When the gun was in his hand, with that tall hat, he really looked like he belonged here. Or maybe in a Western movie.
Shame the villain can't be make believe too, I thought.
His eyes looked just like they did that morning after we'd finished. I shivered, imagining his seed deep inside me, working to create a new life as I learned to defend my territory by taking life if I needed to.
“Let's go again. You got four more cans to bounce off that fence before we're done here. Come on, Misty. I know you can do it,” he whispered.
His encouragement always did amazing things. But this evening, it was literally magic.
Two, three cans went down in fewer shots than it took me to hit the first. I missed the fourth once, but the second shot sent it flying to the earth.
It hit the ground high and bounced. My eyes followed it happily.
I had to restrain myself from jumping as high as I could with the gun in my hand.
Instead, I pointed it at the ground and laid it there, leaping into Declan's waiting embrace. We held each other tight. It was one of those rare embraces that became a full, vibrant world, if only for a minute.
There, safe in his arms, I didn't have to worry about this criminal threat, Anderson.
I didn't have to think about why I needed to be an expert shot. I didn't have to do anything but savor my sweet accomplishment, feeling the praise streaming into me through his big palms.
“Hell's cauldron, girl! I've never – never! – seen a lady shoot like you.”
“It's not just for cowboys, you know.” I pecked him on the cheek and giggled. “But it's you who showed me the way. Again. I wouldn't be out here trying to hit my mark if you didn't make it happen. I love how you bring out the best in me, Declan. I love you.”
Jesus! It slipped out. Had I gone too far?
My teeth sank into my bottom lip, sore and nearly raw from the friction I'd given it during our lovemaking. I hadn't meant to spill my deepest secret like this, but there it was. And there's never any unwinding the L word, no stuffing it back in a box too small to contain it in the first place.
He tugged on my shoulders. I watched his eyes as he created a small space between us.
Deep, dark, and twinkling like a starry night, he blinked. I started smiling before his lips moved.
“I love you too, Misty Sheen.”
My heart doubled in size. For the first time in a long while, my whole body swam in a different kind of warmth, a delicate and invisible sea, soft as several dozen butterfly kisses.
“Today's just perfect, isn't it?” I asked.
“Sure is. Can't think of anything better than the wake up call we had this morning and a little shooting practice. Just wish it were only practice, and not what we need to take out the trash.”
I nodded, agreeing with his sentiment. Then I wrapped my slim arms around him again, ready to put away the gun and head inside.
I wanted a more private retreat, and not simply because lust had hijacked my nervous system. Just for one afternoon, I'd play pretend, in our own lovely kingdom carved and separate from the rest of this bad old world.
VIII: Fall Changes (Declan)
The prairie air turned really cold for the first time one morning. A drier chill than the kind I was used to beneath the snow capped mountains in Montana.
I swore, wondering if the curse would disappear in front of me in a small puff of white smoke.
Nope. The temperature hadn't dropped that much yet – but it wasn't far off.
The cold prickled my back as I lay on the frigid ground. Every needle reminded me that we were well into September, and I still hadn't caught the bastard.
On the plus side, I'd finally gotten my first lead in a long time.
Guilt does amazing things to a person. Sometimes, it truly leads to redemption.
I was in a sour mood the week before, lingering in Misty's kitchen before I went off on another fruitless day of gazing into the badlands, perhaps walking into them near evening to search for miscellaneous spider holes.
By now, I knew I had a better chance of finding leprechaun’s gold than Anderson's caches of weapons, electronics, and treasure. If it wasn't for the repairman, I would've been left high and dry all season, crouched on the flat Dakota sands as winter's first flakes came.
His truck pull up outside the screen door as I sipped my coffee. I saw the Milt's Sanitation logo and curled my lips, like an overprotective bulldog getting the scent of something sour.
The knock on the door surprised me. I wondered why he hadn't sought out Misty in the barn.
The same scrawny gentleman I dealt with before stood on the porch, a small paper slip dangling in one hand.
“Take it. Please. I'm really sorry about all this.”
I waited to release my snarl until I got back inside. It was a short, simple note scrawled in cursive.
More than that – an address – about ten miles away.
I walked through the ranch, checking to make sure Misty and the man were only talking business. Sure enough.
He enthusiastically described the ins and outs of a whole new modern pump system. Sweat beaded on his brow as I stood near, and Misty talked it over with him, as if she'd forgotten the incident with the GPS tracker.
Once, our eyes met. He nodded politely, distant, as if he didn't know me.
Good, I thought. The feeling's mutual. But where the hell is this address taking me?
I went into the garage to scope out the options concealed in my hunting bag. I opened my trunk and started sifting through my gear.
Night vision goggles...old nets...a gas mask from that time I busted a guy working in his meth lab...ah, there. I clasped the small round cylinders and gently rubbed my thumb across their pins.
Still in place. Still ready to pull my chestnuts out of the fire, if I actually had to use them.
The guilt ridden repairman's note took me to an abandoned gas station. By the looks of it, the place hadn't pumped fuel since the 1980s.
Violent prairie winds had blown out half the windows, leaving shards grinning through the vacant frames like busted teeth. I didn't care to go inside unless I had to – the dust from asbestos and God only knows what else was almost as hazardous as Anderson's men.
I found my perch just below the rusty canopy and picked out my binoculars. Half an hour later, I wanted to hug the little man.
A small convoy of vehicles pulled up about half a mile away. If it weren't for that damned brush covering half of Declan's SUV, I could've seen everything.
I peered closer, tapping the zoom wheel on my instrument, focusing to get a better look.
I tensed as the door opened behind Anderson. No girl this time. Thank God for small miracles.
His fat henchman stood next to him, his eyes glazed over and bored. He held a large leather duffel bag in one hand.
The cars that had pulled in next to them weren't anything like the lone wolf who'd come to pick up his slave.
They were all basic Ford models. Newer cars, but unremarkable.
In the center, a man in a suit stepped out, crossing the distance to meet Anderson. They shook hands and chuckled like old business partners, though I noticed the stranger who'd gone for the mafia don look pulled back when he caught a whiff of that blasted blueberry gum on Anderson's breath.
I wasn't the best lip reader, but my old skills did the job.
From this distance, I could only make out a few words, incomplete sentences I prayed would throw me a bone. Anything I could use to get this bastard in a vulnerable spot and nail him to the wall.
“Got it?”
“Sure as shit...Ernesto!” The stranger paused, waiting as a younger aide came to the nearest car and opened the trunk. “Payment in full, please. This type of hardware doesn't come cheap.”
“Ah, you've outdone yourself, my friend.” Anderson reached into the trunk and pulled up the biggest gun I'd seen since I spent time in the Billings police armory. “Payment in full, as promised.�
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He snapped his fingers. The gorilla hobbled forward and passed the duffel bag into the younger man's hands. They glared at each other, two violent animals sizing up potential adversaries.
And in this business, it wasn't uncalled for. Allies one day could easily end up in a shooting war with your guys the next.
Fuck! Like this goose chase hasn't been difficult enough.
My head reeled. I wondered what he needed such powerful heat for.
Military grade rifles weren't a norm in the sex trade, or most any illicit trade I'd ever dealt with.
“Enjoy it. All the instructions you'll need are packed inside.” The weapon dealer in the banker's suit smiled, and they shook hands one last time. “Try it out, maybe practice a little before you use it.”
“I wouldn't dream of anything else. The new territory out in Duluth is going to be hard to muscle into, but once we've done it, we're set. You have any idea how much cargo passes between the US and Canada on those boring looking barges?”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Damn it!
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your bounty ticking away, second by second, cent by red cent.
I stuck my fist out and pounded the ground. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I tried to gather my senses, wondering how much time I had before this creep blew the Dakotas for Lake Superior.
I'd heard stories about smuggling along the North Shore, mostly drugs and poor Indian women unlucky to be seized from the reservations. And just like the immigrant girls Anderson liked to trade here, nobody took their cases seriously.
I can't let this happen. I can't let him create an even bigger empire.
I reached into my pocket, clasping my secret weapon. He didn't know how to use the automatic rifle yet, and neither did his guys.
If they didn't pull out right away, I might have a thirty second window of surprise, if I could cover the distance to the SUV. They'd break out their small arms and fire away, for sure, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
This had gone on too long. Much too long.
I prayed quietly as the three Fords hiding in plain sight revved their engines and left the scene. Anderson and his guys lingered outside for a moment, staring in the distance, just past the abandoned gas station.
My knees protested as I stood. They'd been idle and cramped against the cold ground for too long, but no more.
I ran. This part of the badlands was thick with brush, harder to cut a neat path through than I suspected.
I staggered past small boulders and straight through patches of brush, angrily snapping the wood beneath my boots.
There wasn't time to contemplate my rampage. There was only time to act.
My lungs sucked cold air. I was still several yards away when I saw the red lights illuminate the back of his SUV.
I wanted to scream, whip out my gun, and start shooting. But hitting a moving target while I was pumping my legs as furiously as they would go wasn't an option.
And the vehicle started to pull away long before I reached the spot. I caught a single glimpse of his vicious silhouette through the tinted glass.
Anderson reached up and made a motion. It wasn't until much later I realized it looked exactly like sliding a flat, sharp hand across his throat.
I crashed over the footprints left on the prairie soil. I kicked them, wanting to scream, but howling into coyote territory wouldn't do anything for me now.
My boot came down hard as I regained control. It smacked something hollow.
Could it be? My heart pounded, and I dove to the ground, plunging both hands into the loose sands and flinging it aside. I dug like a pirate, desperate to retrieve long lost booty.
The wooden trap door was several inches below the dirt. When I saw the lines, I looked up at the sky, thankful that I'd finally hit something worth investigating.
I knocked once. Sure as shootin' – it was a real spider hole.
Sliding my fingers around it until I found the edge, I felt for the small rope. I grasped it and pulled, too frenzied to care whether or not it was booby trapped.
Too late for that. If he'd put any surprises inside for unwanted snoopers, I'd be blown to smithereens before I had a chance to think about it.
Inside, there was a thin leather bag waiting for me. I picked it up, dusted it off. I quickly found the zipper and pulled.
It opened, and I stared inside a yawning chasm of nothing.
I lifted my head and cracked my lips, silently pouring my rage at the sky. Cruel fate wasn't even half of it.
I wanted to smash something, just the way I'd done when I went wild on a drug dealer back in Montana. The same dealer who started a firestorm with the police department after a hungry journalist got a hold of the story.
Nosy reporters and bad guys walking wasn't the life for me. Of course, there wasn't hard evidence to convict him, even though it was obvious what he'd done.
That little incident cost me three weeks pay. Three weeks too long being a cop. I hung it up and chose this instead, where I was supposed to have a little more freedom to do the right thing, to catch guilty criminals the way I wanted.
Right now, I was failing miserably at that.
I spread the leather bag's lips wide, searching for anything one last time, even a stray one dollar bill or a baggie of weed. I found the crumpled up note wedged in the corner, right where the seam met the circular wall.
I recognized the same crabbed, shaky script immediately. It was an address, written in the Sanitation repairman's unmistakable style.
It wasn't pointing to the abandoned gas station anymore. It was an address I recognized, digits and words that hit me like tiny bullets, chilling me to the bone.
Misty's address.
My fingers tore the paper's edges as I looked lower. Beneath it, someone else had added a separate note in red ink.
GIVE IT UP, IDIOT. YOU LOST. NOW WE'LL BURN THE WHOLE PLACE DOWN WITH THE GIRL INSIDE.
My stomach flipped. I wanted to vomit. The note had been held together by a wad of blueberry gum, still soft and stinking with its sickly artificial smell.
IX: Hanging by a Thread (Misty)
I was talking to Clarence about the best way to load up the sheep for transport to Mister Vock's place when the old truck screamed in.
As soon as I saw him leave it parked jagged, right in the middle of my driveway, kicking up a huge dust cloud in his wake, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I turned, stopping Clarence in mid-sentence.
I ran, having a strange flashback of finding him wounded in the field.
Declan met me halfway, holding his tall cowboy hat on head. The autumn winds had picked up, and today they wanted to blow everything down.
“What? What is it?”
The lips I loved and kissed were cut like savage stone, split slightly, allowing me to see his hard white teeth pressed together. Declan walked right past me, as if I were a ghost.
I stood, left behind him for a second. Melancholy surprise struck like a long shadow.
This isn't how I wanted today to go. I wanted to tell him everything over a nice dinner.
How can I talk about the thing that's going to change our lives forever when he looks like he's seen the devil himself?
I jogged to catch up, calling his name. He was heading for the garage, where we'd stored the LTD. Not to mention that damning tracker his enemies placed on it.
“Declan! Look at me, please!” Scared, I reached out and shook him, desperate to break the trance.
Finally, he stopped. His face was flushed, a deeper, darker red than the fieriest shades he wore in the bedroom.
This redness was the inverse, the color of murder building behind dark clouds. Not love.
I checked the air to make sure it wasn't steaming around him. His eyes saw everything, sharp and determined as scalding pikes.
“Where is he?” He asked.
“Who? I don't know what this is all about, but you better tell me what the hell happened
out there!”
“The sewer man! The sanitation guy! Milt's Sanitation!” He grabbed my shoulders, pinching the edges of my jean jacket.
When he saw the nervous fear in my eyes, his grip relaxed. I moistened my lips.
They went dry, as though half my soul was sucked away in one gasp.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just need to find that fucker from Milt's. I'm going to find him, and beat the hell out of that little twerp until he tells me who he's really working for.” Declan stopped, closed his eyes.
His chest heaved as he refilled his lungs. I flattened my palms on his breast, wishing I could give him a little energy, a little calm to share.
“Mister Wiloch? Oh, no. I don't know what he's done, but he wouldn't ever hurt us. He helped Daddy for years and he was never into anything too –“
“Don't be so sure. People can turn on you like vipers when there's money in their faces. Or else, a promise to take away their family, their home, everything they've ever loved...”
His voice softened, the same strange pace and cadence in his words. I shivered, and not from the encroaching cold.
He sounded like he knew what he was talking about from first hand experience. I lowered my hands, cupping his cold right hand in both my palms.
“Come on. Let's go inside. Talk about this. It's not too late to figure it all out in a way that doesn't involve someone getting beaten by you alone.”
“Someone's gonna get beat, alright...”
He stared past me. I imagined the outline of old Mister Wiloch, burning in the middle of his eyes like a beaten foe on a funeral pyre.
I didn't need to visualize what he was talking about, though. I had to get him inside.
I just pulled, and he started to follow me, slow and exhausted like he was sleepwalking.
“There's something I'd like to know,” I said, unsure why such personal details filled me with nervous uncertainty when we'd shared so much.
He looked up and nodded. “Why do you do it? How much money is on the line to go after this guy yourself? Why keep the police totally out of it?”
The Alpha's Touch Boxed Set (14 Book Bundle) Page 84
