One Tough Texan

by MJ Rodgers

  “You don’t have to see him again, Jamie. If he’s in there, I’ll get the money to him.”

  “I’m not comfortable with sitting in a car while someone else takes care of my business. I’ll face him-and his rejection, if that’s all he has left to give.”

  Matt nodded his understanding.

  Jamie didn’t wait until Matt came around to open the door. She opened it herself and got out. When they stepped inside the cleaners’, the whirl of motors and the smell of acrid chemicals assailed her nose.

  There was no one at the service counter. Jamie rang the bell. It gave out a respectable resonance.

  A tall woman with long, rope-like black hair, wearing tight jeans and a T-shirt over an improbable Barbie-doll figure bounced out from the back room. A practiced greet-the-public smile held back her full red lips. But the instant she saw Jamie, the smile disintegrated and her dark eyes tightened.

  “You!”

  “You must be Sharlyn,” Jamie guessed.

  “How did you know to come here?”

  “I hired an excellent private investigator.”

  Her deep voice was like a sneer. “How many ways do you have to be told? Timmy doesn’t want to see you!”

  “But I want to see him. I won’t take much of his time. I just need to give him something.”

  Sharlyn’s bloodred one-inch fingernails sliced through the air as her bony arm pointed straight toward the door.

  “Get out of here right now or I swear I’m coming over this counter and scratching your eyes out.”

  “Why so much anger, Sharlyn? You don’t even know me. You don’t even know what it is I have for him.”

  “Timmy doesn’t want it! He doesn’t want you! He just wants to be left alone!”

  “Why don’t you let him tell me that?” Jamie said.

  “You don’t care what happens to him! Get out, get out, get out!” Sharlyn screeched, her face turning as red as her nails.

  She already had one long, skinny jean-clad leg halfway over the counter when Matt pulled Jamie out of the store.

  MATT HURRIED JAMIE into the car and drove away before Sharlyn could get anywhere near her. He’d seen raving lunatics before, and Sharlyn definitely fit the description. Besides, if Tony had been on the premises Sharlyn’s raving would surely have brought him up front and center.

  “She called him Timmy,” Jamie said, a few blocks later. “Tony must be Timothy Palmer, the owner of Palmer’s Cleaning Company.”

  “Appears to be the likely explanation.”

  “So his family’s name was Palmer. They did borrow the Lagarrigue name when they were in Sweetspring. I confess until this very minute, I hadn’t fully believed it. Could it be he didn’t acknowledge me in Harrah’s because he didn’t want to have to explain why his family was using the Lagarrigue name in Sweetspring?”

  “Could be,” Matt said, only half listening.

  He was concentrating on a gray sedan pulling away from the curb a block back. He recognized it as one that had been parked in front of the Flamingo Hilton when they left the garage there less than forty minutes before.

  Jamie turned around to look behind them. “Someone back there?”

  “You saw something?”

  She straightened in her seat. “Yes. The tensing of your hands, and that telltale pulse in your jaw.”

  He had been aware of her eyes on him more and more lately. But he hadn’t been aware of how much she had begun to see.

  “Can you lose him?” she asked.

  “We’re going to find out.” Matt made a signal to go left and slowed. The gray sedan moved from the right to the middle lane a block back and slowed. Matt waited until the intervening red light caught it. Then he quickly changed to the right lane and made a fast turn around the block. He gunned the engine, speeding down the next two streets. He pulled into a casino parking lot, whipping the car into the first available space.

  “Come on,” he said, jumping out. Jamie was out the passenger door before he circled around. They headed for the back entrance to the casino. Once inside, he led the way toward the hotel entrance.

  Matt had to keep his pace moderate in consideration for Jamie’s high heels. They took the first cab waiting at the curb.

  Matt gave the driver instructions to let them off at a back casino entrance at the Flamingo Hilton. All the way there, Matt checked the windows for pursuit. He saw none.

  Once at the Hilton, they caught the first elevator up to their rooms. Matt kept alert, studying every face to see if they were being watched. When they got out at their floor, Matt led Jamie down the hallway in the opposite direction to their rooms. When he was certain no one had followed them, he headed down the right hallway.

  He had taken every precaution. He felt sure that he had lost their tail.

  The last thing he expected was what greeted him when he opened Jamie’s door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jamie ran right into Matt’s shoulder when he stopped suddenly on the threshold of her room. His huge left arm immediately circled around her body in a protective gesture, keeping her securely in place behind his enormous frame.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked whoever was in her room. The chipped-ice quality of his voice sent a warning chill through Jamie’s muscles.

  “There’s no reason to be alarmed, Mr. Bonner,” Jamie heard a man’s voice say, with hurried assurance. “We asked the hotel management to let us into Mrs. Bonner’s room because we didn’t want to look conspicuous waiting out in the hall.”

  Matt didn’t move a muscle. He kept his arm around Jamie.

  “And who is ‘we’?”

  “I’m special agent Lane Creighton. This is Special Agent Reg Wilson. We’re with the FBI, Mr. Bonner.”

  The ice in Matt’s tone did not melt “What is the FBI doing here?”

  “We’d like to talk to you and Mrs. Bonner about Tony Lagarrigue. That is, if you want to listen.”

  “I’d like to see your identification,” Matt said, still not

  moving an inch or withdrawing his arm from around Jamie.

  Jamie heard the slap of wallets being opened and closed.

  “We’ll talk downstairs in the coffee shop,” Matt said.

  An edge surrounded Agent Creighton’s words. “Mr. Bonner, as you must realize, this is a very confidential matter. It is hardly conversation for a coffee shop.”

  “Folks who have time to pay attention to conversations in coffee shops are standing in lines picking up their unemployment checks about this time of the day,” Matt said. “Now, are just you two leaving, or are we all going?”

  A moment of silence followed before Jamie heard Creighton’s irritated voice respond. “Lead the way to the coffee shop.”

  “No, you lead the way,” Matt said, backing out of the doorway, still holding Jamie in place behind him.

  When the two men finally came into view, Jamie found them to look remarkably alike-average height, light brown hair that had seen a barber’s clippers quite recently, the same style and conservative cut of dark gray suit, the same dark sunglasses hiding their eyes. The only real difference between them was that the one who nodded in her direction was far more slender than his beefy companion.

  “I’m Agent Creighton, Mrs. Bonner,” he said. “This is Agent Wilson.”

  Jamie nodded in return. She couldn’t do much else. Matt still had her circled within the restraint of his enormous arm. The tension in his body was tangible. She didn’t understand why he was acting so cautious with these FBI agents.

  He let the agents precede them down the hallway and into the elevator. When Matt and Jamie stepped inside, Matt kept his arm around her, close to his left side. He did not turn to face front. He faced Creighton and Wilson.

  “Some reason why you don’t trust us, Mr. Bonner?” Creighton asked, clearly put out by Matt’s actions.

  “Some reason why I should?” Matt responded evenly.

  Creighton shook his head as though truly puzzled.


  The coffee shop was mostly deserted. The waitress showed them to a large corner booth.

  Matt waited for Creighton and Wilson to take their seats on one side of the booth. Then Matt gestured for Jamie to slide in on the other end, and he slid in beside her. He still kept her close to his left side, just as he had been doing since he had discovered the FBI agents in her room.

  Before the waitress could drop the menus and disappear, Matt told her all they were ordering was four cups of coffee and four pieces of apple pie.

  She nodded and left to get them.

  “You could at least have asked me what kind of pie I liked,” Agent Creighton said, trying out a small smile.

  “I could have,” Matt said. He did not return the smile.

  “I do like apple pie, however,” Creighton admitted.

  “Then you can have my piece,” Matt said.

  Creighton shifted in the booth, giving physical evidence to his discomfort with Matt’s refusal to respond to the friendly approach. Jamie noticed that Wilson had still not said a word. Both FBI agents still wore their dark sunglasses.

  When the coffee and pie arrived, the waitress set the bill facedown and left. Wilson picked up his fork and dug in.

  “You appear to be a very cautious man, Mr. Bonner,” Creighton said, not making a move to touch either the coffee or pie in front of him.

  “And a busy one, Mr. Creighton. It’s time you. told us about Tony Lagarrigue.”

  Creighton made a perfunctory look around, as though to reassure himself that no one was within hearing distance. Then he rested his suit sleeves on the table and leaned forward, projecting all the signs that he was about to impart a confidence.

  “Fifteen years ago, Oscar Lagarrigue was a bookkeeper in an organization that was taken over by the Mob. When he found out who his company’s new owners were, he contacted us. He gave us some valuable information. We gave him the new identity of Oscar Lagarrigue and moved him and his family to Sweetspring, Texas.”

  “You mean they were in the witness-protection program?” Jamie asked, her voice rising in surprise.

  “Still are, Mrs. Bonner,” Creighton said. “Always will be. The Mob doesn’t forget informants. Not even the children of informants. Tony has to stay hidden, too, and that means out of the public eye. When Kyle Kleinman was murdered right down the block from Oscar in Sweetspring and the media descended, we had no choice but to change their identities and relocate them again.”

  “Then Tony isn’t Timothy Palmer, either?”

  Creighton exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances with Wilson—two pairs of dark sunglasses glaring at each other.

  “We didn’t realize you’d found out his new name. Mr. Palmer has worked hard to establish himself and his business here in Reno. If we have to change his name and relocate him again—”

  “I don’t want to expose his past,” Jamie spoke up quickly.

  “Who else besides you and Mr. Bonner here know that Tony and Timothy are one and the same?”

  “No one. We only figured it out this morning.”

  “How?”

  “It’s what I do for a living,” Matt answered curtly.

  “Agent Creighton, Tony was real nice to me when we were in Sweetspring together,” Jamie said. “All I want to do is return what I found in a secret compartment of a locket he gave me.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Something private,” Matt said quickly before Jamie could reply.

  “Give it to us. We’ll see that he gets it.”

  “No,” Matt said. “Ms. Bonner has gone to a lot of trouble and come a long way to see Tony. She’s not giving up the locket or what’s inside it to anyone but him.”

  Creighton’s forehead creased as if he were in deep thought. Wilson’s face remained as noncommittal about the conversation as it had from the first. He seemed to be edging toward Creighton’s piece of pie now that he had finished his.

  “No, sorry,” Creighton said, shaking his head after his moment of brow furrowing. “We can’t permit your coming in contact with Tony again. This morning’s episode was dangerous enough for him.”

  “In that case, we have nothing more to talk about,” Matt said. Jamie suddenly felt Matt’s hand pulling her across and out of the booth.

  “Just a minute, Bonner,” Agent Creighton said.

  Matt kept Jamie by his side as they paused at the edge of the booth. “Something else you wanted to say?” Matt asked.

  “Before you go, I’m going to need both your and Mrs. Bonner’s word that neither of you will divulge anything you know about Timothy Palmer, including what I’ve told you today. I’m also going to have to have your solemn pledge that neither of you will go near him again.”

  Jamie was just about to give her assurance on both accounts when Matt surprised her by once again speaking before she could.

  “Ms. Bonner is going to see Timothy Palmer again, Mr. Creighton. That’s all you have my word on.”

  “Now hold on here, Bonner—”

  “I suggest you talk to Palmer to find out when would be a convenient time. Ms. Bonner and I will be in our rooms for the next forty minutes. You have the number.”

  And with that, Matt took Jamie’s arm and turned away. He did not pause to say goodbye to the agents or give Jamie time to. Matter of fact, he did not break stride once as he all but dragged her out of the coffee shop.

  Jamie was prepared to put up a serious argument except that she noticed that telltale pulse was throbbing in Matt’s jaw.

  They were stepping into an elevator before Matt finally let go of her arm.

  “Where’s the stampede?” she asked, projecting far more calm than she felt.

  “Sorry about the rough ride, Jamie, but there are some things I need to check out. And I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “You were barely civil to those agents. Why?”

  “I don’t take kindly to having my room broken into.”

  “Actually the hotel management let them in. But I get your drift. I didn’t like that part either.” “There was a part you did like?”

  “Learning that Tony and his family were in the witness-protection program explains a lot of what has been puzzling me. Now I know it wasn’t me he was rejecting this morning. He simply feared being exposed. Why did you keep the money a secret?”

  “Because I didn’t want you handing it over to them.”

  “I can’t keep it, Matt. It belongs to Tony.”

  They were at the door to Jamie’s room. Matt slipped the key card through.

  “If it does, we’ll see that he gets it. Now, let’s find out how Creighton and Wilson kept themselves occupied while they were waiting for us in here.”

  Matt took a quick look inside both rooms before he gestured for Jamie to come in. He closed the door behind her and set the security lock in place.

  “Look through your things, Jamie. See if anything’s disturbed or missing. Then pack up. I’ll be back soon.”

  He disappeared through the connecting door and closed it behind him.

  Jamie was having a hard time envisioning FBI agents searching, much less taking anything of hers. But she’d come to trust Matt so implicitly, she went about looking through her things as instructed. Everything appeared intact. She packed her suitcase.

  When she was finished, she walked over to the connecting door and knocked.

  “Come in,” he called.

  She opened the door to find him talking on the phone.

  “Since they’ve already searched our things, that should satisfy them for the present,” Matt was saying to whoever was on the other end of the line. “Right. Later.”

  Matt hung up the receiver.

  “They searched our things?” Jamie asked. “I found nothing out of place. How do you know?”

  “Private investigators are trained to know. Be ready to go out again when they call to set up the meeting with Tony.”

  “You seem certain they will.”

  “They want to know what yo
u found in that locket.”

  “Matt, do you think it wise to play hardball with the FBI this way?”

  “You still want to give Tony back the ten-thousand dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this is the way to do it.”

  The call came in twenty minutes later, just two minutes shy of the forty-minute deadline Matt had given.

  Matt let the phone ring twice before answering. Jamie only caught the few affirmative grunts that constituted his side of the conversation. He jotted down an address. When he hung up, he turned to Jamie holding up that piece of paper.

  “Timothy Palmer will see us now. Get your suitcase. I’ll call later and check us out. We’re not coming back here.”

  They took a hotel taxi to an address that turned out to be nothing but a vacant lot. Matt didn’t seem surprised, however.

  “Park out of sight beneath that tree,” Matt said.

  Their taxi driver was a chubby, bald cherub who was blessed or cursed with a perpetually pleasant expression that bore no resemblance whatsoever to whatever emotion he might be experiencing. That was dramatically made apparent by the sour note now in his words.

  “That’s a no-parking zone.”

  “You get a ticket, I’ll pay it.”

  “I’ve heard that one before. No dice.”

  Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred. He tore it in half and handed one piece to the sour-sounding cherub. “You get the other half when I get back, ticket or no ticket.”

  Their driver’s cheery expression didn’t change. But he quickly pulled up to the tree and parked the taxi.

  Matt got out and held the door for Jamie.

  “This is it?” she asked.

  He nodded. She got out.

  She couldn’t help noticing how he kept looking around, checking for something amiss. He was like a wary predator, as conscious of what might be lurking behind him as he was of what lay ahead.

  She matched his slow pace down the block. He once again kept her on his left side. It was a beautiful neighborhood, upper middle-class.

  They passed an expensive new contemporary home with lots of wood and glass and a marble fountain in the front yard. Then a sprawling Spanish-style hacienda surrounded by desert landscaping.