by Toni Leland
Dillon stared at his plate as he moved a green bean from one side to the other. Though her confession had been difficult, it had released her from the prison of her circumstances, at least with him. His thoughtful silence didn’t make her nervous, but she wondered what those thoughts were about. She had a few questions of her own, and it was his turn.
“You said you could get me a better driver’s license. Want to elaborate?”
He looked up, startled, as though he’d forgotten that conversation. He glanced away and shifted in the seat.
“After I retired from the Army, I went to work for the Secret Service. In the counterfeiting division.” He gave her a weak smile. “I have a little experience with fake ID’s.”
Since she already knew some of his background, she reacted only mildly to his admission. “I see. What gave it away?”
“The background on the license should have a faint design, usually the state symbol or seal. The design on the counterfeits are always blurry, and that’s a clue. Also, the plastic is usually thinner than legitimate cards. Fake ID’s like yours work fine for underage kids wanting a beer, but law enforcement personnel are trained to look deeper than the information and picture.”
Julia looked away. “That license cost me a lot of money.”
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me where you got it.”
Julia closed her eyes, stunned at the prospect of having yet another person after her hide.
She shook her head. “Maybe when I leave this area. Right now, I have enough things to worry about.” She leaned forward and held his gaze. “Is that the extent of your story?”
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as he reached for his wallet. “No, but I don’t want to talk about it here.”
Julia sucked in a sharp breath at the cold blast that hit her as they stepped outside. She pulled her jacket closer and hurried along beside Dillon toward the car.
“It’s freezing out here!”
“Yeah, another front is moving down from Canada. We might get some snow tomorrow.”
Her teeth chattered as she huddled in the front seat while Dillon started the engine. He looked over at her.
“It’s early, what do you want to do?”
“Get warm!”
A slow smile spread over his face. “I can handle that.”
He backed the car away from the curb, then headed down the street. Four blocks later, he parked in front of a hotel and killed the engine. Without a word, he got out, came around to her side, and opened the door. Her thoughts raced. This felt so strange, so…premeditated. She took his hand and climbed out of the car. But who was she kidding? She’d spent hours primping so he’d want her. Now that he did, she was terrified. What if he reacted the same way as last time?
Inside the hotel, Dillon steered her toward a small reception area off the main lobby. Several overstuffed chairs and sofas formed a cozy semicircle in front of a fireplace. The heat from the fire felt wonderful on her cold face. Suspended between relief and disappointment, she almost laughed out loud but, instead, smiled at her companion.
“This is perfect.”
“Not quite as perfect as my own fireplace, but it’ll do for tonight.”
Julia’s stomach did a little flip-flop at his intentional reminder of their night on the bear rug. Dillon excused himself and disappeared into the bar, returning a few minutes later with two glasses of wine.
He settled beside her on the couch and touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to finding everything we’ve lost.”
Julia gazed at the orange and yellow flames. “Realistically, what do you think the chances are of my papers being found?”
“Hard to say. What’s it been, a week since you discovered the theft? Could happen tomorrow, or three months from now. Or never.” He shook his head. “But I think you have to consider it will happen.”
“I hate the thought of leaving Casey and Bud, and the horses. Damn it, I just want to have some kind of normal life.”
Dillon took her hand and squeezed. “You will, but you’re going to have to put all your knowledge about disappearing into full play. Keeping your old ID wasn’t very smart, but I understand. You probably thought the problem might go away and you’d need it someday. Regardless, now that it has become a threat, you need to take whatever next step will make you feel safe again.”
She leaned her head back against the sofa. “I’m so tired of thinking and worrying about this. Let’s talk about something else.” She turned to look at him. “Like you.”
He released her hand and exhaled. “Okay, that’s fair.”
Over the next hour, Dillon related his life as a Secret Service agent and the tragic circumstances surrounding his retirement. Though Julia knew most of the details from her research, hearing him talk about it put a human touch to it. His pain was palpable, his remorse for his inability to save his partner was deep and soul-searing. At one point in the story, she reached out and took his hand, needing that connection, and offering her own.
“What happened after you left the agency? Did you just stop thinking about it?”
He gave her a hard look. “I have never stopped thinking about it.” His expression softened. “It drove me crazy that the case went cold and Sal’s murderer was never caught. I had some ideas about the counterfeit operation, but no one thought the concept had any merit. So I decided to continue looking.”
“You’re under cover now?”
He snorted. “Hell, no, I’m working without a net!”
Many vivid thoughts flashed through Julia’s head. What he was doing had to be very dangerous.
“Does it have anything to do with that casket company?”
Dillon’s jaw twitched and his tone turned flinty. “Why would you ask about that?”
“Just because you were so interested when I mentioned the trucks I’d seen. Dillon, listen to me. I’m not the enemy.”
His face softened and he shook his head. “I know, but my mission could get me killed. Worse, now I’ve involved you and that was a mistake.”
“No worse than me involving you in my problems.”
Dillon looked down at their entwined fingers. “You have no idea.”
Chapter 36
A light snow had begun to fall as Dillon pulled into the motel’s small parking lot and came to a stop next to Julia’s car. The ride back had been a quiet one, not uncomfortable, but Julia knew they both still had unanswered questions. She glanced over at him. Now that the hardest part was over, it would be easier the next time.
Dillon turned off the engine and sat gazing at the steering wheel for a minute, then threw her an apologetic smile. “I’m really beat, so I’m gonna say goodnight right now.”
She nodded, trying to keep her disappointment from showing. He looked exhausted and she realized he’d driven all day to get there, then stayed up another six hours.
“I’m tired too, and I have to go back to work tomorrow. Thank you for dinner and everything.”
Dillon leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek, then whispered, “No, thank you.”
Julia’s car nosed through the fluffy snowflakes dancing and whirling in the headlights like so many fairies. Dillon’s kiss still tingled on her cheek and the wine warmed her blood. Weariness came over her like a blanket and she realized that ending the evening had been a good idea, even though the less rational parts of her body disagreed. Turning into Casey’s driveway, thoughts of Little Bit surfaced and Julia parked near the barn.
She slid the heavy door aside just enough to slip through, then turned on the lights. A little shuffling and snorting emanated from various parts of the barn, and she was painfully aware of the absence of King’s loud greeting. His stall was empty and, though she was glad he’d been reunited with his owner, she felt a hollowness in her heart. She hadn’t even been there to say goodbye. She shook her head. That kind of sentiment would get her into trouble. She walked down the aisle toward the feed room. Little Bit would get her nightly bottle
now—no way was Julia getting up in another hour to do this.
While she waited for the milk to warm, she went over all the details that had been exchanged during the evening. She hadn’t left anything out, but she had the feeling Dillon had. The only things he’d shared with her were related to his career. What was his personal story? She snugged the nipple onto the bottle and headed toward Little Bit’s stall. Had Dillon gone to his mother’s in Florida, as he’d said? Or had his sudden “business” changed the plan? She reached for the stall door latch, then gasped. A gangly gray yearling peered at her with suspicious eyes.
“Where’s my baby?”
The young horse flicked its ears and snorted. Then, from somewhere down the aisle, Little Bit’s husky baby nickers slowed Julia’s racing heartbeat. For one horrible moment, she’d thought something had happened to the filly. With another glance at the new resident, Julia strode toward the insistent calls for food. Tomorrow she would finalize the sale with Casey, then figure out what the next step would be, however soon that might happen.
Over three inches of snow had fallen through the night and, before dawn, Julia slogged her way to the barn to help with the morning chores.
Casey popped her head out the door of King’s stall and grinned.
“Mornin’, how was your evening?”
“Really nice. How was yours?”
“Oh, just peachy. Frozen pot pie, ice-cream, the news, and my bed. Same old, same old.”
Julia laughed. “I’m tellin ya, get yourself a man to keep you warm.”
Casey just snorted and returned to stripping out the stall. Julia headed toward the feed room to start doling out hay. As if they could read her mind, the resident horses began vying for attention. A few minutes later, she pushed the cart down the aisle, tossing a flake into each stall. Casey hefted the wheelbarrow piled with manure and shavings, then pushed the heavy load toward the rear door. Julia watched, amazed at the woman’s stamina. She had to be in her sixties, and this kind of physical work was hard. How long had she said she’d been on her own? Julia shook her head. A place like this needed a man to do the heavy stuff. Too bad Dillon wasn’t around more often. She grinned. Too bad, indeed.
She tossed the last flake and called out to Casey as she came through the door with the empty wheelbarrow.
“What’s the story on the gray horse in the end stall?”
Casey parked the wheelbarrow by the feed room and exhaled loudly. “He and his pasture mate were just too much for the owner to deal with. She didn’t know much about horses. They’d belonged to her husband, and he died about a month ago. She called here wanting to know if there was an auction nearby. Well, I guess you know the rest. I ought to have my head examined.”
“The gray one looks like a pretty nice horse. Where’s the other one?”
“Over there, but I’m gonna put him next to the gray after I move someone to King’s stall.”
Julia moved to the stall Casey had indicated. A pretty pinto pricked up its ears and came immediately to the stall door. The horse had blue eyes, and gorgeous dark brown markings contrasting against white. He was about the same size as the gray, but more muscular and athletic looking. If she had to guess, Julia would say he was probably part Quarter Horse. She scratched his chin, fending off his attempts to nip her arm.
“Do they have papers?”
“Yep. Seems like even the blue-bloods aren’t immune to the economy.”
Julia crossed the aisle to look at the gray horse again. Fine ears, sculpted head, huge eyes. Most definitely Arabian. The rescue farm was acquiring some really fine stock and Julia felt like a kid in a candy store. If she only had a place of her own, she’d adopt some of these good ones. She turned away. Like that will happen any time soon.
“I gotta go to work, Casey. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Pick up some more foal pellets, will ya? That kid is eatin’ us outta house and home.”
Julia grinned. “I’ll officially take her off your hands when I get back.”
Only one set of tire tracks marred the road in front of Casey’s and, after a little slipping episode, Julia made a point of staying in the cleared places. The main road had been plowed and she breathed out a sharp little burst of relief. Her bargain car wasn’t such a great winter ride. The sky was gray from horizon to horizon and the dreariness accentuated her feeling of being in limbo. But what, exactly, did she want to happen? The fact she had no plan made her uneasy, but having told Dillon the whole story gave her some sense of security. At least she could quit pretending with him.
On impulse, she swung down toward the railroad tracks and drove past her apartment. A couple of cars were parked in front, but no lights were visible in any of the units. She pulled up to the bank of mailboxes and reached out to unlock it. Her hand froze in mid-air. The mailbox door was ajar. She frowned, then looked at the others. Hers was the only one that had been pried open. She gingerly pulled the broken door aside and stared at the stack of mail. It consisted of the usual junk mail and advertising flyers, but a thick manila envelope lay on top of the stack. She pulled it out and looked at the return address. The American Morgan Horse Association. She laid it on the seat and glanced around again, an uneasy feeling crawling through her gut. First the apartment, now the mailbox. She punched the gas and sped down the street.
Bud came out of the garage as Julia pulled up. His eyebrows lifted and he came over to the car.
“You borrowed this, right?”
A trickle of irritation threaded its way into Julia’s head. Why did everyone have to make a big deal over this?
“No, Bud, I bought it. Is that a problem?”
He shook his head and walked around the front of the vehicle. “You coulda done better. I wish you’d told me, I coulda fixed you up.” He looked up. “Hope you didn’t pay much.”
Julia shrugged. “Nope, it was cheap.”
She headed for the door to the office, ending the conversation. She’d been burning through money as though Stephen were still footing the bills. She’d spent almost five grand for the privilege of driving again, and she’d agreed to fifteen hundred for Little Bit. Plus, there’d be no paycheck for the holiday week. She hung up her jacket and poured herself a cup of coffee. At least she didn’t have to pay rent anymore. She shuddered, thinking about the mailbox tampering, then remembered the big envelope and went back outside to get it.
She tore open the flap and pulled out the December issue, which included coverage of the Grand National. She paged through the thick publication and, a minute later, a sob rose in her chest. Her sensational disappearance from the fairgrounds the previous year had piqued the reporter’s interest and he’d written a sidebar about her and Coquette, complete with photograph. She gazed at the snapshot of herself standing beside the beautiful mare. Cokie’s ears were pricked, her eyes bright—a breathtaking pose. Julia’s own smile in the photo said it all. She clutched the magazine to her breast and exhaled slowly, regaining her control. Coquette would not be lost for long. She’d call Dillon later and tell him the good news. The sooner Miss Cokie’s picture was posted on NetPosse, the better.
Dillon rolled over and stretched, pushing away the cobwebs of sleep, but trying to hang on to the remnants of his early morning dream. A fantasy on a bear rug in front of a crackling fire, a smooth body with silky skin, a hunger that hadn’t yet been satisfied. He stared at the overhead in the sleeping compartment of his truck, thinking about the conversations the night before, and the ramifications of those revelations. He believed Ginger had put her complete trust in him and, to some extent, he had done the same. But—and it was a big one—he hadn’t shared the imminent danger of what he was doing. Call it habit, or paranoia. Whatever, he’d been unable to share his involvement in the casket company situation, perhaps because she’d been so curious. The less she knew, the safer she’d be.
His cell phone went off and he grabbed his jeans off the hook to fumble through the pockets. The caller hung up before Dillon could answer
, but there was a voice mail from A to Z. He groaned. That usually meant a load to deliver and he wasn’t in the mood to get back on the road just yet. He dressed and grabbed his kit. A shower and breakfast were in order before he did anything else.
The phone rang again. “Damn it!”
This time, the call was from Washington and Dillon answered immediately.
Chief Rusher sounded positively happy. “Thought you’d like to know the money you brought in is definitely Peruvian counterfeiting. We’re setting up a team to follow every Stafford truck on the road. You want a piece of that?”
“How would that work? I mean, I’m not legal with you guys.”
“We’ll consider you a special contractor. Really, Dillon, your tenacity in this thing is what gave us the breakthrough. I owe you an apology, more or less, for not having any confidence in your instincts. But you have to know my hands were tied. I have bosses too.”
“Okay, I’m in, but on one condition—I still want to find out who gave us the bum tip that caused Sal’s death. I need access to the paper or electronic trail that led to the ambush. I need names.”
A long silence ensued, then Rusher’s voice came through, low and clear. “I’ll see you get what you want.”
Dillon closed the phone and stared out the small side window. He might be going from the frying pan into the fire, but he had to do this if he ever wanted any peace again.
After breakfast, he returned to his truck to call Al Zerwer. Maybe this whole thing would fit together nicely. Rusher had suggested that Dillon just pick out any Stafford truck he saw and tail it to its destination, then call in the details and location. With an army of agents doing the same thing, a pattern could be established and, at some point, the whole transportation scheme could be shut down.
And then Dillon would be able to concentrate on his personal mission.
Al Zerwer answered on the first ring. “Hey Dillon, you got time for a load?”
“Sure do, where to?”
