The Cowboy's Deadly Mission

by Addison Fox

  Tate got to his feet from where he finished attaching a section of fence to the post. “Putting her in the kitchen means we look like turncoats. Like we’re colluding with the cops.”

  “It sends a message.”

  “That we don’t trust our men.”

  Tate wasn’t quite sure why that bothered him so badly, but it did.

  “There’s no reason for anyone to think we’re nothing more than interested, cooperative ranch owners aiding the police in a necessary investigation.”

  The argument fit snug as a coffin and was equally confining. “Like the police have done much to manage the troubles so far. They’ve done so well, in fact, that now they’re sitting on a murder.”

  Ace stopped his work and got to his feet. His stare was direct, his words even more so. “You don’t have a very high opinion of Midnight Pass’s finest.”

  “And you do?” Tate shot back, ignoring the discomfort that lit up the nerves at the base of his spine.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. They’ve been keeping up with a problem that’s as big if not bigger than all the other border towns up and down the state. You know the Pass has always been vulnerable.”

  Which only reinforced the question that had dogged him for over a decade.

  Why the hell did Belle want to mix herself up with any of that? Although the drug problem had grown worse of late, Ace was right. It’s not like there hadn’t always been whispers of trouble, going back as far as he could remember and likely well beyond.

  “The Pass might have been vulnerable but we’ve stayed blessedly free of the seamier side of things. Even the breaches we’ve had up to now haven’t felt personal. Not like this one.”

  “Then maybe we’re due.” Ace picked up the small length of wire he’d clipped off the edge of his post and headed for the truck.

  He’d already poured two cups of water out of the large cooler they kept perpetually full on all ranch vehicles and extended a large plastic cup as Tate came up behind him. The water slid down easy and he was already reaching for the cooler to pour a second drink when Ace’s words registered.

  “Do you really think we’re due?” Tate asked.

  “I think we’re fools if we put our heads in the sand and delude ourselves into thinking we’re not at risk.”

  “We pay well. We screen our employees.”

  Ace crumpled his plastic cup and nestled it in a small covered bin in the back of the truck. “Which means jack if the wrong person starts whispering in the right ear. Means even less if that person gets in over their head and gets desperate.”

  “Do you think we’re at fault here?” His earlier thoughts still chaffed, but Tate gave them a voice, trying them out. “If for no other reason than we’ve not done enough to stop it.”

  “I’m not quite ready to cop to fault. But I don’t think we can remain impassive any longer. You and I may not see eye to eye on the capabilities of the Midnight Pass police force, but I do think they need all the help they can get. Those in a position to provide extra eyes need to do their fair share.”

  There was little he and his brothers didn’t discuss, so it was startling to realize Ace’s opinion was as well thought out as it was.

  “You been thinking about this for a while?”

  “A bit.” Ace shrugged as he went around to get in the truck. “More since Dr. Torres’s practice got hit a few months ago, by someone looking for drugs.”

  Ace’s comment shot off warning bells, for both the crime that Tate had forgotten about and the fact that Ace had harbored such a concern. His brother and their large-animal vet had always had a tension simmering between them, but Ace’s protective streak had clearly been notched up at Veronica’s recent hardship.

  Of course, if his brother was stubborn enough to ignore the attraction that still simmered between him and his old flame—an old flame that had dumped the idiot she’d married after her long-ago breakup with Ace, was now single again and had recently resettled in the Pass—that was his brother’s problem. Ace was a grown man who normally exhibited better sense.

  Or stubborn just runs in the family, Tate’s conscience taunted him.

  Since that line of thought was just uncomfortable—especially with the coffee-flavored taste of Belle still on his lips—he focused on the discussion at hand. “You’d think maybe we could have done some advance planning on how we’d handle something like this?”

  “Dad had a zero tolerance policy for drugs and drinking on the job. It was the one thing he did right. Grandpa had the same. It’s in every contract. And no employer’s required to keep on someone engaged in illegal activity.”

  An image of their wiry, wily grandfather seemed to shimmer in the air before them and Tate couldn’t hold back the smile. “I thought Grandpa’s only rule was to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “He lawyered himself up a bit better than that. Protected Reynolds Station while he was at it. None of it changes the fact that a determined individual can do a lot of damage before we figure it out.”

  “Zero tolerance for an individual’s behavior isn’t sussing out a drug runner.” Tate hesitated before adding, “Or a murderer.”

  “No,” Ace sighed. “It sure as hell’s not.”

  Their water break at an end, Tate climbed into the truck, the two of them moving in moments. He stifled a yawn, his early ride and the busy morning catching up with him.

  “She really is a looker. Even prettier than she was in high school, if that’s possible.”

  The urge to ignore the remark or shoot a silent finger gesture was strong but Tate did neither. He also refused to give free reign to the stubborn streak of jealousy that fired up at the fact his brother even noticed Belle was an attractive woman. Instead, he tamped down on all of it and forced a note of boredom into his tone. “Then you ask her out.”

  “You’d be okay with that? I figured since your lips were so busy with hers, you’d want a man to keep his distance.”

  “My lips weren’t—” He snapped the offending appendages closed. “She’s single. Last I heard, you were a single man. Although it sounds like Doc Torres might need a bit of protecting if you had a mind for it.”

  Ace’s wide smile faded. “I am a single man. I’ll clean up after we get back and see if I can’t sweet-talk Belle once she’s done interviewing the men.”

  “You do that.”

  Ace turned onto one of the dirt roads that cut through the property, the ride smoothing out as they no longer bumped over the ground. Tate stared out the front window, acre after acre spread out before him. This was his home. His life. And his livelihood.

  And even with all that wide open space, something tight and hard and shockingly well barbed settled in his chest. Someone came onto his land—or was already here—and used his property to do unspeakable evil. All the work they’d done for the past decade to rebuild Reynolds Station was put at risk. His brother was going to ask Belle out...

  Tate sat up, the sleep dogging his eyes vanishing as he stared at his brother. “Keep your thoughts and your sweet talk and your freshly showered ass off Belle.”

  “Why? So you can continue your specialized brand of Tate Reynolds charm that seems to come out only around her?”

  “My charm’s just fine. I haven’t heard any women complaining.”

  “None of the women you’ve dated have been Belle either.”

  The neat snap of proverbial steel closed around his ankle, his crafty brother working it like the finest trapper. Damn, but he was getting slow if he couldn’t see Ace’s maneuvering from a mile away.

  “It’s called moving on. Belle and I had our time once and it passed.” He risked another glance at Ace, surprised to see something quiet and wistful pass across his brother’s face before it vanished. “Besides, you’re not her type,” Tate finished up lamely.

  “No, little brother, I’m
not. Not by a long shot.”

  Chapter 6

  Belle fought the urge to rub her eyes and rest her head on that pretty Texas pine. The interviews had been endless and by the tenth, she could have scripted the conversation. Each ranch hand began the discussion wary and concerned. They moved quickly into a ready defense of their employers. And by the end, they swore up and down they knew of nothing horrible happening on Reynolds land.

  Loyalty, she admired.

  When it was pitch-black blind, not so much.

  Even with assurance that she was asking questions to ensure everyone’s safety, she was blocked at every turn.

  Not that she’d walked in expecting much in the way of cooperation. But it was the endless repetition that made her twitchy.

  Was the Reynolds family brainwashing their employees? Even as she flirted with the question, Belle dismissed the thought.

  How did you fault a family for creating a place for good men to do good work for a good day’s wage? While Midnight Pass wasn’t painfully poor or depressed, it wasn’t a thriving metropolis by a long shot. People valued good jobs for an honest day’s wage.

  It was obvious Reynolds Station provided that.

  “You look like you need something considerably harder than another pot of coffee.” Arden floated into the kitchen, a yoga mat over her shoulder and a gym bag in a matching color on the other. “Want to come with me to the studio?”

  The offer was tempting—more so when Belle shifted and felt a line of fire shoot down her back and settle in a cramp at the base—but she had four more interviews to go and another report to wrap up. “Duty calls.”

  Arden frowned and settled her stuff on the floor. “You have a duty to your health, too.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Right.” Arden marched over to the coffeepot and dumped the dregs into the sink.

  “Hey—”

  “If you don’t stretch and breathe deep, you don’t get to riddle your veins with stale caffeine. House rules.”

  “I’m made of sterner stuff.”

  “So am I.” Arden moved on to the fridge and dragged out a water bottle. “Drink this and maybe I’ll believe you.”

  “I see Tate’s surly attitude and know-it-all personality have rubbed off on you.” Belle made no effort to hide her own tone, but she did twist the cap off the water bottle and drink deeply. So she was in no position to argue when Arden shot her a finger gesture she’d clearly learned at the hands of her older brothers.

  At least she did it with a smile.

  “Come on. You deserve a break. You were called out here at six this morning. You’ve been at it ever since. Last time I checked, Chief Corden was running a police precinct, not managing a team of indentured servants.”

  “We have a limited window of time to get this wrapped up. Leads go cold way too quickly and I can’t let that happen here.”

  “Have the men been helpful?”

  Belle sighed. “Not at all.”

  “Then there are no leads to follow, cold or otherwise. Come with me. Clear your head. Maybe we’ll go grab dinner after.”

  The offer to clear her head was tempting—especially with Tate’s kisses still clouding it—and Belle admitted defeat. “Okay. Let me just text your foreman and tell him I’ll pick up the remaining interviews in the morning.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  They settled into a companionable silence as Arden rinsed the coffeepot and the mugs some of the ranch hands had used while Belle wrapped up. In moments, her phone dinged with confirmation from their foreman, Jarrett Brooks, that he’d send the rest of his men over by nine the next morning. She emailed the chief with the latest version of her report and knew she had run out of excuses to avoid leaving.

  Despite his promise—or threat?—to come back, Tate hadn’t shown up.

  Which was just as well, but it still left her with a small kernel of embarrassment that she’d wanted him to. Or that maybe, somewhere deep inside, her desire to see him again had ensured she’d dragged out the afternoon.

  She’d worked hard over the past decade to purge the man from her system. She’d dated off and on, enjoying her time getting to know some really great guys. Quite a few good men, actually, who’d somehow never quite measured up. A small part of her questioned just how well she was actually doing on that whole moving on thing, but there wasn’t much to do about it right now.

  Even if her heart had leaped every time the door opened or heavy boots stomped over the front porch.

  “You ready to go?” Belle shoved the laptop into her workbag and added the pages of notes she’d taken by hand.

  “Want me to loan you some workout clothes?”

  “You are a good friend.” Belle laughed at the offer. “But you could fit your entire body into one leg of my yoga pants.”

  “You’re not that much bigger than me. In fact, while I never thought you were heavy, you’re even more toned and fit than I remember.”

  “I keep a bag in the car and I’ve been working out before heading home. The Feds are all pretty fit and they’ve inspired me to work out a bit more. Stay on top of my game.”

  Arden’s blue gaze lit up. “Anyone in particular offering extra inspiration?”

  Her friend’s interpretation of the situation—and the sad fact that the workouts had been a way to stave off boredom instead of actually putting herself in proximity to an attractive member of the opposite sex—had Belle shaking her head. She kept her tone light and casual, but the knowledge knocked another hole in her spirits. “Nope. Just for me.”

  “Well, you look fierce.”

  “Thank you.”

  Arden grabbed her things and Belle followed her out the door. A sharp dart of awareness skittered down her spine, but when she turned to look out past the stables and then on to the wide grazing land that stretched for the fifty thousand acres that made up Reynolds Station, she didn’t see Tate.

  And damn his gorgeous hide for making her look anyway.

  She waited on the porch while Arden locked up, then walked toward their cars. Arden’s gaze looked her over from head to toe once more. “Yep. You really are looking fierce. Maybe that’s the reason my brother was kissing your brains out earlier today.”

  “Arden!”

  “It’s a simple fact.”

  Whether it was the raw emotions that always hovered near the surface where Tate Reynolds was concerned or the stress of the day, she wasn’t sure. But the buoyed spirits that had carried her out the door and into the driveway faded. “There’s nothing simple about it.”

  The humor faded from Arden’s eyes, but the sharp, knowing gaze remained. “No, there isn’t. Most things worth a spit are complicated and complex and hard.”

  “Tate and I are ancient history. A momentary lapse in judgment can’t change that.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  Belle paused at the door to her SUV, her fingers brushing the handle. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve always thought you and my brother’s mutual lapses in judgment were the best things that had ever happened to either one of you. I’ve been hoping for about forever you two would have a few more.”

  Arden ducked into her car before Belle could say anything and she was grateful for the respite. Although they hadn’t known each other well when they were younger because of their five-year age difference, over the past few years, Arden had become a good friend. Both had been diligent about keeping Tate out of their conversations and Belle was grateful for it.

  So why was Arden pushing now?

  It was only when she reached the edge of the Reynolds property and turned onto the main road that led into Midnight Pass proper that Belle realized she hadn’t even asked the most important question.

  Had Ace told Arden about the kiss? Because she knew with absolute certainty, Tate would never hav
e admitted to a moment of weakness like that.

  Nor was he likely to repeat it.

  * * *

  Tabasco Burns had owned the Border Line pool hall since he settled in Midnight Pass after serving in the Vietnam War. He lost two fingers and a foot in a skirmish that cost him half his platoon, received an honorable discharge and decided he’d head south to disappear.

  It still seemed to tickle his old, grizzled features when someone pointed out that not only was he one of the most well-known denizens of Midnight Pass, but his pool hall saw roughly the entire population over twenty-one stroll through its doors on an annual basis. Even for those who didn’t make themselves regulars, Tabasco’s annual Thanksgiving Eve potluck and his Memorial Day barbecue ensured even the least social among Midnight Pass’s citizens hit the Border Line.

  The Reynolds boys, on the other hand—well, most would consider them regulars.

  It wasn’t the beer, Tate thought as he ordered his usual—the first of his two foamy lagers for the evening and a tequila chaser. Nor was it the company, as Ace or Hoyt were typically ribbing him about something.

  But there was an incredible comfort and ease about walking into a room where the conversation was lively, the faces familiar and the work of a long day was over.

  “Heard you had some trouble this morning?” Tabasco pulled the beer himself before grabbing a shot glass for the tequila.

  “Bad news travels fast,” Tate said.

  “You have no idea, my friend.” Tabasco handed over the beer and the chaser. “Especially when it’s news like this.”

  While it stung to ask, Tate figured it was as good a time as any to see how much the cops were sharing and if they were committed to keeping the Reynolds family up to date as initially promised. “They identify him yet?”

  “Not yet.” Tabasco nodded to one of his waitresses, who hollered an order down the bar and began pouring the two glasses of wine she requested. “Word is it took them until almost five o’clock to move the body. Forensics, cops and Feds all needed their turn.”

  Tate took it in, the casual conversation like any other he might have had at this very bar. Only this one was different.