Wyoming Bold (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Diana Palmer

  “Well, thanks again,” she said.

  He turned and smiled. He was tall and slender, with brown hair and dark eyes, very dignified. He didn’t look like a ranch hand at all. “My pleasure,” he said. He climbed into the car and drove away.

  “What a very nice man,” Merissa said to her mother.

  “Yes. The Kirks have been good to us.” She hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad that we still have each other. If Bill hadn’t gone away when he did...”

  “Don’t think about it,” Merissa said, hugging her close.

  Clara sighed. “I can’t help it. You know, San Francisco isn’t that far away, and Bill works for a shipping company on the docks, Meriwether’s. If he knew we were still here, if he ever tried to return...!”

  “He won’t come back,” Merissa said softly. “You told his cousin that we were living in Billings, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She relaxed. “Yes, I did. And I know he doesn’t have caller ID, so he wouldn’t notice the area code or the number. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve lived in fear all these years that he’d want revenge, that he’d try to do something awful to us.”

  “He won’t come back,” Merissa assured her. “He won’t.”

  Clara drew back and smiled. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Of course! So let’s go have supper.”

  “That is an excellent idea,” Clara agreed, leading the way into the kitchen.

  * * *

  LATER, TANK PHONED THEM. “I’m sorry Ben didn’t make it over there,” he said. “He had to go with the truck and wait while they replaced the tires. The mechanic was swamped, so it took a long time. He said he tried to call you and couldn’t get through.”

  “Odd,” she remarked. “The phone didn’t ring.”

  That was puzzling, but the snowstorm did make the power and phone service a little sporadic lately. “Well, anyway, he’ll get there first thing in the morning.”

  “Ben?” Merissa asked, stunned. “Who’s Ben?”

  “Our electrician,” he replied. “The one who was coming over to replace your wall outlet.”

  “But...the electrician came,” she faltered. “He checked out everything, even my computer, and redid the wiring...”

  “I’ll be right over,” Tank said curtly, and hung up.

  Merissa looked at the phone with a puzzled expression. She wondered why Tank sounded so upset. Then she remembered what he’d said. His electrician hadn’t come? So who was the nice man who’d fixed the wiring?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MERISSA MET TANK at the front door. He got out of the ranch truck with another man, a tall, blond man with one eye and an eye patch. “But he already fixed the wiring,” she began.

  Tank put his finger to his lips. He looked at the other man and nodded. The man with one eye grinned at Merissa and went past her into the house.

  “Don’t say a word,” Tank told her. “But come with us and show Rourke what the man worked on.”

  She went pale. “It was the man who’s after you, wasn’t it? I knew there was something wrong about him. And I didn’t even realize...!”

  She was heartsick.

  He drew her into his arms and hugged her close. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make everything right. Come on, honey.”

  He held her hand and led her back into the house. Clara was standing in the hall with Rourke already.

  Merissa led the men through the house, pointing out everywhere her visitor had been. It took a long time. Rourke used some odd instrument to pinpoint every small, unnoticeable change. He removed several components, even one from Merissa’s own computer tower, a flash drive she hadn’t even noticed, hidden in the back of the computer, in a place she never used.

  Finally Rourke loaded all the bugs into a small bag and carried them out to the bed of the pickup truck.

  He came back inside grinning. “He was efficient,” he mused. “But the work was just a little sloppy. I suppose he thought your man might show up sooner than he expected,” he told Tank.

  “A good thing he didn’t,” Tank replied. “There might have been trouble.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Rourke added. He smiled at Merissa. “Everything is fine,” he told her when he saw her expression. “Most people wouldn’t have suspected him of foul play. He seems to be quite good at disguise.”

  “He was polite and he had nice manners,” Merissa said heavily, sitting down at her desk. “I didn’t even realize...”

  “Hold it,” Rourke said. He had an instrument in his hand and it was flashing. He motioned Merissa out of her chair. He got down on one knee, looked under the desk and extricated a small device.

  “Hi, pal,” Rourke said into it. “Sorry about the earache, mate.” And he smashed the device with his shoe. He chuckled. “Missed that one. He’ll have a hell of an earache, I hope.”

  Merissa ground her teeth together. She wasn’t used to espionage of any kind, and it disturbed her. The man had rung alarm bells in her head, but she hadn’t felt that intuitive something that told her the whole situation was wrong. That was unusual. But, then, her gift was sporadic, which was why it was so difficult for scientists to accept the validity of such unusual abilities.

  “I should have seen it, though,” she pointed out.

  “You’re not infallible,” Tank said fondly, and with a smile. “I don’t mind. It makes you more like the rest of us. We make mistakes, too.”

  “Seen what?” Rourke asked, frowning.

  Tank hesitated. “She sees things. She knows things before they happen,” he said reluctantly.

  “Ah, yes.” Rourke wasn’t weirded out. He just smiled. “I have this old chap who works for me, on my place in South Africa. He has a gift like that. I learned long ago to listen when he made warnings.”

  Merissa was fascinated. “You don’t think I curdle milk, then?”

  He burst out laughing. “Not at all. I’m rather used to psychic phenomena. Africa is a place of the supernatural, you know. We’re surrounded by it. Many of the native people still cling to old beliefs and ancient ways. They’re wiser than we are. We think we own the world. They know we don’t, that there are forces far more powerful than our modern devices.”

  She was fascinated. “I’ve always loved reading about Africa. There are webcams all over that you can plug into and watch wildlife in real time.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s very nice for people who can’t go there,” she said. Her eyes took on a merry gleam. “And there’s always YouTube,” she added. “I’ve been to all sorts of mysterious places through the eyes of personal video cameras.”

  “Why would he plant bugs here?” Tank asked suddenly.

  Rourke glanced at him. “Because he knows you have an interest...here.”

  Tank felt sick to his stomach. He looked at Clara and Merissa, recalled the anguish they’d been through at the hands of Merissa’s brutal father. Now he was putting them in danger, just by being close to them.

  Merissa walked up to him and looked up into his eyes. “Some things happen because it’s part of a plan, one we don’t know about, can’t know about. Life is a test. Life is lessons. People come into our lives at certain times, for certain reasons.”

  “Predestination,” Rourke mused, nodding his head.

  “Well, sort of,” she faltered. “I mean, the future isn’t set in stone. I think it can be changed by decisions we make. But I think there’s some overall plan for our lives. We call it God,” she said, nodding toward her mother. “Other people call it fate or luck or chance. But I do believe in it.”

  “So do I,” Tank replied, and looked deeply into her eyes for so long that she flushed a little.

  “Did you say anything in here that you would have minded him hearing?” Rourke interrupted, looking from one woman to the other.

  “Nothing at all.” Clara laughed. “Just general conversation.”

  Merissa nodded. She didn’t want to remind C
lara that they’d been talking about her father. But that wasn’t what the shadowy eavesdropper was interested in. He wanted to know about Tank, about his movements, where he was, what he was doing. He was planning tragedy for Tank, not for Merissa and Clara. So she kept her silence.

  “We’d better go,” Rourke said.

  Tank nodded. He touched Merissa’s cheek with his finger. “Don’t worry, everything’s back to the way it was.”

  “He did a pretty good job on the wiring, coincidentally,” Rourke told them. “If he hadn’t added the bugs at the same time, I’d call it perfect.”

  “He wasn’t expecting a surveillance expert to check his work, I imagine,” Tank said, tongue-in-cheek. “Oh, Greg’s going to mend your squirrel and truck him up north to release him,” he added. He smiled. “The little guy’s going to be fine.”

  “Thank goodness.” She sighed.

  Tank lifted his forefinger. “No saving snakes.”

  She put up both hands, palm out, and grinned. “It’s winter. No snakes to save.”

  “Good point.”

  He followed Rourke down the steps and into the truck. He waved as they drove off.

  “Saving snakes?” Rourke queried.

  Tank chuckled. “That’s a story and a half. Let me tell you about it.” He did, all the way home. Rourke almost fell out of the truck laughing.

  * * *

  MERISSA WORRIED ABOUT the conversation she and her mother’d had—the one about her father. She knew the criminals weren’t going to be concerned with her, but it disturbed her that they’d mentioned her father’s employer, and his location.

  “You don’t surely think they’d call him for some reason?” Merissa wondered aloud, having explained her fears to her mother.

  “Sweetheart, why would they?” Clara asked reasonably. “They don’t have any quarrel with us.”

  “They wired our house...”

  “To get information about Dalton,” Clara said sadly. “I’m sorry about that, but it doesn’t put us on the firing line. They’re just desperate for any tidbits on his movements. It doesn’t concern us.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Merissa replied.

  “Of course I am. Want to watch the news with me?” she asked.

  Merissa shook her head. “I think I’ll work for a while.”

  She smiled. “Good idea. Take your mind off things.”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  She went into her small office and sat down at the desk.

  * * *

  TANK WAS WATCHING the news when the doorbell rang. He was alone at the house. The wives had returned home, and then they had all flown to Denver for a cattle show. It had been planned for a while, but it was a good thing, under the circumstances. Tank had worried about having family members in the way, in case the rogue agent made a move.

  Christmas was a few days in the future, but he didn’t mind being by himself. Rourke was around, and so were plenty of cowboys. It wasn’t as if he was alone. Now that the snowfall had stopped, there was a window that allowed them out of town. At least, temporarily.

  Mavie opened the door to two gentlemen wearing dark suits. One was slender and olive-skinned with long black hair in a ponytail. The other was blond with dark eyes. Both were unsmiling.

  She raised her eyebrows and looked wary. “We haven’t seen any flying saucers.”

  They burst out laughing at the “men in black” assumption. She grinned. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Dalton Kirk. Is he in?” the dark-haired one asked politely.

  “Yes. Come in out of the cold.”

  Dalton, hearing voices, came into the hall. He frowned. Were these more of the bogus fed’s accomplices?

  “I’m Jon Blackhawk, Senior FBI agent from San Antonio, Texas,” the dark-haired one said politely. “This—” he indicated his companion “—is Garon Grier, he’s SAC at my office.” They both produced credentials for his inspection. He handed them back.

  “SAC?” Dalton asked, frowning.

  “Senior Agent in Charge,” Garon replied. He smiled. It looked as if he didn’t do it often. “We heard about your visitor. We’d like to talk to you. We’re friends of Sheriff Hayes Carson, from Jacobs County. He’s involved in a case we’re working.”

  “Come in and have a seat,” Dalton said, leading them to the living room. He turned off the television. “Mavie, can you bring coffee, please?”

  “Certainly. It’ll be right up,” she said politely.

  The two men sat down on the sofa, facing Dalton in his easy chair. “We’ve done some checking,” Blackhawk said. “I know this is an unpleasant memory for you to revisit, but we need to speak to you about what happened when you worked for the Border Patrol in Arizona.”

  Dalton took a breath and managed a faint smile. “Not a subject I revisit often,” he agreed. “But I can tell you what I remember.”

  “Please,” Grier added.

  “There was a man. I’d forgotten until a friend of mine—” he didn’t name Merissa or the circumstances under which she knew about the man “—brought it up. There was a DEA agent who came to me about a possible incursion in my territory. He said a shipment of narcotics was being brought across by men in paramilitary uniforms and he needed assistance to stop them.” His eyes narrowed with memory. “He was in an unmarked car. I was in my patrol vehicle. I followed him to the site. It was dark, but there was a full moon, so I could see the movement. I got out of my vehicle and when I saw the perpetrators, I realized that I needed backup. But when I went to call it in, he stopped me. He said that he had other agents in place, I just needed to go in with him to support them.”

  “He said there were other agents there?”

  “Yes. I had no reason to distrust him. He had proper ID. I always check,” he added. “Checked, that is. Anyway, I pulled my service weapon and we went in sight of the suspects. He called out first that we were federal agents, for them to stand down and put their arms on the ground.”

  He blinked. “The rest...is still a bit hazy. I was shot, but not by the suspects. The shot seemed to come from behind me. It hit my lung. I went down. I remember looking up at this flashy Hispanic man. He had a gold-plated automatic aimed at me and he was smiling. He said that it was stupid to tangle with a cartel the size of his, and that I wouldn’t have the chance to do it again. I remember it felt like being hit by a fist, several times. I lost consciousness and came to in the hospital.”

  “How did you get there?”

  Tank managed a smile. He felt as if there was bile in his throat. The memory was still sickening. “Of all things, I honestly believe it was one of the mules who called an ambulance. He slipped back when the other men were driving away. The other man, I vaguely remember, was cursing because he’d called for help. They argued. I passed out before they left. I talked to dispatch when I got out of the hospital. The 911 operator said the Hispanic man actually apologized and said that if he could have stopped it, he would have. He said that he and his family would pray for me.” He shook his head. “They must have, because the doctors said they’d never seen a man in my condition live to tell about it.”

  Blackhawk winced. “I know about gunshot wounds. My brother worked for us, and for the CIA. Over the years, he was shot at least twice, and one wound was life-threatening. It was rough on the family as well as on him.”

  “My brothers almost went crazy,” Tank recalled quietly. His eyes fell. “So did I. I didn’t deal with it well.” He shrugged and managed a smile. “I’m still not dealing with it all that well.” He shook his head. “I was in the hospital for weeks.”

  Grier’s dark eyes were icy. “These people think of their adversaries as insects. They don’t mind killing anyone—women, children, it’s all the same to them. The only thing they care about is the money.”

  Tank laughed shortly. “I noticed. The guy had a gold-plated automatic, for God’s sake!”

  “Did Sheriff Hayes tell you how he and his new wife escaped
the kidnappers?” Blackhawk asked with a smile in his black eyes.

  “He did tell me some things about it, but not all the details,” Tank replied.

  The two visitors exchanged glances. “One of the kidnappers owned the house where they were kept. He had an outhouse with, get this, a gold-plated, jewel-encrusted toilet paper holder. She used it to cut through their bonds.”

  Tank laughed. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Neither did they.” Grier shook his head. “I thought I’d heard everything. I used to work with our Hostage Rescue Team,” he added. “I do know about hostage-taking. In many cases, the victims are dead in the first twenty-four hours. Hayes and his wife were very lucky.”

  “Which brings us to you, and the purpose of our visit,” Blackhawk added, leaning forward. “Hayes Carson arrested a major player in the cartel, which was founded by the late, great drug lord they called El Ladŕon. The guy was carrying gold-plated hardware. Thing is, Hayes Carson was in the company of a supposed DEA agent. When people started asking questions about the man, and started digging into his identity, things popped. A bogus secretary got a job with Carson’s office and managed to get her hands on the computer—she erased evidence of the man’s presence at the arrest. When they hired an outside consultant to try to recover the evidence from the hard drive, he was killed.”

  “This sounds big,” Tank said quietly.

  “It is big,” Grier added. “Obviously somebody doesn’t want the agent identified. We want to know why.”

  “Especially since it seems he’s been feeding information to the major drug cartels for several years, as a rogue DEA agent,” Blackhawk agreed.

  “If you can remember anything, you need to tell us,” Grier said. “We have reason to believe there may be a connection between the rogue agent and a politician who’s running for office.”

  Tank stared at them, frowning. He’d heard all this, but he did have a question. “What does that have to do with the cartels?”