For a moment, Monte feared Dawson would stand up and take a swing at Jeff. Not that Jeff could not defend himself, but Millie certainly didn't need a brawl in her quiet and pleasant shop. The big man made grumbling noises for a few seconds, then he swiveled back to face the counter and lifted his mug.
Jeff was smiling as he returned. When he slid back into the booth, he winked at Monte. "I take it he doesn't patronize your place?"
Monte shrugged. "I don't carry guns and ammo. I didn't want the hassle of getting a license for that, and I'm not a hunter. I do some target and trap shooting, but that's different. There's a gun store here anyway, across town just west of the freeway. I didn't figure I could compete with them or that I needed to try."
Jeff nodded his understanding. "Probably more trouble than it's worth all right. I don't have any issues with guns used in a legal and safe way, but I never got into that. My dad's a fisherman, but not much on hunting, and I never took it up."
An inner smile warmed through Monte. The more he saw and heard of Jeff, the better he liked the taller man. A good guy to have in your corner, no bully, but able to stand up for what he believes and more than willing to do so. I hope we can get to be real friends. He didn't seem to be put off by realizing I'm gay. That doesn't mean he is, but...
His thought was interrupted when the waitress approached, refilled their cups and laid the tickets on the table. Monte grabbed them. "My treat today. I'm flush, remember? I made a sale."
They walked out together. Monte waited while Jeff rummaged in the truck and got out Dawson's package. The big man came lumbering out of the coffee shop, grabbed the bulky package without so much as a thank you and headed toward his muddy truck, parked two spaces behind the delivery van.
"Nice guy," Jeff said, sarcasm tingeing his tone. "I hope there aren't a lot like him around here. That could put a bad smell to a place that otherwise seems to be real pleasant."
"For what it's worth, he's the only one of that stripe I've encountered so far. I think there are some other eccentric folks living up in the hills, but they don't seem to bother anyone. I guess every community has one or two like him, though."
Monte was sorry to see Jeff drive away, although he knew they both had things to do. Jeff had deliveries to make, and he had two boxes of snowboards to unpack. Well, he could look forward to the next visit. With any luck it would be soon.
* * * *
Jeff watched the warehouse crew load his van. As soon as they were done, he drove a few blocks to a garage on the alley and entered from the back. There Barton Gage, a fellow agent with a detection dog, checked over each package. The canny canine could detect drugs, some explosives, and other hazardous materials by odor. They'd have to be packed hermetically to avoid detection by the dog's sensitive nose. Today, like each day for the past week, everything seemed to be clean.
"Nothing," Barton said, as he led the dog from the van. "I sure hope we aren't on some wild goose chase here."
"Me, too," Jeff agreed. "Even though this delivery gig is easier than some undercover jobs I've done. So far nobody's shooting at me anyway. I had a minor run-in with some yahoo out at Cameron Creek the other day, but I'd classify him as the village idiot with an attitude. Nothing to do with this case."
"Well, go fight crime," Barton said, a crooked grin marking his craggy face. "Something has gotta bust loose on this before long. I'm due home in another week. The old lady gets restless if I'm gone too long."
Jeff rolled his eyes. He knew perfectly well that Barton's wife was the soul of patience, but she was probably glad to have her contrary husband--and his dog--out of her hair for a while. "I hope so, before I get too comfortable with this new guise anyway. I might be tempted to change jobs."
"Nah, no freakin' way. You're too addicted to the adrenaline rush, just like the rest of us."
Although Jeff denied it, he knew there was more than a grain of truth in his partner's assessment. The highs you got when things became really tense and dangerous did tend to grow on you until they became an addiction. After his years in the military, work for Homeland Security in a shadow arm of Customs provided plenty of action most of the time.
Barton secured the dog and then opened the garage doors so Jeff could drive out. He headed toward the freeway and the fifteen-mile trip out to Cameron Creek, mentally sorting through the businesses to which he'd made deliveries so far, playing a game of trying to identify the one dealing in contraband who they were after. So far he didn't have even an intuitive sense.
Except it can't be Monte. No, scratch that. I know better than to let emotion color my judgment. As much as I'd like to get closer to him, I shouldn't until this case is cleared up--and then I'll have to move on to the next one. Shit, sometimes life flat-out sucks.
Chapter 2
* * *
Monte was in the back trying to get things arranged a little better when he heard the bell on the shop's door. Straightening from his crouch over a box, he stumbled as he headed for the doorway to the front.
Drake Dawson stood there, glowering around the store. He wasn't wearing the plaid coat today, but instead had on a BDU jacket that matched his typical cammo pants.
"Awright, what the fuck you do with my package? I ordered another case of ammo and it ain't come yet, so I'm gonna bet that worthless delivery dude just left it here. He won't drive out my road--prob'ly too lazy to open the three gates."
"I haven't received any packages that weren't addressed to my business. I don't think Jeff would fail to deliver a package if it came. He's very conscientious."
Dawson snorted. "Conscientious, my ass. Any pretty boy with shorts in the dead of the winter has to be some kind of faggot. Come to think of it, you have that look about you, too. We don't need none of that kind around here. Hell, kids come into this store."
"Mr. Dawson, I don't care for your insinuations. You're not welcome in my store, as you have no business with me. I told you I don't carry firearms or ammunition and don't plan to. I suggest you get out of here before I call the police."
Instead of turning back to the door, Dawson took a step forward. He was close enough Monte could smell his unwashed stench and see the dirt crusted on his shirt, the black crescents under his nails and the oily sheen of his long, graying hair. Monte was not afraid, but he really didn't want to have to use some martial arts moves to take the big man down in self-defense. It was likely to get rough and messy enough to trash at least part of his shop. That was about the last thing he needed.
Maybe Dawson read the determination in Monte's face or thought better of what he might have been about to do. He took one step backwards, then swiveled ponderously. "If you see that delivery guy, you tell him my package better be at my place tomorrow. Otherwise, he'll wish he'd brought it."
Dawson was barely out the door when the delivery truck pulled up at Monte's door. Jeff got out and came directly into the shop. "Did I just see that jerk Dawson leave?"
Monte nodded. "Yeah, he came in claiming he was missing a package. Some ammo he'd ordered was late arriving. I assured him it wasn't here."
Jeff looked thoughtful for a moment, his mobile lips drawn tight. "Something about that guy offends my not over-delicate sensibilities. He's a real pig--fat, dirty, foul-mouthed..."
"He's a bully. I don't think he'd risk mixing it up with anybody who stands up to him, but if you roll over and play dead, he'll march those combat boots all over you."
"I don't think he's the one..." Jeff fell silent abruptly, gave his head a shake.
"What?" Monte was confused. What had Jeff started to say and what did he mean?
"Nothing," Jeff said after a moment. "Kind of thinking out loud, but it's not important. What I was really about to say is, are you doing anything this evening? 'Cause if you aren't busy, I thought you might like to get together for dinner. Then after that we could go to a meeting for a new group I heard about. They're hoping to set up some van trips into the Sierras to ski and snowboard in the winter and hike and climb in mil
der weather. We're both interested in that stuff, and I figured you might scare up a few customers."
"What time? I close at five so it'd have to be after that, plus I'd have to add in driving time down to Junction City. I assume that's where you live and all this is happening, right?"
Again Monte was caught off guard. They'd hit it off pretty well so far, but a social invitation still surprised him.
"I'm usually done about that time, turning my truck in and heading home for the night. I've got a place on Sierra Street, but figured we could pick somewhere close to eat. What kind of grub do you favor?"
Monte couldn't resist a grin. "I'm kind of a see-food man. If I see it, I'll eat it, but I do have a special fondness for Chinese, Mexican and real Italian...the authentic stuff, not the Americanized or fast food kind."
"A man after my own heart." Jeff nodded. "There's a real good little Italian place about three blocks from my place. It's called Cara Roma, and it's just a little family-run joint. They do a lot more than spaghetti and meatballs, and I haven't had a bad meal there yet."
He sketched a quick map on the back of one of Monte's invoices, then got ready to continue his route. At the door, he hesitated and looked back. "That guy Dawson starting to make a nuisance of himself?"
Monte shook his head. "Not really. Don't worry. I can take care of myself if it comes to that, but I don't think it will. I did karate for about ten years growing up and I still remember most of the moves."
"Oh, I wasn't worried about you. I'm sure you can handle things, but I was just starting to wonder what Dawson's game is here. Why would he go out of his way to be obnoxious?"
"He's just the obnoxious type, I'd say. Likes to throw his weight around, all that pork, but if you stand up to him, he backs down pretty fast. I don't consider him a threat."
Jeff still waited, a hand on the doorknob and a pensive, distant expression on his face. For a minute he did not look like a simple young man with no greater ambition than to drive a delivery van in a small rural community. Someone else lived behind his normally bland and easy going façade. Monte studied his new friend, suddenly a puzzle, a dichotomy and a contradiction. He wanted to ask just who Jeff really was, but the moment passed.
Jeff grinned and sauntered out. "See ya tonight. Bring your appetite."
* * * *
Monte had the devil's own time concentrating for the rest of the day. The itchy anticipation dancing along his nerves confirmed what he already suspected. He'd developed one king-sized crush on Jeff Hardesty. Maybe tonight he'd find out if something similar were happening to Jeff.
It's probably just a casual, social thing. He's new to the area, too, and can't know too many people yet, so he's probably just a little lonely, maybe bored. His job can't be all that demanding. I think I'd be bored stiff before long. But then that's me, not Jeff. I can't get my hopes up too high. It'll just lead to disappointment.
He had two walk-ins later in the afternoon and one of them bought a pair of in-line skates. They both looked like they were in the military--young men with close-cropped hair and just a little bit neater in their dress than most of their civilian counterparts. Maybe the colonel's son and a couple of other people from the air base were spreading the word about Sportsman's Stop.
That would be good. It might allow him to survive and even start to make a small profit.
* * * *
Jeff hustled on the rest of his route. He did find a package for Drake, placed out of order by the boys who'd loaded his truck. But then it was heavy, and they probably didn't want any smaller boxes crushed. Ammo. That much was clear from the label and the substantial weight and solidness of the box.
Hmmm. This guy is buying an awful lot of ammo lately. Wonder why? He's a hunting guide so guess that's a valid reason, but this company sells mostly military and large caliber stuff. You might take it on a safari for some really big game, but deer don't need that much power. I'd better nose around a little more and see what he's up to.
Jeff found it hard to imagine the big, sloppy man was the smuggler he was looking for. Shit, the guy hardly seems smart enough to swat a fly, but that could just be a pose. Sometimes too obvious is as much of a clue as subtle and understated.
He had to get out and open three gates to get to Drake's log cabin about five hundred feet above the valley floor in the foothills. Although the road was rough, it wasn't really difficult. His delivery van navigated it with no trouble.
When he pulled into the yard, he looked around. There was no one in sight. He could probably just leave the box on the rickety-looking porch, even though policy required him to get a signature for it. Just then, the door opened. A small, dark woman stepped out. Her furtive look and way of moving reminded Jeff of a chipmunk sensing a nearby hawk.
"I have a package for Mr. Drake. Somebody needs to sign for it. Is he here?"
She shook her head. "No, he's not here. I'll sign for it."
Her signature on the electronic tablet was clear and neat. "Willow Wolfe." It was hard to tell, but Jeff guessed she might be Native American. She reached for the box, but Jeff carried it to the porch. "It's too heavy," he explained. "Probably weighs as much as you do."
The woman glanced at him quickly and then away. "Thanks." Then she scooted back into the house before he reached his truck.
He had an impression of a curtain shifting as he started the van and backed up to make the sharp turn out of the yard. It looked like someone had been watching from inside. Drake or someone else? It really didn't matter, but Jeff noticed things like that. You never knew when one misplaced piece of information could prove critical.
He drove back down faster than he had come up, trying not to acknowledge the surge of anticipation that swept over him when he thought about spending the evening with Monte. Even if his impulsive invitation was stupid, he could rationalize it in a dozen ways. He'd keep things casual and resist the tug of lust and interest that did not want to leave him alone. Until this damned investigation was done, he could not afford to lose his focus. Any kind of a real relationship would do that, big time. It was a risk he couldn't afford. It was a breach of policy likely to turn and bite him in the ass. It was a mistake he would not make a second time in his life, no matter how much he was tempted.
Yeah, right. And pigs can fly like sea gulls. Well, I don't have to do anything about it anyway.
With a mixture of feelings ranging from chagrin to regret to eagerness, he headed down the highway, his deliveries all made and a dealer of contraband still at large.
* * * *
The afternoon dragged for Monte. He knew he was putting too much significance on Jeff's casual invitation. Once again he lectured himself... Hell, the guy's probably feeling as isolated as I am, being even newer to the area and having no idea where people hang out. If he really is gay--and he hasn't come across that way--he probably senses, like I have, that any locals are in a double-doored closet to keep out of the way of people like Dawson.
Still, he closed a few minutes early, hurried the two blocks to his apartment in a small, quiet complex, and showered and dressed in record time. By five-thirty he was heading down the highway toward Junction City. He set the cruise control on his Subaru SUV to be sure he didn't speed. The short stretch of interstate between Cameron Creek and Junction City was known locally as a speed trap.
Monte had memorized the rough map Jeff had sketched on the back of a shipping document, but he glanced at it again as he took the first exit and turned at the foot of the ramp. It was only a few blocks to the address Jeff had given him. When he pulled up in the parking lot of the unassuming restaurant, he saw Jeff was already there, standing beside a somewhat battered dark blue Ford Explorer. Monte parked in the adjacent space and got out, his heart accelerating at the sight of Jeff's wide, welcoming grin.
"Hey, you made it, right on time if not early. I just got here. I was going to go in and get us a table and then come back to watch for you. No trouble finding the place, huh?"
Smiling bac
k, Monte shook his head. "You do a mean map there, buddy."
The small café was everything Jeff had said. The food was terrific. Knowing he'd be driving, Monte limited himself to one glass of the rich red house wine with a half-refill from the carafe the smiling waitress provided although he could have enjoyed more. He hated to leave one scrap of the delicious cantalone alfredo, but the heaping plate proved to be too much. Still he enjoyed every rich and tasty bite.
They talked over the meal as if they had been lifelong friends, sharing funny stories from their younger days. Jeff dropped enough hints that Monte grew more assured the other man was at least bi if not gay, and probably was interested, but approaching the matter with caution.
The table was small, and now and then their knees bumped. Monte noticed that Jeff did not jump back or seem shocked by the contact. And he sure wasn't about to. Every little bump sent a tingle along his nerves. He had to wonder what a more intimate touch would do? Then they both reached for the wine carafe at the same time and their fingers tangled briefly around the cool smooth glass, For a split second, Jeff's expressive gaze met his, dark eyes sparkling as if they shared a joke. Monte's heart did a quick flip-flop that left him dizzy.
Still Monte respected the need for caution. He'd been burned more than once and seldom moved even as quickly as he found himself wanting to this time.
* * * *
The meeting went well, too, and Monte met several people who expressed an interest in his shop and the merchandise he offered. They were not happy with the big name outdoor store in the local mall that seemed to cater more to the image-conscious than the serious sportsmen and women. Monte assured them all that he worked hard to keep his prices within reach of the average young professional or working family and would special order anything he didn't have in stock.
They'd driven Jeff's vehicle over from the café and now headed back so Monte could reclaim his for the drive home. The wind had picked up while they were in the meeting room, and Monte noticed only a few of the usual stars were visible. He tried to recall if a storm was predicted, but he drew a blank.
Special Delivery Page 2
