Luke (Armed and Dangerous Book 2)

by Cheyenne McCray

  “Yeah, right.” Trinity turned back to the mirror and pushed her strawberry blond hair on top of her head to see if it would look better up, and frowned at her reflection. The row of gold hoop earrings down her left ear glittered in the room’s soft lighting. While she was in England, just to be different and a little quirky, she’d had five piercings done on her left ear, with only two on her right.

  It felt like a step out of Skylar’s shadow, and a big leap away from the shy, awful days of Meaty MacKenna.

  It’s old stuff, Trin. Grow up.

  But coming home again...

  Yeah. Coming home brought back the specter of that quiet, hurting large girl who barely made it out of Arizona alive.

  Truth be told, if Trinity hadn’t been changing jobs, and if Skylar hadn’t e-mailed her to tell her about the rustling troubles at the MacKenna ranch, she never would have come home.

  Since she got here and found out the rustling problem was over, Trinity still hadn’t been able to bring herself to call Skylar or see her. After a combined ICE-DEA operation, Skylar and the Flying M were safe again—but the place didn’t feel safe to return to Trinity in so many ways.

  Trinity knew she needed to force herself to visit her sister, but it felt so horribly much like stepping back in time, like surrendering all the progress she had made in life.

  Trinity sighed. “Skylar’s always been the beautiful one in the family. The thinnest, the smartest—even the best barrel racer.”

  “Being a rodeo queen doesn’t make Skylar MacKenna royalty,” Nevaeh said, looking more serious than Trinity had seen her since she got back to town. “Let me take you downstairs, and we’ll see who gets the royal treatment from every eligible male in the room—and half the ineligible ones, too.”

  Nevaeh slapped Trinity’s ass hard enough to make her jump.

  “Hey.” She rubbed her stinging butt cheek with one hand and glared at Nevaeh over her shoulder. “You’re not acquiring an ass fetish, are you?”

  Shaking her head, Nevaeh scooped up a gold hairclip from the antique vanity table. “Sooner or later, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to your sister. Now sit.” Nevaeh placed her hands on Trinity’s shoulders and firmly pushed her down onto the bench in front of the vanity mirror. “Look at all you’ve accomplished.”

  Trinity shrugged. “No big deal.”

  Nevaeh narrowed her gaze at Trinity’s reflection. “Graduated with honors from U of A. Hired by Wildgames—only the best software company in the world. Never mind jetting all over Europe and shooting up the corporate ladder. Hell, you practically ran Wildgames’s software development until they got bought out last month—and DropCaps Digital snapped you up with a giant bonus and a month off.”

  She gathered Trinity’s hair into the clip and didn’t even stop for a breath. “And don’t forget the best part. You’re still dating an English god.”

  Trinity knew better than to interrupt Nevaeh on a rant, even to tell her she wasn’t sure about her long-distance relationship with Race Bentham. Her friend barreled along like a boulder rolling downhill when she had a point to make, and she’d freak if Trinity mentioned she might be dumping a handsome, wealthy businessman with a Ferrari and a way-hot British accent.

  “And now you look incredible,” Nevaeh finished as she fluffed the soft cloud of curls left out of the clip. “Like you walked out of Cosmopolitan.”

  Trinity couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s enthusiastic support. “It’s funny how confident and successful I’ve felt since I left home.” Her smile faded a bit. “Until my airplane landed in Tucson. Now... I don’t know. Time warp. I feel like I’m the old Trinity instead of the new Trinity.”

  “Close your eyes.” Nevaeh held up the hairspray can.

  Trinity obeyed and held her breath as the spray hissed and a wet mist surrounded her. When she heard the can clunk on the dresser, she opened her eyes again and saw Nevaeh’s reflection. She had her arms folded, her blue-green gaze focused on Trinity in the mirror.

  “You know what I see?” Nevaeh asked.

  Trinity gave her friend an impish grin as she waved away the lingering smell of melon-scented hairspray. “A redhead in a too-small red dress with no bra?”

  “Turn.” Nevaeh didn’t even crack a smile as Trinity slid around on the polished bench to face her friend.

  “Don’t tell me.” Trinity scrunched her nose as though she was seriously considering Nevaeh’s question. “A girl with strawberry blond hair and freckles?”

  “I see the same Trinity MacKenna that I’ve known and loved—only with bright, beautiful wings.” Nevaeh crouched so that she was eye level with Trinity and rested her hands on the bench to either side of Trinity’s hips. “Honey, you’ve always been a butterfly. You just finally had a chance to come out of your cocoon.”

  Warmth rushed through Trinity and she bit the inside of her lip before saying, “You’re wonderful, you know that? You always know the right things to say.”

  Nevaeh adjusted the spaghetti strap of Trinity’s dress, a no- nonsense look on her stunning features. “Hush up and get that tiny ass downstairs. It’s time to soar, Ms. Butterfly. Besides, I want to see which of my moneybags charity donors falls all over himself first.”

  Chapter 3

  Luke hitched one hip against the bar while he nursed his fancy imported beer—twenty dollars a mug for charity’s sake—and studied the crowded reception room of Bisbee’s best-known bed-and-breakfast.

  According to Skylar MacKenna, Nevaeh always threw one hell of a holiday party in the name of toys and medical care for the towns’ orphans. It looked like everyone with a sizeable bank account in Bisbee and Douglas had turned out for it again this year. Especially the people he was most interested in seeing.

  Skylar played a good ranch “boss” to help his cover, even though she now knew he was DEA and not just a damn good foreman. Too bad Zack Hunter had showed back up when he did and swept Skylar off her teet. If he hadn’t, Luke would have asked the woman out, rules be damned.

  Not going there tonight.

  Not with three dead college kids on his mind, a bunch of blood on the Larson ranch, and a turf war exploding along a stretch of border land not big enough to hold that level of violence. Time to get down to business. The job had been his life anyway, for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to do something other than work.

  There was no way the Guerrero operation was running so smoothly in a place like Douglas without some local help. The DEA had long believed there had to be somebody cooperating, somebody with a ranching pedigree and some border land, or another front or cover that made it easier for the Guerrero cartel to move their drugs into the United States.

  This person wouldn’t have been born into a drug dynasty like Francisco Guerrero, and this person might screw up and leave a trail to follow. Whoever was making Douglas hospitable to the cartel might be the key to tearing down Guerrero’s perfect little world.

  Luke took another swig of his beer, then strode directly up to the next suspect on the list the DEA had developed in its year of research before sending Luke and Rios into the field.

  Bull Fenning, wearing pressed jeans and a crisp red flannel shirt despite the more formal occasion, claimed his scotch on the rocks from the bartender just as Luke drew even with him. He turned toward Luke, and he caught a flicker of surprise in the big man’s frost-gray eyes.

  Fenning’s thick white eyebrows lifted, and the lines in his weathered face tightened as he said, “Well, now, Mr. Rider. This party’s steep for a ranch hand.”

  “Foreman.” Luke offered his hand for Fenning to shake despite the dig. “But you’re right. I’m here representing the Flying M, since Skylar MacKenna couldn’t come.”

  “I forgot. Still on her honeymoon, even though she’s back in town.” Fenning grinned, but his expression remained wary.

  Luke gave a smile in return, just enough to keep some sort of rapport with Fenning. The old man was a big-time rancher in the area who had a big-ti
me grudge against undocumented aliens— UDAs—for damaging his fence line.

  He’d lost thousands of dollars’ worth of cattle off his Bar F Ranch in the rustling operation Luke had helped to bust, and then he lost even more when the fences got cut. The cattle strayed out and died after getting into some bad feed.

  But Fenning had recovered quickly. Maybe too quickly. DEA financial snoops were doing their best to figure out where Fenning’s stream of cash came from, since his insurance and the income from his stock, weren’t sufficient to cover that kind of disaster.

  “Glad to see the Bar F made it back so fast from losing so much of your herd.” Luke kept his tone conversational, relying on his cover as a ranch hand to make him nonthreatening. “Skylar said she’d never have been able to come back from a hit that big.”

  “Skylar trusts banks. The government.” Fenning drank his scotch in one gulp, then set his glass on the bar for a refill. His cheeks flushed maroon—maybe from emotion, maybe from alcohol. “My daddy taught me not to put all my bullets in one gun.”

  Luke responded with a practiced silence, but he widened his eyes, playing his role as a younger man interested in Fenning’s wisdom.

  Fenning picked up his refilled scotch. “Diversity. That’s the key. You want to stay in business, you better know how to diversify. Always have one stream of income that won’t let you down, and a stash of cash the government can’t touch.” He killed the drink, and his face turned redder as his expression relaxed.

  Luke shifted his weight back and opened his stance to give the appearance of even greater interest. “So, if I get to the point where I can buy my own ranch and run my own cattle, what other streams of income should I think about?”

  The hard wariness came back in a rush, and Fenning answered with a snort. “Son, if you disappeared from Douglas tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss you. What makes you think I’m ready to tell you my business secrets?”

  Luke shrugged, as if to say, fair enough. “Maybe down the road, I can do some work for you—show you what I’m worth.”

  “I got myself a good foreman,” the old man grumbled, but Luke heard the hint of interest. Fenning’s foreman, Brad Taylor, was infamous in the community of ranch hands for partying hard, staying out late just about every night, and barely getting to work on time. Luke also heard that Taylor had a penchant for twins... at the same time. Maybe Fenning found that interesting enough to keep Taylor around.

  “If something changes, let me know.” Luke gave a short nod then took a drink of his beer as he moved away from Bull Fenning before he overplayed his hand. Every detail of the conversation was recorded in his mind to share with Rios.

  Diversity. Secrets. Cash the government didn’t know about. Definitely merited more digging—though the old man might be making his bucks filming Taylor’s exploits.

  Luke made his way across the room to Gina Garcia, a statuesque blond who had bought the old Karchner K, a couple miles north of the Bar F. Drug activity had escalated since her arrival in the area, and some big busts had been made in a corridor discovered between the Bar F and the K & K. Luke’s gut instinct told him that the single mother had nothing to do with Guerrero or the new operation that was starting the turf war, but it wouldn’t hurt to question her and check out the K & K for good measure.

  Gina was decked out in a long green dress and a glittering gold locket. Classy. Definitely easy on the eyes. Looked like she was born to wear evening gowns and sip champagne—so why was she so nervous she was picking lint off a branch on the Christmas tree?

  “Evening,” he said as he approached her, then felt bad when she jumped.

  Gina’s long fingers fluttered against her chest. Her green eyes went wide, but she seemed to relax when she saw who was speaking. “Luke. What are you—oh. Skylar MacKenna couldn’t come because she just got married.”

  Luke nodded. “Skylar says every ranch owner around Douglas has to do their part for this shindig to work. But yeah. She wasn’t ready to give up her alone time with her new husband.”

  Gina’s smile trembled. “I wish I had an excuse. Especially a good one like that.”

  When her voice faltered, Luke realized she was about to cry.

  Ah, hell.

  Did he have a handkerchief?

  With his free hand, he felt the back pocket of his pants through his duster, but he hadn’t come prepared for this.

  “I mean, it’s just—well.” Gina’s voice dropped. “Everything’s so expensive. I didn’t realize I’d have to pay for more than the tickets. But it’s charity. And like Skylar said, if you own a ranch around Douglas or Bisbee, it’s expected.”

  Luke thought he was beginning to understand. “If it’s too much for you, Ms. Garcia, you don’t have to stay.”

  “Gina, please.” She lowered her hand, and seemed to relax even more. She wasn’t flirting with him, not really, but Luke could tell flirting was a natural habit she was suppressing—probably because it seemed out of place at a highbrow event like this.

  “It’s hard, getting in with the ranching and business crowd in Douglas, Luke.” Gina nodded toward Bull Fenning, who was terrorizing the bartender, who apparently didn’t want to serve him another drink so quickly. “My herd’s small, but the stock’s strong. I need them to know I’m going to keep building—and that I can hold my own.”

  Luke took a taste of his beer. “Got it. Tough for a woman to make it as a rancher, even in the twenty-first century.”

  “Skylar’s doing it. I can, too. No matter what it takes.” Gina’s anxiety shifted to anger so quickly Luke almost raised his eyebrows. “My daughter deserves a fresh start and a good home. She’s only eight. I have to show her how to be strong.”

  Fresh start—now that’s interesting.

  How far would this woman go for her daughter’s welfare?

  Guerrero’s people were opportunistic and ruthless as hell. Luke wouldn’t put it past them to use a child to get what they wanted from the girl’s mother.

  We need to put more surveillance on the old K & K.

  He was about to offer to help Gina feign illness and make her exit before she bankrupted herself for a soft drink when a loud female voice intruded into their conversation.

  “Hello, there. You are one fine slice of cowboy.” A good-looking gray-eyed brunette edged up beside Gina Garcia, smiling at Luke and sticking her chest in his direction. The curve of her breasts was halfway to obscene through her thin black dress, and her manner left no doubt she’d be a willing roll in the hay.

  Luke tipped back his beer bottle for another swallow. He had no interest in women who were that obvious. A little chase was more interesting.

  “I’m Joyce Butler,” the woman said, extending her hand.

  Luke made himself give her fingers a squeeze, but only because Ms. Joyce Butler was on his list. Rich father, politically connected. Her family had a massive amount of border land on the outskirts of Douglas—and Butler’s Rocking B hooked on the old K & K ranch. More importantly, Joyce Butler had reportedly been tight with Gary Woods, the sheriff’s deputy who went bad, rustled cattle for Guerrero, and tried to kill Skylar. Joyce Butler had dated the bastard at one time, and she might have information about the Guerrero operation, whether she knew it or not.

  When Joyce Butler gave him a quick wink, Luke sighed and took another drink of his overpriced beer. Damn. He’d bet his Stetson she was already planning a make-out session in the corner, or imagining that they’d do it right on the dance floor.

  Gina Garcia mumbled a few excuses, then hurried away into the crowd, abandoning Luke with Joyce.

  “Who are you, handsome?” Joyce’s voice had a rich, silky quality.

  “Hired help,” he said, hoping it would back her off a step. “I’m here for Skylar MacKenna.”

  Joyce pushed a strand of her curly hair behind one ear and moved even closer to him. “Then you’re Luke Rider. Her foreman. I’ve heard half the girls in town talking about you.”

  “Guilty,” Luke admitted, maki
ng note of all the potential exits in the room.

  “A foreman.” Joyce brushed her chest against his, then moved back, like it might have been an accident. “I’m sure you know how to ride.”

  Luke went to take a drink of his beer, but he’d already drained it. Fast as a flash, Joyce had his empty bottle out of his hand, trailing her nails over his knuckles as she took it away from him. Then she was off toward the bar, her hips bouncing back and forth like somebody was hitting drums and cymbals to keep the rhythm.

  She works it well, but I don”t want that.

  But, hell. He didn’t know what he really wanted anymore. His dedication to his work had cost him every important relationship he’d ever managed to build, so he’d stopped bothering to try. Skylar MacKenna—yeah, she had piqued his interest before Zack Hunter had come back, but he’d never acted on it.

  And then there was Rylie Thorn—a real spitfire friend of Skylar’s. Now, that woman might have sparked Luke’s libido if she hadn’t reminded him so much of his younger sister.

  Luke watched as Joyce passed by Cochise County’s new sheriff, Clay Wayland. Wayland was at the buffet table, talking to a sexy cowgirl with brown hair and blue eyes, who owned a ranch just east of Douglas.

  New man in town, around the same time as the new competition for the Guerreros. Despite Luke’s earlier conversation with Wayland, the fact the sheriff could be involved had potential, though Luke couldn’t imagine two crooked lawmen in the same small town. By and large, those who swore to serve and protect did exactly that.

  Wayland’s attention was on the cowgirl—was he just being polite or horny, or was he investigating some lead or other? As Luke watched, Wayland excused himself from the woman and took a call. A few seconds later, the man left without looking back, and

  Luke figured he’d gotten the call about the trouble at the Larson ranch that Rios had informed Luke of earlier.