by Carolina Mac
She nodded to his cut. “Why are you in Texas?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know my colors?”
“Familiar. My dead husband wore the same.” She pointed at his broad chest. “No ‘V’ in front of the ‘P.”
“Oh yeah, and who would that lucky bastard be?”
“You figure it out.” She walked from the back hallway into the store, picked up a bottle of water and a Coke and set them on the counter in front of the clerk. From a stand on the counter she bought a burner phone. As she pulled a couple of bills from her wallet and gave them to the cashier, she felt his hot breath on her neck.
“Don’t go yet. I want to get to know you better.”
Annie shoved the phone into her pocket, picked up her change and her drinks and headed for the door. “Sorry, I’m on a tight schedule.”
He held the door for her. “Bullshit. Looks to me like you’re just out riding your bike.”
She tucked the drinks into her saddlebag and threw her leg over her ride. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“I’ll ride along with you. I’m heading west.”
“You would be.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Rule belongs in Vegas.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about The Rule, baby?”
“Everything.” She started her bike, squeezed the gas and took off.
A half hour later, the highway turned north, and the setting sun shone too brightly in her eyes as she approached the Kerrville intersection. The biker was still on her tail. When she didn’t see him in the rearview, she could hear the Harley rumble way back.
He’s gonna be trouble. I can’t let him get in my way.
A sign for a rest area came into view. Annie didn’t slow and didn’t signal, but when she’d almost passed the turning lane, she cut the bars sharply and veered to the right.
A glance to her left and she saw him race by.
A State Trooper’s SUV was parked at the end of a row of vehicles in front of the building that held the facilities. She slipped into the spot next to it, turned off her bike and put the kickstand down. She dug her phone out of her pocket and called Blaine.
IT WAS CRAMPED in the RV, with all of them getting dressed for dinner at the same time. Blaine should have got a room for himself, but it didn’t seem fair. The rest of the team was sleeping in cramped quarters and making the best of it. Life wasn’t fair, but he tried to be.
Lily and Mary were dressed in their finery and enjoying a vodka cooler at the table while they waited for the men. Travis was in the shower and Farrell was in the bedroom trying to tie his tie. Blaine could hear him cursing the air blue from down the short hallway.
“I’d better help him.” Mary set her cooler down and went to rescue Farrell.
Travis scooted to the bedroom wrapped in a towel and pointed at Blaine. “Your turn, boss.”
Blaine reached for his crutch and his cell rang. Mom.
“Hey, Annie, how’s everything at the ranch? How’s Jesse doing?”
“Better, sweetheart. He’s in a private room and he’s much happier. Tyler and I brought the baby to see him.”
“Good. I’ll visit him as soon as I get back.”
“Where are you now?”
“Sonora, parked behind the Best Western. The dinner tonight is at the golf course. A lot smaller than the last venue.”
“She’s covering as much territory as she can,” said Annie. “Any more problems?”
“Nothing has come up and I’m hopeful.”
“How’s your leg, baby?”
“Umm… okay.”
“You should be at home. You don’t have to tell me about the pain, I can feel it. I love you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
She seems to be in a rush.
THE TROOPER adjusted his hat as he strode down the steps from the brick building to the sidewalk. He eyed the big custom bike pulling into the parking lot and didn’t give it more than a cursory glance as he headed for his SUV.
It had taken the biker a while to catch a turnaround and double back. The fact that he’d taken the time and made the effort didn’t bode well in Annie’s mind.
He’s not giving up and I’ve got to shake him. Work to do.
When the Trooper backed out of his spot, biker guy pulled in beside Annie. He turned off the engine and kicked the stand down. “You tried to ditch me.”
“Guess I didn’t.” She slipped her gloves on and did up the snaps on her jacket even though it was a thousand fuckin degrees. It would be cool once she got going again. At that moment she noticed the banjo airbrushed on his tank.
His brother’s bike.
“Don’t take off yet, I want to talk to you.”
Annie tossed her leg over her turquoise ride. “Always get what you want?”
He took a stance and she could read the violence coursing through his muscular body. “You don’t want to see me angry,” he snarled.
“I don’t want to see you at all.”
“Come on,” his voice softened. “You’re the most gorgeous female biker I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. I’m Linc Bolivar. At least tell me your name?”
You look a lot like Sam.
“Annie… Annie Ogilvie.”
He straddled his bike with his mouth hanging open. “Jesus, you could have told me.”
“I did tell you.” She pushed her bike backwards, turned the bars, then started the engine and took off.
THE VENUE was smaller and more intimate. The servers in the dining room were efficient and friendly as they brought each course and cleared away the dishes from the previous one.
Fewer members of the press showed up, but they seemed more polite and a little less aggressive here in Sonora than they had in Laredo or San Antonio. Mary mingled with her peers and took notes as the evening progressed.
Doctor Rodriquez wore a gold dress that hugged her curves and contrasted against her coppery skin and her shiny black hair, glowing like polished ebony under the lights. What little makeup she wore was perfectly applied. A beautiful woman, and Blaine could tell that Travis was in awe of everything she did and said.
Jesus, Trav. Don’t.
The Mayor of Sonoma introduced her with words of praise for her tireless charity work, her philanthropy, and he highlighted a few of her outstanding accomplishments that indicated she would be the perfect choice for Governor of Texas. Ginny stepped into the spotlight, smiling and thanking him for his kindness.
Blaine did a three-sixty around the room and verified that there was security at every exit. Travis had disappeared backstage to double check the candidate’s safety and didn’t return.
Lily set her coffee cup in the saucer. “Travis seems to like Doctor Rodriguez a lot.”
“Does that upset you, Lil?” asked Blaine. “I thought you might have had a thing for him at one time.”
“Maybe I did… for a minute, but he’s all over the place—brooding over Mrs. Powell, sometimes flirting with me and buying me lunch, and now mooning over a woman who is eight years older than him with a lifestyle he professes to hate? I have to think—what the hell, Travis? Do you know what you want?”
“He’s been a mess since he screwed up with Annie,” said Blaine. “His head ain’t on straight.”
“Better to steer clear of that,” said Lily. “Save myself a lot of grief.”
Blaine nodded. “I don’t want to see you sad, Lil.”
“You seem sad sometimes too, boss. Is it going well with Misty, or is that too personal a question?”
“Sometimes it goes well, but mostly I fall short of her expectations a lot of the time. Not enough hours in the day to make people happy.”
“It’s hard to find the right person,” said Lily. “For some, it never happens.”
The speech ended amid loud cheering and the crowd rose to its collective feet.
“Another one done, Lil. Three down and I’m exhausted.”
“You need to get a room of your own
, take your meds and sleep.”
WHEN ANNIE HIT SONOMA, it was almost dark. Later than she wanted it to be, but she still had time. She started with the first hotel she came to and circled the parking lot. No gray pickup. On to the next. How many hotels could a small town like Sonoma support?
What time is it? Are they at the golf club now?
The low rumble behind her grew louder and she could feel Bolivar still on her tail.
How am I gonna do my job with him watching me?
Blaine is at the Best Western. Would the hitman pick the same hotel as the candidate? Not likely, but she checked anyway. She cruised through the parking area, saw the big RV sitting at the back fence all in darkness. No sign of a gray pickup.
If tonight is the night, he might be setting up at the golf club on or an access road nearby. I’d better go there first.
She stopped near the trees at the back of the lot, away from the security lighting, and undid her saddle bag. She assembled the Remington, screwed the scope down tight and slipped the gun into a sling she had custom made for it. Barely visible to other vehicles.
Almost ready to go and there he was again, cruising slowly through the rows of parked vehicles looking for her. Why didn’t he give up? He turned her way and saw her. She sat on her bike like a deer caught in his single headlight.
She waved him over.
He pulled up next to her and shut the engine down, so he could hear what she was saying. “What the hell are you doing back here in the trees?”
“None of your fucking business. That’s what. If you don’t let me do my job, I’m gonna have to kill you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He snorted. “Girl, you are the best.”
While he was busy laughing, she slid the rifle out of the sling and swung the stock at his head as hard as she could. The butt of the gun caught him in the temple and he toppled off his bike. The big black Harley tipped sideways and rested on top of him. Silence at last.
Annie zoomed out of the Best Western parking lot and headed back for the golf course sign she’d seen on the way into town. She turned and followed the two-lane strip of asphalt for maybe a quarter mile. The road led to the golf course and nowhere else—private property. The parking lot had overflowed, and vehicles were parked on both sides of the narrow road. She cruised slowly along her eyes searching for a gray pickup.
None in the laneway. She circled through the parking lot, up and down each row.
There it is. Arkansas plate.
She memorized the number. Would he be inside? No, if he was a pro, like he was reported to be, he’d have picked a spot with a perfect vantage point. He’d take the candidate out between the building and the limo or whatever conveyance was transporting her, then jump in his truck, blend in with the crowd and become invisible.
She noticed one security guard at the front entrance as she checked for obstructions. A decorative overhang maybe two feet wide across the front of the building. Nothing else. The clubhouse was plain—utilitarian.
Annie parked her bike, took the gun out of the sling and circled the one-storey structure, staying close to the tree line. The land was flat. He’d have no vantage point but the roof, and how would he get down fast enough once he’d fired his shot? Bad choice.
I wouldn’t use the roof. What else was there?
From the far side of the building, she saw it, light-colored tin glowing in the moonlight. A storage tank for watering the greens. Close enough if he was a good shot.
Full dark now, and if he was focused on the front of the building, he wouldn’t be looking her way. Annie ran across the green directly behind the clubhouse—was it the eighteenth? Didn’t matter. The tank was past the next fairway. As she ran, she heard a roar from inside and figured the speech had just ended.
Have to hurry. They’ll be coming out soon. She approached the tank from the side and there he was, sitting at the top of the ladder, his gun aimed at the entrance. In perfect position and ready to rock as soon as he had a target. She tightened the scope on her Remington, positioned his left temple in the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger.
Pop.
Barely audible with the suppressor on. The croaking of the frogs in the water hazard behind her was louder by far.
The gun flew down first, followed seconds later by the shooter.
Plop. Thud.
He landed right at her feet in the dewy grass. She knelt down, picked up her brass with the help of a penlight, then searched his pockets and found what she was looking for. Burner phone, but not the one she wanted him to have. She switched phones, shoved his into her pocket and ran for her bike.
Down the road and back on the interstate in less than three minutes. At the first rest area, heading east, Annie stopped and sent a text. “Done.”
“That’s my girl.”
She smashed the shooter’s cell under her Harley boot, took the sim card with her and threw the rest in the trash.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BLAINE’S CELL woke him from a deep sleep. He’d taken his pain meds after everything wrapped up at the golf course and gone straight to bed. He opened his eyes wide enough to see the number on the phone.
Jesus, not so early. Guess it’s later in the east.
Blaine pressed the button and the man was already talking. “A couple of loose ends to tie up, then you’re finished. Hand campaign security back to Wyman.”
“Yes, sir. What are the loose ends?” Not fast enough—dead air on the other end of the line.
He struggled out of bed, trying not to involve his leg in any of the movement, grabbed his smokes from the tiny nightstand and limped outside. Not yet dawn, but he could feel the heat coming. He sat on the metal step attached to the big bus and lit up a Marlborough.
Why are we finished? What’s different?
Five minutes later, Farrell appeared at the door of the RV in his boxers, reached down and handed him his cell. “Your phone was ringing, bro. Woke me up. Think the screen said Sheriff’s Office.”
Blaine pressed the number and got the Sheriff’s office in Sonoma on the first ring.
“Ranger Blackmore, a body was found this morning on the Oak Run Golf Course by the groundskeeper. He was in early to check on the sprinklers and made the discovery. You may want to take a look.”
“How did you know to call me?”
“A directive. Can you meet me there in twenty minutes?”
“Sure.”
What the fuck is going on?
Blaine tried to stand and let out a groan when his bandaged leg touched the pavement. Farrell reached down to give him a hand up the step. “Jesus, bro, don’t step on your fuckin leg.”
“We need to get our asses to the golf course. There’s a corpse over there with our name on it.”
“Why’s the sheriff calling us?”
“That’s what I asked him,” Farrell pulled him up the step. “and he gave me some bullshit answer. Get dressed and leave the rest of them asleep,” said Blaine. “You and I will go.”
THE YELLOW TAPE extended from the legs of the storage tank to a couple of four-foot pieces of rusty rebar that had been jammed into the flawless grass ten or twelve feet away. A rough-looking rectangle surrounding the sniper and his rifle, but the message was clear to any early-morning foursomes passing by on the hunt for their balls.
The Sheriff lifted the tape for Blaine to duck under with his crutches—he had opted for both of them thinking the terrain might be rougher than he could manage with one.
Farrell followed, took one look at the head of the corpse and looked away. Crime scenes weren’t his strong point.
“Do y’all remember me, Ranger Blackmore? We met a while ago when you picked up a prisoner from my lockup.”
Blaine shook his hand. “I remember, Sheriff Oxford. Nice to see you again.”
“Ranger Quantrall not with y’all today?”
“No, he’s in the hospital. He had another heart attack and won’t be working for a while.”
&nbs
p; “Sorry to hear that. Nicer man you couldn’t meet.”
Blaine nodded, feeling worse than ever for his partner. He took a step closer to the ME who was kneeling on the grass and about to zip up the body. “COD looks obvious.”
“One shot to the head. Nice and neat,” said the doctor. “From the angle, I’d say the shooter was standing right about there on the grass shooting up.” He pointed to the right of the tower.
“We’ll check for brass and footprints over there,” said one of the crime scene techs. Two young guys with metal kits at their feet stood near the tape waiting to get started.
“ID on the body?” asked Blaine.
“Nope, just this burner phone.” The doctor held up the evidence bag and handed it to one of the techs.
“I’d like a list of the numbers on the phone as soon as you can get it to me.” Blaine handed the tech one of his cards.
“That mean y’all are gonna take this murder off my hands, Ranger?” The sheriff had a hopeful look in his eyes.
“Send the body, the physical evidence, and a copy of all your preliminary reports to Chief Calhoun at DPS and copy me as well. We’ll let you off the hook on this one.”
“I thank y’all for that. This murder has a connection to the attempt on Doctor Rodriguez in Laredo, I’m guessing,” said the sheriff. “And that’s why y’all are interested.”
“You could be correct, sir.” He shook Oxford’s hand. “I’m betting you are.”
Farrell drove Blaine’s truck back to the hotel. “What do you make of it, bro? Same guy trying again to eliminate her?”
“We could guess that, but we’ll have to prove it.”
“The guy from the roof in Laredo ain’t saying a word, so the only clue we’ve got is Russell Parr’s cousin working for Ginny’s campaign. And she didn’t even do anything illegal—lately.” Farrell chuckled. “Sounds weak when you say it out loud.”
“When we get an ID on this shooter, we might get somewhere.”
“If he’s a pro, his prints might not show up,” said Farrell, “Those guys are careful. Where do we go next on the campaign trail?”
