by Desiree Holt
By the time she reached the bunkhouse again, she was pretty sure she was composed. Taking a deep breath, she mounted the three steps to the porch and pushed the door open. Ted, her expert with a long-range rifle, was at the table, cleaning his gun. Lane was fiddling with the laptop, and the others were either studying the maps or working on something else.
“We need to turn in early,” she reminded everyone. “I want us out of bed at sunup and on the range.”
“If we get a breakfast as good as dinner was tonight, I’m there already,” Ted joked.
“Yeah,” Lane added. “We’ll need to do pushups to keep from carrying too much weight on the chopper,”
“Very funny. Apparently, the client made arrangements with Grey for all our meals. It sure beats having to drive around trying to find a place where the food is edible.”
“Did you tell him we might kidnap his housekeeper?” Ray Donovan asked.
“Ha ha. Let’s get done what we need to and turn in. Tomorrow will be an endless day. Breakfast at six thirty with the hands.”
“Jesus.” Dix Noble blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. “It’s like being back in the Marines.”
“Except the pay is better,” she reminded him. “And we’ve had less sleep and earlier start times with other assignments. Man up, you guys. I’ll be bright-eyed and ready to go, so I expect the same from the rest of you.”
“Lighten up,” Ted teased. “You know we’re yanking your chain, Kris. Nothing more. We’re good to go. You call the shots, and we follow, willingly.”
“Better be. You know what happens when you get on my bad side.”
Their groans were punctuated by laughter. She knew they would do whatever was needed. They had since this team was formed, and she had faith they’d continue to. It hadn’t taken much time at all for her to earn their allegiance and bring them together under her as a cohesive unit. A lot of that was based on shared respect for each other.
She grabbed her duffel and hauled it into the bathroom with her. When she was on assignment with the team like this, and they weren’t forced to sleep outside, she wore sweats and a T-shirt to sleep in. Anything sexless. She’d fought hard in a male-dominated military for her place with Special Operations Air Regiment (SOAR), and she carried the same determination into her job with The Omega Team. Which was another damn good reason not to get into anything with Mason Rowell.
If only she could tell her body that.
*****
Mason hadn’t meant to slam the back door when he entered the house, but the combination of irritation and sexual frustration was eroding his personal discipline.
“Something got your shorts in a bunch?”
Martina DeRosa, his housekeeper, was setting up the big coffee pot in the kitchen. She raised one eyebrow.
“Sorry. It flew out of my hands.”
“Uh-huh.” She gave him one of her up and down looks. ”The expression on your face says different. Don’t tell me it’s that female out there.”
“I’m not telling you a thing. Anyway, she’s got nothing to do with anything. She’s here to do a job. Period.”
Martina snorted. “Fine. Whatever you say. But you’ve got the same expression on your face you had when you came back from Dallas a year ago. And you had it all through dinner. You better hope I’m the only one who noticed you’ve got a stick up your butt.”
“Don’t you know mouthy housekeepers get fired?” he snapped.
“You’d be lost without me, and you damn well know it. Mason, it’s about time you found yourself a woman and settled down, and I mean it. You don’t want to get old alone and miserable like your father did.”
Mason snorted. “I think he was alone because he was so miserable. Who would have him?”
“Not your mother, that’s for sure. She needed to divorce him, but she should have taken you with her.”
“Leave it alone,” he warned her.
“You’re like my own son.” She went on as if he hadn’t said a word. “I wish your father had hired me well before he did. I might have turned you into a human being. The military took its toll on you, too.”
“I tried doing what you suggested once, remember? See how well that turned out?”
“Bad choice.” She flapped a dishtowel at him. “I tried to tell you that.” She heaved a sigh. “Go fix yourself a drink. It might improve your disposition.”
Mason filled a rocks glass from the cupboard with ice and stomped into his den where he took the bottle of Jack Daniel’s Black from the cupboard. He’d never been all that much of a drinker, but when he had a taste for whiskey, he favored that smooth Tennessee blend. He poured a small amount over the ice cubes and took a slow sip. It warmed his body as it worked its way through his system, but it didn’t help his situation at all.
Martina was probably right, but old habits died hard. It had been difficult enough for him to open himself to a woman that one time. Once bitten twice shy. He should have it tattooed on his forehead.
The smartest thing for him to do—what he should have done right away—was call Grey Holden and inform him he needed another team. Of course, that would have meant explaining why, and he had no plausible excuse. You couldn’t tell the head of an agency that you had the hots for his team leader so bad you didn’t know if you could keep your cock in your pants.
He’d lectured himself after the meeting, after the chopper flight, and after dinner to stay in the house. In his den. Behind closed doors. Not to go out there and see if Kris Gauthier might possibly be outside anywhere. But his dick had shouted louder than his brain, so he’d walked quietly down to the bunkhouse. If she’d been inside, he would’ve let it go, headed back to the house. But, damn, she’d been out there in the moonlight, leaning against that tree, outlined in silver, and looking so hot he’d wanted to strip off her clothes and run his tongue all over her.
If her reaction to him was any indication, she felt the same way. He wanted badly to believe that night in the hotel a year ago was a once-and-done but, apparently, that idea was out the window. And he had no idea what the fuck he was going to do about it.
She was right. They had to keep this—whatever this was—under wraps. He couldn’t jeopardize her situation with the agency or as team leader. And he didn’t need to appear to either his men or hers that he was ready to ignore protocol and fuck any woman who appealed to him. Of course, she wasn’t any old woman. Damn it, no, she was not. And, somehow, he had to figure out what to do. Because he knew it would be impossible to keep his hands off her for the time they were here.
*****
Rodrigo “Rigo“ Rojas led his group across the narrow, shallow spot on the Rio Grande, cautioning everyone to walk slow and disturb the water as little as possible. Every slosh and swish carried in the soundless night. He stood on the flat bank and watched with an intense stare as each person made it across what, at that point, was little more than a tiny creek. When he had his group together, he checked each one with meticulous care, making sure he hadn’t lost anyone.
He’d told Mateo again and again this method of moving the drugs across the border was getting riskier and riskier, but his brother was adamant. With border guards and others on high alert for terrorists, hiding the drugs in merchandise and trucking it over, or even sending it in containers on freight trains, had become almost impossible. Fewer and fewer people were accepting bribes, and danger to the cartels increased.
Despite the fact it reduced the amount that could be smuggled each time, the loss factor was greatly diminished. So what if they lost one or two people? The others would make it safely.
Finding this new route had taken some time. An offshoot of the Sinaloa Cartel, they’d set their headquarters in the state of Coahuila and chosen to remain small but successful. Because of their size, for the most part they flew under the radar. Using as mules the people who paid to be taken across the border illegally, they had set up selling points on the other side and were doing a nice little business.
/> The Double R Ranch appeared to be the perfect place, if they stayed away from the drilling area. Vast acres of scrub and thorny bushes and trees assured them no cattle would be grazing there and, thus, no wranglers on horseback to stumble over them. Clip the wire, get everyone through, retwist the wire, take them out where a dirt path bordered the unused acreage, and it was done. A large van would pick them up and transport everyone to the hand-off spot for the drugs. Rigo got paid, and the people in his group could disperse into the area. How they fared wasn’t his problem anymore.
A sweet little setup, until the night he’d made a mistake and led the group to what he thought was empty space, only to discover, after cutting the interior fence, he’d blundered into a pasture where cattle were milling and sleeping. Some of the cattle had wandered into the scrub area before he could shoo them back and fix the cut wire. The suspicious ranch owner had sent two of his hands the next night to check the area. There hadn’t been enough time to get everyone back to the other side, so there was nothing for it but to kill the men. Hopefully, the ranch owner would chalk it up to an attempt at rustling.
Mateo had told him to find another route, another path for his journey, one that didn’t have the possibility of trouble. But this one was so perfect for his needs. There was a place on the Mexican side isolated enough that no one caught sight of each of his groups as they gathered. At least for the time, the Border Patrol seemed to leave this area alone. The ranch they made their way through had enough desolate, isolated areas leading to an exit that they could move undetected. There had been no repercussions following the killing of the two wranglers, so he assumed the owner was smart enough to stay away from that area.
He was, however, much more careful where he led his group, remembering, among other things, to check that the wire had been reconnected properly. He also began to allow more time between trips. Even tonight, he wasn’t sure he should be doing this, but his distributor in Texas was both adamant and impatient. He had dealers waiting for merchandise. If Rigo didn’t deliver, he’d find someone else.
When everyone had gathered close to him, he slipped on his padded gloves, snipped the barbed wire, and held the stands apart for them to slip through.
“Silencio!” he cautioned in a whisper, touching a finger to his lips.
Ten frightened people nodded. They waited while he repaired the fence then followed him to the dirt road. Tonight, he held a compass in his hand, a little something he’d added after the disaster. No mistaking the direction, this time.
He padded silently in front of his little group, noiseless as a wolf. That was how he thought of himself. El Lobo. More dangerous and smarter than the coyote, the common name for people who did what he did. And much more dangerous, as he kept telling Mateo. The wolf was stealthier, more intelligent, harder to track or trace. Rigo would do his job and prove to his arrogant older brother that he could handle more responsibility. And receive more honor for it.
Using hand signals and continuing to motion for silence, he led his terrified group single file across the wild landscape until they reached the narrow dirt road apparently forgotten by the rancher. Then he would lead them through the dense stands of trees to where, hopefully, his contact was waiting. Tonight, he had a large delivery for the man, packed in latex gloves taped to the bodies of the people in this group.
This would be a big payday, big enough to put a large smile on his face as he urged everyone on.
Only one thing worried him. Mateo wanted him to do another delivery in a few days, and Rigo preferred to space them out. But he might not have a choice. If he could not delay, he’d have to be extra careful.
Chapter Three
Mason finished the last bite of toast and ran his gaze over Kris. She was dressed again in a The Omega Team T-shirt and worn jeans, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Only the ball cap from yesterday was missing. Did she remember what happened last night? The electricity that shocked the air around them? The heat that scorched them with that kiss was so erotic, he was hard for hours afterwards. He was stunned at the intense attraction between them, stronger than he’d ever felt for another woman, even his so-called almost-fiancée.
He shifted in his chair, adjusting his jeans, and cleared his throat. “So what’s the plan for today?”
She took a last swallow of her coffee. “Are you good to go up in the chopper with me again today?”
Mason finished his own coffee and set down his mug. “Another flyover? What are you going over today? I thought we saw pretty much everything yesterday.”
“I want to get a better feel for the area, plus follow the Rio Grande for a ways and see what other land touches it. The Double R is pretty damn big, but I wonder if there are other parcels the coyotes might have chosen. Why they picked yours. We flew a pretty narrow path yesterday, by design. Today I want a bigger picture.”
”No problem. As a matter of fact, I’d like to see that myself. Because we happen to be the biggest doesn’t mean we’re the safest or most adaptable for the routes the coyotes use.”
“I think you’ll see that, unfortunately, we are,” Greg Ruiz put in. “We all discussed it when we first found the cuts in the barbed wire. We have so many desolate acres between our pastures and the river, much more than our neighbors on either side.”
Stick eyed Mason then Greg. “Maybe that’s the key here. We’ve written those acres off and never bother to check them out. I can’t remember the last time any of us even took a ride through them until we went hunting for those cattle.”
“And that could be a big part of our problem,” Stick pointed out. “The whole state of Coahuila could have marched through there without us knowing it.”
“Okay, okay.” Mason leaned forward. “Whatever the reason, whatever our excuse, at the moment we’re faced with this problem and we need to fix it. I don’t want any more deaths on my head.” He nodded at Kris. “Whatever you need, you only need to ask.”
For one blistering second, their gazes locked. Her blue eyes darkened to navy, and he swore the pulse at the base of her throat fluttered. His own heart rate stuttered from nothing more than that brief connection. Then he gave himself a mental shake, remembering where they were, aware that others were watching.
“We reviewed the video and still shots last night and marked specific areas on the maps where we think the sensors should go.” She nodded at Lane, who pulled the rolled-up maps from the canvas bag hanging on the back of his chair. “Mason, can you make copies for us so both groups have them?”
“Sure. I may have to do the larger ones in sections.”
“No problem. And thanks.”
Kris was sipping on a refill of coffee when he brought everything back into the dining room.
“Thanks for this.” She set her mug down and distributed the maps. “I’d like to check on those horses we discussed. Could you spare one of your guys to guide my men? I want them to ride out to that area while we fly over it.”
“Absolutely.” He gestured to Greg and Stick. “One of you has to stay. We’re culling calves again today, right?”
Greg nodded. “I’ll stay.” He glanced at Stick. “That okay with you?”
Stick gave him a slow grin. “Hell, yeah. You can ride herd on your cowboys and their cows today, while I go on a pleasure ride.”
“It’s far from pleasure, Mr. Montgomery. You’ll be out there quite a while, checking spots for the sensors with my guys.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. I meant it would be a pleasure not to see all those ugly faces for a day.”
Greg laughed, and even Kris had to smile at Stick’s exaggerated cowboy charm.
“Fine. Then I’m glad we could give you some relief.” She pushed back from the table. “We need to get moving. Ted, you and Ray get the horse detail. Let’s hit the stables then we can all gear up.”
Watching Kris walk ahead of him across the yard to the barn was an exercise in discipline for Mason. The sway of her hips, the flex of the muscles in her ass as
her slim legs ate up the distance. He wanted those legs wrapped around his waist while his cock was deep inside her and—
Stop it, asshole. Stick to business.
By digging for the discipline he’d learned during his own years in the military, he managed to get his body under control and focus on the business at hand. He’d do well to keep paying attention, too. This was serious business, something that could put the ranch in real jeopardy. He was paying big dollars to get the best people to handle it for him, so he needed to keep sex off his brainwaves.
Off to the side, where the big corral was, he could hear the bawling of calves as they were prodded into the branding chute and the sounds of the hands moving them along. As soon as they were marked, they were herded into the near pasture where they’d stay for a couple of weeks.
The men glanced over at the activity.
“Hard work,” Lane commented.
“Dirty work,” Mason agreed. “But necessary. And we do it as humanely as possible, but it’s important to get your brand on your herd or it can disappear like smoke.”
“Don’t tell me you still have rustlers,” Ray joked.
“Yeah, only today they have modern equipment and monster trucks. The guys will be finished with the work before the end of the day. Let’s get the horses picked out and get going here.””
Kris stood beside him, hefting a gear bag, while Stick took care of the horses for Ted and Ray. When all three animals were saddled and the men mounted, Kris reached into her gear bag.
“Radios for everyone.” She handed them around. Same frequency we always use. My headset and Mason’s will be set to the same channel, so we can all talk to each other.” She gave Stick an intense look. “Don’t lose them out there.”
He swallowed a grin. “Haven’t lost anyone yet, ma’am. Not planning to start now.”
