Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1)

by P. J. O'Dwyer

  He let go as if she'd turned to flame. "Sorry. Go on."

  How to explain the Connellys? "It's only been Wes and Robert for a long time." She leaned close to Rafe's ear. "Robert's mom left when he was small. She couldn't stomach Wes's side action. Couldn't stomach Wes." She gave a wry smile. "Smart woman, except I can't imagine leaving your son." She shrugged. "Robert, other than the business, is Wes's life. Only Robert chose to distance himself after Wes footed the bill for his higher education."

  "So what's Bean Counter doing here?"

  "Wes can be persuasive. Who knows? But I wouldn't put it past him to threaten his own son with his inheritance."Through the glass door, Robert's back was toward them, his hands deep in the files of a matching cherry credenza. "In Wes's twisted way, he loves his son. Manipulation is his way of keeping Robert close."

  A smile touched her lips. Except the times she witnessed their interaction, the two only had cross words between them.

  "The point is, he's not his father's whipping boy."

  Rafe gave her a look of disbelief.

  "He's his son. But he speaks his mind."

  Those green eyes didn't soften one iota. Fine, he didn't see what she saw in Robert Connelly. Too bad. She waved an agitated hand at him. "He's doing it because it's the right thing to do. I trust him."

  Besides, she'd deal with the devil himself if it got her what she needed—the trucking company and its destination. Without it, they had a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right slaughterhouse, though there were only two slaughterhouses Wes could use. Canada and Mexico were worlds apart. If they were wrong, the distance was too great to make up for lost time.

  If they were going to be able to track and catch the tractor trailer in time, they needed to get a move on. No thanks to her and the standoff in the stable, she'd let precious time slip by.

  She tugged on Rafe's arm. "Any word from Kevin?"

  "Not yet. I don't think your buddy Wes plans on rolling over any time soon."

  She closed her eyes, only to see those big brown eyes of Smiley staring back at her. He would be frightened out of his wits. The memory of the rescued horses in the cattle trailer made her shudder.

  Positive thoughts, Bren.

  Canada or Mexico; twelve hours by truck one way, thirty-six in the other—she wouldn't consider Smiley's emotional state in either case. She needed to function. For the moment, he was alive, and that was what she focused on. She only hoped the authorities detained the truck like they were supposed to. She might just catch up before it crossed the border. There was time to intercept the carrier if they could just find the manifest.

  Rafe's fingers pressed into the back of her neck, kneading rhythmically. "Bean Counter still digging?"

  She straightened and peered through the glass of the French doors. Rafe's phone went off and she jerked.

  "I'll take it outside." The phone pealed again, and he took the call. "Yeah."

  Bren raised her brows. "Kevin?"

  He shook his head. "No, Trey." He spoke into the phone again. "Hang on." He covered the phone and connected with Bren. Any gleam of hope disappeared. "We're grounded until we have a flight plan." And his brother Trey, a licensed pilot, remained idle until they could confirm their destination.

  That stubborn chin, rough and dark with stubble, lifted abruptly toward Wes's office. "Let's hope Junior in there finds it's Ciudad Juarez."

  Mexico would be preferable. What little Rafe had told her—Trey had connections there.

  Rafe kissed her cheek. "I'll be outside. How about you do your damnedest to move Bean Counter along."

  One of the double oak entry doors clicked, and Rafe was gone. Bren hesitated. Maybe it was this house that bothered her.

  She reached for the crystal doorknob. This day of murk had become a contradiction. By late afternoon the sun had peeked through, taunting her with its goodwill. By early evening it had given way to a mix of purple and pink hues through a window high above where she currently struggled to open a damn door.

  Robert's blond head rose. A tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Hey. I'm sorry this is taking so long. I figured the old man would have shoved it in his normal hiding spots."

  "Your father, if nothing else, is predictable."

  "Yeah, well, I didn't see this coming."

  Bren gripped the edge of the door. Me neither.

  "Where are my manners?" He motioned to a chair in front of the desk and laughed. "You know, since I was old enough to notice girls, old enough to bring one home to meet... my father..." He frowned at her. "I always wanted it to be you."

  The air became difficult to breathe. Me? A girl his father despised?

  She sank down, the give of the leather chair a relief to standing.

  He leaned over, his blue eyes searching hers. "You really had no idea?"

  She pointed a determined finger at him and laughed nervously. "You really know how to surprise a girl." She managed to smile. But the truth was, her brain struggled to make sense of his confession. But then again, the children of a feud that had stretched decades learned you don't fraternize with the enemy. "Guess ol' Wes..." She cleared her throat. "Your father wouldn't have taken too kindly to you romancing the one he always referred to as 'girl.'"

  "Try disowned." He laughed, and the foreboding sense that something was amiss lifted. "Needless to say, I got over you real quick."

  Robert's cell phone rumbled next to his elbow on the desk. He glanced at it and gave her an apologetic smile. "Excuse me, Bren. I need to take this."

  She nodded, and he took the call.

  "Hey, sweetheart, you had me worried."The stress along his jaw lessened. "Next time answer your phone. So I'm not thinking the worst. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Love you, too."

  He ended the call. "Sorry about that."

  "Everything okay?"

  "She drove to Richmond this afternoon to see friends of ours. There was a pileup on Interstate 95." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She had me concerned when I couldn't reach her."

  "She's fine, then?"

  "Yes. The accident was behind her, but she let her cell phone run down." He grimaced. "We'd planned to drive together until all this happened."

  Bren moved her chair in. "Robert, I'm really sorry I've messed up your plans and put you in the middle."

  He shook his head. "Bren, I'd do anything for you."

  Bren reached over and squeezed his hand. "I hate putting you in the middle."

  "It's not your fault." He gave her a quick smile before his expression turned serious. "He created this mess. I'm just sorry for what he's done."

  The front door slammed. The click of Rafe's boots echoed in the hall.

  Bren swung around. Rafe, tough cowboy, filled the doorway. His jaw set, the dark stubble of beard made him a formidable opponent for anyone willing to piss him off. And Robert, his hand still tucked under hers could be the catalyst to wage such a fight.

  "Let's go, Bren." Rafe's voice, possessive and clipped, needled at her. Jealousy, if that was what she witnessed, didn't suit him.

  "I'm not done here."

  "Mason cracked. I just got off the phone with Kevin. It's Mexico."

  Anger faded. Bren smiled at Robert apologetically. "I have to go."

  "I hope you succeed."

  "Thanks, Robert." Bren squeezed his hand one last time and stood. She didn't have to turn around to know Rafe's eyes sizzled with proprietary intent—a branding she didn't appreciate. He might own cattle, but he didn't own her. She cleared the doorway and snatched Rafe's arm, pulling him into the hall. "You're rude."

  "And you're a fool. He was hitting on you."

  She wanted to laugh—she'd grabbed his hand. "He has a fiancée."

  "Ah, then we have nothing to worry about." His tone mocked her, and he rolled his eyes.

  She refused to comment. And the "we" he had so easily used to mean "them" was left to explore another day, because Smiley was out there, and she meant to save him.

  Chapter Tw
enty-Five

  Bren should have known Wes would have paid someone so his load could pass the checkpoint and keep going with Smiley. Her legs shook as she climbed out of the back seat of Trey's Honda Accord.

  Then her whole body trembled. "That's a drainage pipe." Bren backed up and looked to Rafe, eyes wide with shock. She motioned with her hand. "What about crossing the border back there?" About a mile back, well-marked, there was a bridge that permitted both foot traffic and vehicles. A simple car drive—boom, they were there.

  Before Rafe could formulate a response, Trey, his brother from hell—and from the looks of it, he wanted her to climb into the bowels of hell—popped his head from the trunk of his Honda Accord and scowled at her. "Because you don't have a passport, Bren."

  Mr. Command and Control she did not like.

  Their introduction swift, Bren had barely had time to register the differences between Rafe and his brother Trey, except for one—their eyes. Where Rafe's shimmered green with warmth, Trey's did not. They were a bottomless gray that glinted with dislike for her.

  That was fine. She wasn't here for a popularity contest. Maybe he considered her quest folly. After all, they were risking their lives for a damn horse. And it was true she didn't have a passport—had no reason to have a passport. Until some asshole stole her horse from Grace's warm stable with plans to slaughter him in a country she had no desire to ever step foot in.

  Rafe's long fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her toward him, and he gave her a hard shake. "Stop antagonizing him."

  Her mouth fell open with an irritated breath. "I didn't do anything." Standing in Rafe's shadow, his bristly, black chin jutting with authority, she quaked with anger. She wasn't playing army. She wasn't taking orders, even if he and Trey treated her like some pimple-faced teen who'd just enlisted. And the damn faded army jacket Rafe wore, its pockets stuffed with rations, flashlights, and anything else he believed vital to their mission, wasn't going to sway her.

  She peered around Rafe's wide shoulder at Trey, his blond hair cut ruthlessly short, his head still tucked inside the trunk he tinkered with. She fisted her hands at her side. Didn't he know their enemy was the clock?

  With a metallic slide and click, he shoved something into his waistband and slammed the trunk. He hustled toward them, all bulk and muscle, his biceps big as her thigh, straining against a gray T-shirt, a leather jacket in one hand.

  "Rafe." The demand in Trey's voice made her jump.

  Rafe turned. "Yeah."

  He handed him a silver semiautomatic, which Rafe, also, shoved into the waistband of his jeans.

  Bren's eyes popped wide. Shit! The clock wasn't their only enemy.

  Trey slipped into his jacket. "I need to move the car. I'll be back in ten minutes."

  "What about the border patrol?" Rafe said.

  "We're good. There shouldn't be another for a few hours."

  The silver Honda disappeared in a low cloud of dust amidst a terrain that was flat and dry. Strange-shaped vegetation with fronds and sharply pointed cactus grew from the dirt. Behind her a few industrial buildings poked against the blue horizon with only a single winding road, the same one Trey had taken, connecting the white, windowless structures.

  They stood several yards from the drainage ditch and the wide metal opening of a corrugated pipe. Above on an incline rose a chain-link fence that stretched forever in either direction. Curled razor wire at the top warned anyone who thought of jumping borders to think again.

  Trey seemed to know a lot about border patrols, immigration. She tugged on Rafe's hand. "He's uptight."

  "Comes with the job."

  The job. "Roping cattle makes you pissed off at the world?" She shook her head. "He doesn't much care for me." She sat down on a large rock and shrugged. "I'm not a cow, Rafe. And if he comes back with an attitude because I refused to be tossed off as excess baggage to your parents, I'm going to kick him in that tight ass of his."

  He didn't laugh, but his eyes glinted in amusement.

  "What's so damn funny?"

  "Trey's not a cowboy."

  "But you said he was running the ranch while your father..."

  "He is. But the day-to-day operation is a well-oiled machine. We have employees."

  "Oh." She cocked her head and brought her hand up against the sun to keep from squinting. She had just assumed. But Trey could fly, could get her from their connecting flight in Dallas to El Paso quicker than any commercial flight, and he had connections in Mexico. "Pilot?"

  Rafe shook his head.

  "Ooh, so mysterious." She stood with her hands on her hips and set him an irritated gaze. "Then what the hell does he do?"

  "He's DEA."

  DEA—now the cog turned. Drug enforcement.

  The wide, dark hole took on a new frightening meaning. "It's a drug tunnel." If it sounded like an accusation, it damn well was. Would they be the only occupants of said drainage pipe? More to worry about than dark, tight spaces, she whirled on Rafe, her eyes glinting with disbelief. "Is he crazy?"

  "No. He's pissed." Rafe came at her, looked over his shoulder to be sure they were still alone, and pinned her with not-so-warm green eyes this time. "Bren, this is his job. If we're caught, he could lose it."

  "If we're caught, we could die."

  "It's not as dire as that." His expression softened. "It's an abandoned drug tunnel."

  So she should relax? Wrong.

  Bren's shoulders slumped. She'd asked for this. Trey Langston was only giving her what she wanted. And thanks to her need for revenge, she'd driven them to defy borders with the real possibility of rubbing up against the most unsavory of human beings—drug smugglers.

  The dark hole loomed, taunting her resolve. Although big enough for her to enter and still stand to her full height, there was no way to tell if it continued that way until they reached the other end.

  The other end...

  Bren wrapped her arms around her waist and trembled into her thick, dark-blue hooded sweatshirt.

  Where was the tough farm girl now?

  "How far is it?" The question she had meant to ask inside her head left her lips, her voice ripe with apprehension.

  "You can always stay behind."

  The condescending voice gave her a start. "I thought you were parking the car." She glared at Trey.

  "Be nice, darlin'." Rafe pulled her next to him.

  "Even better." Trey smiled, a set of dimples softening the severe planes of his chiseled, bronzed face, and for a moment he actually looked friendly. "I found a clump of overgrown tumbleweeds."

  Right. They were in Texas after all.

  Trey motioned toward her. "Ladies first."

  She wouldn't demean herself by asking how far again. She could do this. Grabbing her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder and moved toward the black opening, which emitted a cool dampness like an abandoned cave. She took measured steps along the rocky, thin stream of the drainage ditch, the water lapping at her boots. All thoughts of her life in western Maryland gobbled up into the mouth of a whale. She clamped down on the strap of her backpack and walked inside.

  Trey passed her and walked several yards by flashlight until the tunnel changed. Gone was the corrugated floor of the pipe, replaced now with compact soil. Trey hit a switch. Electric wire looped the walls every fifty feet like garland on a Christmas tree. Where a shiny, glass Christmas ball would be, a single lightbulb hung, its glow fanning out into shadows until they came upon the next. The walls and ceiling, shored up with mortised timbers and sheathed in mildewed plywood, closed in like a crypt, and Bren kept walking, the tip of her boots hitting an occasional stone along the carved-out dirt floor as they traveled in silence.

  Mr. Command and Control, true to his nature, had taken the lead after realizing his bullying wasn't going to dissuade her. Bren reached back, searching for Rafe. The strength of his rough, long fingers encircled her hand once again, and the anxiety riding high in her chest relaxed a little. They'd walked the better par
t of twenty minutes when Trey slowed and the tunnel narrowed and ended. Rusty metal rungs embedded into a concrete wall rose about ten feet to a trap door.

  Trey turned to them. "This is it." He motioned to the wooden panel above. "It slides back. There's a chest above that I need to move." Trey bent down, the hardened planes of his face even with Bren's face. She wanted to gulp the minute those gray eyes glinted under the amber glow of light. "Life or death, Bren. No in between. Got it? These bastards will slit your throat."

  Now she gulped.

  The real ball of fire she'd been several thousand yards back cooled to a piece of lead. She couldn't move. Instead, she remained glued to Trey's incisive gaze. Frightened or not, she'd come this far. She glanced up at the door that would lead to a world so unlike the one she'd come from. Her eyes came back to rest on Trey's grim expression. "I'm not leaving Smiley. He's my horse." The last word she could barely get out.

  Something in those unfeeling gray eyes of Trey's softened. His broad hand came down on her shoulder, and he squeezed. "Determination. I like that." He smiled at Rafe. "She's exactly as you said."

  Whether Trey chose to help because of his loyalty to his brother, his love for horses, or avid curiosity about her, she couldn't say. But something told Bren he found her quite peculiar. Call it intuition or the amused look that passed between brothers. Her face warmed. She didn't particularly like being made fun of. But before she could voice her complaint, Trey handed her the flashlight and started up the ladder.

  Bren kept the light to his back, lighting up the area around the trap door.

  He reached the top. The wood creaked when he pushed the trap door open. Shafts of light and dust particles filtered down into the tunnel. He struggled with something up above—from the groan and scuffs, she assumed furniture. Gray light poured in, and Trey levered his body up until he sat on the edge.

  He lifted his chin toward Rafe. "Bren goes next. Your job's to slide the door back, move the chest into place, and meet us at the jeep outside the back door."

  Trey bent down into the hole, his blond hair aglow from the brightness of the flashlight. She turned it off and handed it to Rafe. Trey motioned with his hands in a give-me fashion, and she began to climb. Strong, capable hands reached down, and Bren grabbed hold of Trey. He clasped onto her and pulled her up. Turning her around, he pushed her over the opening, and Bren crawled on her hands and knees and pushed off the cold floor to stand.