Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "It's evidently going to be a front for something illegal," Eb assured him. "He may have picked Jacobsville for a distribution center for his 'product' because it's small, isolated, and there are no federal agencies represented near here."

  Cy stood up, his whole body rigid with hatred and anger, "He killed my wife and son...!"

  "He had Jessica run off the road and almost killed,” Eb added coldly. "She lived, but she was blinded. She came back here from Houston, hoping that I could protect her. But it's going to take more than me. I need help. I want to set up a listening post on your back forty and put a man there."

  "Done," Cy said at once. "But first I'm going to buy a few claymores..."

  It took a minute for the expression on Cy's face, in his eyes, in the set of his lean body to register. Eb had only seen him like that once before, in combat, many years before. Probably that was the way he'd looked when his wife and son died and he was hospitalized with severe burns on one arm, incurred when he'd tried to save them from the raging fire. He hadn't known at the time that Lopez had sent men to kill him. Even in prison, Lopez could put out contracts.

  "You can't start setting off land mines. You have to think with your brain, not your guts," Eb said curtly. "If we're going to get Lopez, we have to do it legally."

  "Oh, that's new, coming from you," Cy said with biting sarcasm.

  Eb's broad shoulders lifted and fell as he sat down again, straddling the chair this time. "I'm reformed," he said. "I want to settle down, but first I have to put Lopez away. I need you."

  Cy extended the hand that had been so badly burned.

  "I know about the burns," Eb said. "If you recall, most of us went to see you in the hospital afterward."

  Cy averted his eyes and pulled the sleeve down over his wrist, holding it there protectively. "I don't remember much of it," he confessed. "They sent me to a burn unit and did what they could. At least I was able to keep the arm, but I'll never be much good in a tight corner again." "You mean you were before?" Eb asked with howling mockery.

  Cy's eyes widened, narrowed and suddenly he burst out laughing. "I'd forgotten what a bunch of sadists you and your men were," he accused. "Before every search and destroy mission, somebody was claiming my gear and asking about my beneficiary." Cy drew in a long breath. "I've been keeping to myself for a long time."

  "So we noticed," came the dry reply. "I hear it took a bunch of troubled adolescents to drag you out of your cave."

  Cy knew what he meant. Belinda Jessup, a public defender, had bought some of the property on his boundary for a summer camp for youthful offenders on probation. One of the boys, an African-American youth who'd fallen absolutely in love with the cattle business, had gotten through his shell. He'd worked with Luke Craig, another neighbor, to give the boy a head start in cowboying. He was now working for Luke Craig on his ranch and had made a top hand. No more legal troubles for him. He was on his way to being foreman of the whole outfit, and Cy couldn't repress a tingle of pride that he'd had a hand in that.

  "Even assuming that we can send Lopez back to prison, that won't stop him from appointing somebody to run his empire. You know how these groups are organized," Cy added, "into cells of ten or more men with their chiefs reporting to a regional manager and those managers reporting to a high-level management designee. The damned cartels operate on a corporate structure these days."

  "Yes, I know, and they work complete with pagers, cell phones and faxes, using them just long enough to avoid detection," Eb agreed. "They're efficient and they're merciless. God only knows how many undercover agents the drug enforcement people have lost, not to mention those from other law enforcement agencies. The drug lords make a religion of intimidation, and they have no scruples about killing a man and his entire family. No wonder few of their henchmen ever cross them. But one did, and Jessica knows his name. I don't expect Lopez to give up. Ever."

  "Neither do I. But what are we going to do about Lopez's planned operation?" Cy wanted to know.

  Eb sobered. "I don't have a plan yet. Legally, we can't do anything without hard evidence. Lopez will be extra careful about covering his tracks this time. He won't want anything that will connect him on paper to the drug operation. From what I've been able to learn, Lopez has already skipped town, forfeiting the bond. Believe me, there's no way in hell he'll ever get extradited from Mexico. The only way we'll ever get him back behind bars again is to lure him back here and have him nabbed by the U.S. Marshals Service. He's at the top of the DEA's Most Wanted list right now." He finished his second cup of coffee. "If we can get a legal wiretap on the phones in that warehouse once it's operating, we might have something to take to the authorities. I know a DEA agent," Eb said thoughtfully. "In fact, he and his wife are neighbors of yours. He's gung-ho at his job, and he's done some undercover work before."

  "Most of Lopez's people are Hispanic," Cy pointed out.

  "This guy could pass for Hispanic. Good-looking devil, too. His wife's father left her that small ranch..."

  "Lisa Monroe," Cy said, and averted his eyes. "Yes, I've seen her around. Yesterday she was heaving bales of hay over the fence to her horse," he added in the coldest tones Eb had ever heard him use. "She's thinner than she should be, and she has no business trying to heft bales of hay!"

  "When her husband's not home to do it for her..."

  "Not home?" Cy's eyes widened. "Good God, man, he was standing ten feet away talking to a leggy blond girl in an express delivery uniform! He didn't even seem to notice Lisa!"

  "It's not our business."

  Cy moved abruptly, standing up. "Okay. Point taken. Suppose we ride up to the boundary and take a look at the progress on that warehouse," he said. "We can take horses and pretend we're riding the fence line."

  Eb retrieved high-powered binoculars from the truck and by the time he got to the stable, Cy's young foreman had two horses saddled and waiting.

  "Mr. Scott!" Harley said with a starstruck grin, running an absent hand through his crew-cut light brown hair. "Nice to see you, sir!" He almost saluted. He knew about Mr. Scott's operation; he'd read all about it in his armchair covert operations magazine, to say nothing of the top secret newsletter to which he subscribed.

  Eb gave him a measuring glance and he didn't smile. "Do I know you, son?"

  "Oh, no, sir," Harley said quickly. "But I've read about your operation!"

  "I can imagine what," Eb chuckled. He stuck a cigar into his mouth and lit it.

  Cy mounted offside, from the right, because there wasn't enough strength in his left arm to permit him to grip the saddle horn and help pull himself up. He hated the show of weakness, which was all too visible. Up until the fire, he'd been in superb physical condition.

  "We're going to ride up to the northern boundary and check the fence line for breaks," Cy said imperturbably. "Get Jenkins started on the new gate as soon as he's through with breakfast."

  "He'll have to go pick it up at the hardware store first," Harley reminded him. "Just came in late yesterday."

  Cy gave him a look that would have frozen running water. He didn't say anything. But, then, he didn't have to.

  "I'll just go remind him," Harley said at once, and took off toward the bunkhouse.

  "Who is he?" Eb asked as they rode out of the yard.

  "My new foreman." Cy leaned toward him with mock awe. "He's a real mercenary, you know! Actually went on a mission early this summer!"

  "My God," Eb drawled. "Fancy that. A real live hero right here in the boonies."

  "Some hero," Cy muttered. "Chances are what he really did was to camp out in the woods for two weeks and help protect city campers from bears."

  Eb chuckled. "Remember how we were at his age?" he asked reminiscently. "We couldn't wait for people to see us in our gear. And then we found out that the real mercs don't advertise."

  "We were like Harley," Cy mused. "All talk and hot air."

  "And all smiles." Eb's eyes narrowed with memory. "I hadn't smiled for years by the
time I got out. It isn't romantic and no matter how good the pay is, it's never enough for what you have to do for it."

  "We did do a little good in the world," came the rejoinder.

  "Yes, I guess we did," Eb had to admit. "But our best job was breaking up one of Lopez's cocaine processing plants in Central America and helping put Lopez away. And here he is back, like a bad bouncing ball."

  "I knew his father," Cy said unexpectedly. "A good, honest, bighearted man who worked as a janitor just up the road in Victoria and studied English at home every night trying to better himself. He died just after he found out what his only child was doing for a living."

  Eb stared off into space. "You never know how kids will turn out."

  "I know how mine would have turned out," Cy said heavily. "One of his teachers was in an accident Not a well-liked teacher, but Alex started a fund for him and gave up a whole month's allowance to start it with." His face corded like wire. He had to swallow, hard, to keep his voice from breaking. The years hadn't made his memories any easier. Perhaps if he could help get Lopez back in prison, it might help.

  "We'll get Lopez," the other man said abruptly. "Whatever it takes, if I have to call in markers from all over the world. We'll get him."

  Cy came out of his brief torment and glanced at his comrade. "If we do, I get five minutes alone with him."

  "Not a chance," Eb said with a grin. "I remember what you can do in five minutes, and I want him tried properly."

  "He already was."

  "Yes, but he was caught and tried back east. This time we'll manage to apprehend him right here in Texas and we'll stack the legal deck by having the best prosecuting attorney in the state brought in to do the job. The Hart boys are related to the state attorney general-he's their big brother."

  "I'd forgotten.” He glanced at Eb. His eyes were briefly less tormented. "Okay. I guess I can give the court a second chance. Not their fault that Lopez can afford defense attorneys in Armani suits, I guess,"

  "Absolutely. And if we can catch him with enough laundered money in his pockets and invoke the RICO statutes, we can fund some nice improvements for our drug enforcement people."

  They'd arrived at the northernmost boundary of Cy's property, and barely in sight across the high-wire fence was a huge construction site. From their concealed position in a small stand of trees near a stream, Eb took his binoculars and gave the area a thorough scrutiny. He handed them to Cy, who looked as well and then handed them back.

  "Recognize anybody?" Cy asked.

  Eb shook his head. "None of them are familiar. But I'll bet if you looked in the right places, you could find a rap sheet or two. Lopez isn't too picky about pedigrees. He just likes men who don't mind doing whatever the job takes. Last I heard, he had several foreign nationals in his employ." He sighed. "I sure as hell don't want a drug distribution network out here."

  "Neither do I. We'd better go have a word with Bill Elliott at the sheriffs office."

  Cy shrugged. "You'd better have a word with him by yourself, if you want to get anywhere, I'd jinx you."

  "I remember now. You had words with him over Belinda Jessup's summer camp."

  "Hard words," Cy agreed uncomfortably. "I've mellowed since, though."

  "You and the KGB." He pulled his hat further over his eyes. "We'd better get out of here before they spot us."

  "I can see people coming."

  "They can see you coming, too."

  "That should worry them," Cy agreed, grinning.

  Eb chuckled. It was rare these days to see a smile on that hard face. He wheeled his horse, leaving Cy to follow.

  That afternoon, Eb drove over to the Johnson place to pick up Sally and Stevie for their self-defense practice.

  Sally's eyes lit up when she saw him and he felt his heart jump. She made him feel warm inside, as if he finally belonged somewhere. Stevie ran past his aunt to be caught up and swung around in Eb's muscular arms.

  "How's Jess?" Eb asked.

  Sally made a face and glanced back toward the house. "Dallas got here just before you did. It's sort of unarmed combat in there. They aren't even speaking to each other."

  "Ah, well," he mused. "Things will improve eventually."

  "Do you gamble?" she teased. "I feel a lucky streak coming on."

  He chuckled as he loaded them into the pickup. No, he wasn't willing to bet on friendlier relations on that front. Not yet, anyway.

  "How much do you know about surveillance equipment?" Sally asked unexpectedly.

  He gave her a look of exaggerated patience. "With my background, how much do you think I know?"

  She laughed. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Can a microphone really pick up voices inside the house? Jess tried to convince me that they could hear us through the walls and we had to be very careful what we discussed. I mentioned that Lopez man and she shushed me immediately."

  He glanced at her as he drove. "You've got a lot to learn. I suppose now is as good a time as any to teach you."

  When he parked the truck at the front door, he led her inside, parking Stevie at the kitchen table with Carl, his cook, who dished up some ice cream for the child while Eb led Sally down the long hall and into a huge room literally crammed with electronic equipment.

  He motioned her into a chair and keyed his security camera to a distant view of two cowboys working on a piece of machinery halfway down a rutted path in the meadow.

  He flipped a switch and she heard one cowboy muttering to the other about the sorry state of modern tools and how even rusted files were better than what passed for a file today.

  They weren't even talking loud, and if there was a microphone, it must be mounted on the barn wall outside. She looked at Eb with wide, frankly disbelieving eyes.

  He flipped the switch and the screen was silent again. "Most modern sound equipment can pick up a whisper several hundred yards away." He indicated a shelf upon which sat several pair of odd-looking binoculars. "Night vision. I can see anything on a moonless night with those, and I've got others that detect heat patterns in the dark."

  "You have got to be kidding!"

  "We have cameras hidden in books and cigarette packs, we have weapons that can be broken down and hidden in boots," he continued. "Not to mention this."

  He indicated his watch, a quite normal looking one with all sorts of dials. Normal until he adjusted it and a nasty-looking little blade popped out. Her gasp was audible.

  He could see the realization in her eyes as the purpose of the blade registered there. She looked up at him and saw the past. His past.

  His green eyes narrowed as they searched hers. "You hadn't really thought about exactly what sort of work I did, had you?"

  She shook her head. She was a little paler now.

  "I lived in dangerous places, in dangerous times. It's only in recent years that I've stopped looking over my shoulder and sitting with my back against a wall." He touched her face. "Lopez's men can hear you through a wall, with the television on. Don't ever forget. Say nothing that you don't want recorded for posterity."

  "This Lopez man is very dangerous, isn't he?" she asked.

  "He's the most dangerous man I know. He hires killers. He has no compassion, no mercy, and he'll do absolutely anything for profit. If his henchman hadn't sold him out, he'd never have been taken into custody in this country. It was a fluke."

  She looked around her curiously. "Could he overhear you in here?"

  He smiled gently. "Not a chance in hell."

  "It looks like something out of Star Wars" she mused.

  He grinned. "Speaking of movies, how would you and Stevie like to go see a new science fiction flick with me Saturday?"

  "Could we?" she asked.

  "Sure." His eyes danced wickedly at the idea of sitting in a darkened theater with her...

  Chapter Six

  Sally found the workouts easier to do as they progressed from falls to defensive moves. Not only was it exciting to learn such skills, but the constant physical con
tact with Eb was delightful. She couldn't really hide that from him. He saw right through her diversionary tactics, grinning when she asked for short breaks.

  Stevie was also taking to the exercise with enthusiasm. It wasn't hard to teach him that such things had no place at school, either. Even at his young age, he seemed to understand that martial arts were for recreation after school and never for the playground.

  "It goes with the discipline," Eb informed her when she told him about it. "Most people who watch martial arts films automatically assume that we teach children to hurt each other. It's not like that. What we teach is a way to raise self-esteem and self-confidence. If you know you can handle yourself in a bad situation, you're less likely to go out and try to beat somebody up to prove it. It's lack of self-confidence, lack of self-esteem, that drives a lot of kids to violence."

  "That, and a very sad lack of attention by the adults around them," Sally said quietly. "It takes two incomes to run a household these days, but it's the kids who are suffering for it. Any gang member will tell you the reason he joined a gang was because he wanted to be part of a family. But how do we change things so that parents can earn a living and still have enough free time to raise their children?"

  He put both hands on his narrow hips and studied her closely. "If I could answer that question, I'd run for public office."

  She grinned at him. "I can see you now, mopping the floor with the criminal element on the streets."

  He shrugged. "Piece of cake compared to what I used to do for a living."

  Her pale eyes searched his lean, scarred face while Stevie fell from one side of the mat to another practicing his technique. "I rented one of those old mercenary films and watched it. Do you guys really throw grenades and use rocket launchers?"

  A dark, odd look came into his pale eyes. "Among other things," he said.

  "Such as?" she prompted.

  "High-tech equipment like the stuff you saw in my office. Plastic explosive charges, small arms, whatever we had. But most of what we do now is intelligence-gathering and tactics. And intelligence gathering," he told her dryly, "is about as exciting as two-hour-old cereal in milk."