man. Martin reminded him of a young prince who’d ascended the throne way too young and was enjoying the sudden power trip.
“You were one of El Verdugo’s men.”
“Correct.”
“When his place was raided, correct?” Martin narrowed his eyes as if he could read Gil’s mind. News flash. He couldn’t.
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you manage to not get picked up like the rest of them? You get scared? You run?” Martin poked.
Gil poked back. “You a cop?” Gil stood, planted his hands on the desk and leaned into Martin’s personal space. “You got a camera? A wire? This a set up?”
“I’m not a cop.” To prove the point, Martin untucked his shirt and pulled it up to the middle of his chest. “No wire. Answer the question.”
Gil was slow to sit, his expression set to better not be fucking with me. Finally, he said, “Cops swarmed the mansion. I took two bullets trying to protect El Verdugo, but he was apprehended. In the storm and the confusion, I slipped away unnoticed.”
“With two bullet wounds?” Martin sounded incredulous.
“Yes, sir.” Gil wouldn’t do himself any favors by elaborating. Short and direct, that was the ticket with this guy.
“The hospitals didn’t report the gunshot wounds?”
“The wounds were through and through. My shoulder and abdomen. Nothing vital hit. I have an old medic buddy from my military days who patched me up.” Plausible and hard to disprove.
Martin sat silent, eying him. If Martin thought he was intimidating, he hadn’t looked in the mirror in a while. Gil stared back. He could play this game all damn day.
A knock came at the closed office door. It opened before Martin could say “come in.”
“This better be good, Sloan.” Martin stood, re-tucking his shirt.
Sloan handed Martin a newspaper. “Burton wanted you to see this.”
The man didn’t hang around, as if shooting the messenger could be a real issue. Martin laid the newspaper out on his desk and studied the front page. When he glanced up at Gil, red had infused his face, and a vein had popped out on his forehead.
“You ever been married? Kids?” Martin asked, the leashed rage burning him up from the inside.
“No, sir.”
“Sloan,” Martin called out. “Sloan.”
No answer. Martin raised his hands in disbelief, like where did the man run off to?
Martin stormed out of the office, presumably to find Sloan. Gil stood and turned the paper around. His breath caught, and his stomach dropped and twisted. On the front page of the Bison County Enquirer was a picture of Tessa riding him in the back of the helo. He wasn’t proud that his dick was the first to respond to the image.
The how, as in how did this get in the newspaper? wasn’t hard to answer. Gil had been right from the beginning. That hadn’t been a kid who’d been at the back fence of the muni airport, but a reporter.
The question was, why did Martin care?
He heard voices approaching. He turned the paper back around and reclaimed his seat.
From down the hall, he heard Martin’s raised voice. “I want you to get my lawyer on the phone. Now. I don’t care if he’s golfing, screwing his secretary, or arguing a case before the Supreme Court. You have him call me. Tell him it’s urgent.”
Martin stormed back into the room, the rage had bled out, leaving behind an excited, frenetic energy that Gil didn’t quite understand.
“Everything okay?” Gil asked as Martin returned to his chair behind his desk.
Martin folded the newspaper over twice and tossed it in a trash can. “Nothing a decent lawyer can’t take advantage of.”
11
Before walking into the courtroom, Tessa and her lawyer were cautiously optimistic. Their case was being handled by a divorced judge with kids of her own. Even with Tessa’s recent suspension, they could conceivably walk out with a win.
Then they walked in.
Instead of Judge Nicolls, Judge Hart was presiding. Two lawyers were at the bench, the judge’s pudgy hand over the microphone as the lawyers argued their point.
Tessa’s lawyer, Patricia Dunn, dropped her briefcase at her feet and sat heavily in a chair at the back of the courtroom. She leaned into Tessa. “This isn’t good.”
One of the things Tessa really liked about Patricia was she didn’t sugar coat things and didn’t hide what she thought to spare someone’s feeling. Mostly that was a good thing, but Tessa’s throat went dry at her comment.
“Where’s Nicolls?”
“No clue.” Patricia whipped out her phone and blasted off a quick text to her office, Tessa assumed. “Let’s see what my assistant can find out.”
Maybe a minute passed before Patricia got a return text. It felt like an hour. Patricia’s frown deepened. She tossed her head toward the rear doors, and Tessa followed her out and down the hall for additional privacy.
“Turns out Judge Nicolls called in sick. Judge Hart is filling in from a nearby county.”
“What’s the problem with getting him?”
“Because he can be bought.”
“You don’t think…”
“You’re the one who said Bradley had money.”
“But if people know Judge Hart can be bought, how is he still on the bench?”
Patricia leaned against the white marble wall of the old courthouse. “I said he could be bought. I didn’t say he was stupid.”
Bradley and his lawyer walked up the stairs. Bradley’s eyes raked over Tessa, a flash of an inward smile on his face, the one a snake might give the mouse right before he struck.
“Bradley.” Before Tessa got two steps away, Patricia caught her by the arm.
Turning her back to the two men, Patricia whispered to Tessa. “Don’t say anything. Stay calm. Stay cool. We’re going to fight it out in there, not out here.”
They were called into the courtroom a few minutes later. Bradley’s lawyer held the door open for them, “Ladies.”
The condescension in his tone made Tessa bristle. Patricia grabbed her elbow and ushered her to the front of the stuffy, wood-paneled courtroom. Tessa’s palms went sweaty, but her skirt was silk, and she didn’t dare wipe her hands on it.
What happened next was a blur. Long and short, despite Tessa’s lawyer’s numerous objections, Bradley was awarded sole emergency custody of Jack. Until Tessa could find a more suitable environment to raise her son, and oh, find a solution to the no job thing. A couple of outbursts and the threat of being charged with contempt of court, may not have helped, but Tessa couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
The only thing the judge had conceded was allowing Tessa to wait until Sunday evening to deliver Jack to Bradley, and that was only because she had temporary housing at the ranch.
The judge would allow the issue to be revisited in a month. A month!
Tessa collapsed on one of the benches outside the courtroom. Bradley walked out, shaking his lawyer’s hand and clapping him on the back. Then the slick smile slid from Bradley’s lips as he caught Tessa’s eye. His features shifted, turning impossibly cold. Tessa was amazed at how a nice suit could camoufla
ge the devil’s own tail.
Bradley wasn’t doing this to protect his son, he was doing it to punish his ex-wife.
Bradley turned and spoke in hushed tones to his lawyer. When his lawyer left, Bradley approached her. Patricia hopped to her feet, but Tessa put a staying hand on her arm.
“A word?” Bradley asked, his hand outstretched toward the end of the hall.
Patricia made a disapproving face, but Tessa excused herself and followed Bradley until they were out of earshot.
“Why are you doing this?”
Instead of answering, Bradley brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. Her shoulder flinched as she held back a full cringe. “You can come with Jack. I have plenty of room.”
“Is that what this is? You want me under your thumb?”
“No, Tessa. I want you under my roof. Permanently. Think about it.”
Bradley didn’t give Tessa a chance to respond. He turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.
She didn’t have to think about it. Her answer was simple. No. Way. In. Hell.
Now Tessa was on a mission. She would get her son back. She hadn’t wanted to take a dime of Bradley’s money, but she would spend every last red cent of it to buy her and Jack a place in a better part of town.
The job… the job could be a little bit trickier. If Tessa went to Spinks and told him Gil had been with her, it didn’t guarantee she would get to keep her job. More than likely they would both get kicked loose. Was it better to keep quiet—to protect Gil—and hope her exemplary record would trump any detrimental recommendations stemming from the investigation?
Her head spun, and she saw black dots floating in her peripheral vision. The general hub-bub of the people in the hall sounded like it was coming from a hundred feet away not a few yards. She felt a hand press against her back forcing her head between her knees.
“Breathe, Tessa,” Patricia said. The voice was disembodied, almost ethereal.
In and out, slow and steady. Tessa breathed until the sounds around her became clear, and her world came back into focus. But when she looked up, everything wasn’t quite right either, because while objects may have come back into focus, the axis of her world had a precarious tilt.
“Better?” Tessa asked.
Tessa made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat. How could she be better? Her son had been taken away from her. Tears didn’t fall. She didn’t wail. That didn’t happen when your emotions had been stripped from your soul leaving you numb and dumb.
She had to pick Jack up from camp. Had to tell him… oh God oh God oh God… how was she going to explain to Jack that he had to go live with his father?
Patricia caught her when she stumbled and helped her back to the bench. “Give me your phone. Let me call someone for you.”
Jenna and Mac came and picked her up, and since they all agreed Tessa needed a chance to pull herself together before seeing Jack, they’d arranged for Evie to pick him up from camp and bring him to the ranch after dinner.
That evening, Tessa came out of the master bath of the big house dressed in Jenna’s fluffy terrycloth robe after Jenna had poured her a hot, lavender bath. It was supposed to have been soothing, but all it had done was drain what little energy she’d had left after Bradley had ripped her life to shreds.
Tessa flopped in the corner of the couch opposite Jenna. “How much longer until Jack’s here?”
Mac paced in front of the fireplace. Back and forth, back and forth like a pregnant yellow duck at the shooting gallery. Would that be Tessa in four months? Walking around with a bulge in her belly? Tessa squeezed her temples, trying to contain the questions, the thoughts, the fears, the emotions, the outrage.
Jenna glanced behind her at the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes, tops. You ready for this?”
Not even close, but when she had less than forty-eight hours to spend with her son, she didn’t want to waste another millisecond. “I’ll never be ready.”
Hank walked in the back door and Mac went to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and his hand instinctively covered her belly for a quick touch.
“Any luck?” Mac asked him.
Hank had been talking to another local lawyer, getting a second opinion. “No. Not really. Best advice was to do what the judge suggested—move to a better location, make sure the job is secure, and hope like hell that in a month’s time the judge will reverse his decision.”
“Bradley doesn’t want Jack. He’s never wanted Jack.” Tessa had said those same words a hundred times but couldn’t help repeating herself. “I don’t know what his game is, or why he wants back in our lives when he’s wanted nothing to do with us for years.” The backs of Tessa’s eyes stung, and her voice shook with her anger and frustration and the complete unfathomability of the entire situation. If unfathomability was even a word. At this point, her brain was too scrambled to tell. If it wasn’t, it should be.
They heard the crunch of gravel under tires, and Hank stepped over to the screen door and looked out. “He’s here.”
He held the door open. Jack came bounding in, his eyes ablaze with excitement. Evie was a few steps behind, with a red, splotchy complexion and a fake, tabloid smile.
Jack ran over and gave Tessa a hug, she held on extra tight and extra-long as if she could keep that moment frozen in time. The moment when he was still innocent. The moment when he still didn’t know that he was being taken away from the only parent he’d ever known. Tessa’s chest constricted, her lungs froze, and her heart tumbled beneath her feet.
Boomer and Sidney came through the back door, hand in hand. “Great news,” Boomer said. “Tessa’s door came in early, and we finished the install, you can move back any time you want.”
“Boom,” Mac said, her mouth tight, her voice a shoddy stage whisper. “Didn’t you get the message?”
Sidney’s smile cratered. “We’d left the phones in the truck. What message?”
Jack glanced around the room at the fake smiles and confused faces and the tears that were now streaming down Tessa’s cheeks. “Why are you crying?”
Three days. Three days Gil had been at the Martin estate and the only thing he had to show for it was blisters on his heels from walking the perimeter of the property while on duty.
He wasn’t going to get any valuable information if he couldn’t get close to Martin. Sometimes the undercover game was a long one. Criminals didn’t stay free long if they trusted too easily. All he could do is a good job and try to ingratiate himself to Martin as much as he could. He’d rather put his nuts in a vice and screw it down tight than suck up to Martin, but if that’s what it took, then he’d ingratiate away.
Maybe tonight he’d have some luck. Martin was throwing an afternoon pool party, and Gil had been pulled in closer to the house.
From his spot at the back side of the pool, Gil had a clear line of sight through the windows at the back of the house to where Burton was working the front door, checking invitations, and for any obvious bulges that could indicate a potential weapon.
Pool parties had changed since he’d been a kid.
More people filtered through the house and into the backyard, milling around the buffet table, the line at the open bar growing longer by the second.
He recognized a member of the Wyoming House of Representatives from a news piece he’d seen on TV while he’d been laid up after being shot. There was a city councilman from a couple towns over and a local semi-celebrity who was more infamous than actually famous, who’d been drafted by the NFL a few failed years before. Gil remembered hearing some charges had been filed, intoxicated manslaughter he thought, but they’d never stuck.
Gil wracked his brain trying to figure out how these people were mixed up with The Wolf. If Martin was The Wolf. To date, he’d seen nothing that might corroborate that theory. Besides the M-4 and the security detail.
Or maybe it was all on the up and up—a businessman throwing a party and doing a little networking.
&
nbsp; Riiight.
The front door opened again, and Gil almost stumbled off the foot-high wall at the back edge of the pool deck.
Tessa.
And Jack.
What the ever-loving hell was going on?
Gil shifted off to the side where the clump of people mingling around the bar wouldn’t make him stand out. He’d cut his hair and shaved off his beard, but it wasn’t like he was unrecognizable. A man his size never went unnoticed.
He watched over the heads of the small crowd. Martin was at the front door, a proprietary hand on Jack’s shoulder. Burton carried in a kid-sized suitcase. Tessa bent down giving Jack a long, long hug. Then the door closed, and she was gone.
He needed to call Spinks and see if he knew what the hell was going on. Gil’s initial concern after Martin had seen the newspaper, ramped up.
Tessa was involved, he just didn’t know how.
Then his mind went to a dark and disturbing place, one that he had to consider no matter that he’d been balls deep inside her four days ago. No matter that she could be pregnant with his child. Was Tessa working with Martin?
Was Martin The Wolf and she the mole?
He’d told her he’d gone undercover. Did she know he was here? Did Martin know he was a plant?
The skin between his shoulder blades itched as if he could feel the target she’d slapped on his back. He eyed the other security guys, but none of them paid him any extra attention.
As the evening wore on, he kept a close eye on the kid. Not only did he want to make sure Jack didn’t spot him and inadvertently blow his cover, but Jack was a young kid by a pool. No one paid him any attention. Not Martin, not any of the guests. There weren’t even any other kids for Jack to play with.
Jack filled a plate with food and carried it to the end of the low diving board perched over the deep end. Jack had on a button up western shirt, jeans, and his cowboy boots. Despite the fact the pool was heated, this wasn’t the kind of pool party where people actually swam.
Jack set his plate on the end of the diving board and sat, his legs straddling either side, the tip of the board dipping toward the water. Gil wanted to call out, to tell Jack to get off the board before he fell in. You know, like any reasonable adult would. But he couldn’t take that chance. Too much was riding on this assignment. Including his life.