by Nico Rosso
The other cars pulled up a few yards away. Captain Phelps stepped from the police car. The bald man who’d attacked Mariana in the parking lot got out of the sedan. Phelps mostly looked weary and disappointed, while the bald man’s face was set with cold fury.
Mariana stood next to Ty, legs braced. “This is my land, Phelps.”
The captain frowned, shaking his head. “Everything would’ve been so much easier if you’d sold. You’d have lived to enjoy your money.”
Ty addressed the captain and the bald man. “Didn’t you hear? The Seventh Syndicate is done here.”
The bald man spit, “I don’t care about what they say.” He pulled the edge of his jacket back, revealing a pistol on his hip. “I’m going to finish this job.”
Ty looked at the men, both armed. The bald man practically vibrated with violence. Phelps’s sagging posture was deceptive. Ty knew the man was ready to draw his sidearm. Before Ty had a chance to reach for his, Mariana swept past him, reached into his jacket and pulled his pistol. She stood between him and the men, gun extended toward them.
Ty’s heart hammered. She couldn’t take on both of them at once. Phelps put his palms out to her. “I know you think this is your only option, but we can work something out. Seventh Syndicate doesn’t have to be part of it. We’ll get a new offer on the table. Make arrangements so everyone can walk away happy.”
He was lying, buying time. Ty felt the menace in the false negotiation. The bald man edged his hand millimeters closer to his own gun. Why had Mariana made this move to take his gun? Then Ty saw that her backpack was completely unzipped. The handle of the .44 was in front of him, within reach.
Searing electricity shot through Ty’s limbs. Life and death were a blink away.
The bald man sneered at Mariana. “You ready to put me in the ground?” His shoulder twitched and Ty burst into motion. He grabbed the pistol from Mariana’s backpack and sprang in front of her. The bald man reached for his gun. Ty fired a single shot that slammed the bald man back against his car. He slid to the ground, dead.
Phelps’s hand hovered over his sidearm, but his jaw trembled and the rest of him was frozen. Mariana held him in place with the steady aim of her pistol. Far behind him, police lights flashed along the road to her property. The patrol car sped closer. Phelps’s shoulders slumped when the light flicked over him. The car came to a stop and road dust washed over the scene. Pete stepped from the patrol car and approached cautiously. Mariana maintained her aim at the captain.
Phelps turned his tired eyes toward the officer. “Pete. I don’t think you know—”
“I’m taking your gun, Phelps.” Pete stepped to the captain and removed the sidearm. Mariana lowered her pistol. Pete cuffed Phelps and sat him in the back of the patrol car before returning to Ty and Mariana. “Thanks for your call, Mariana.”
She went to the truck and retrieved her phone, face neutral. When she returned, she handed Ty the pistol, which he holstered. He placed the revolver in her backpack as Pete called in backup and the crime scene team on his car radio.
The people showed up quickly. Ty and Mariana stood together as the activity ebbed and flowed around them. They answered Pete’s questions and Ty promised to call his chief and his FBI contacts to tie it all together with the earlier conflict at the house. The body was photographed and removed, then the cars. Pete nodded solemnly to Ty and Mariana before driving off with Phelps in the back of his car.
Mariana got in the driver’s side of the truck and took her and Ty to the house. Toro greeted them with tail wags and trotted with them inside. The first thing Mariana did was to go to the bedroom and place the revolver back in the false-bottomed drawer. He took off his jacket. There were bullet holes in the sleeve, but not his flesh.
She sat on the edge of the bed looking exhausted. But warm life in her eyes had not dimmed. “Forget about the violence,” she said. “The fight and the fire and the phone calls and the guns.” She shook her head, dark hair framing her face. “Without all that, you’d still be here right now, wouldn’t you?”
He sat next to her on the bed, heat moving between their bodies. “From the first time I saw you in your shop, I knew. I knew that I would love to find out what your voice sounded like this early in the morning. And whether or not we have an easy life or a hard one, I can’t wait to find out every step with you.” He leaned close and her arms wrapped around him. Their mouths met in a kiss that spoke more vows than words could.
Epilogue
Mariana couldn’t remember this much activity on her land since...ever. The harvesters worked their way through the rows of trees. Boxes and boxes of apples were stacked in the barn, or were trucked off in a couple of runs a day. Just now a truck eased past her and she waved at the driver, standing between the orchard and the house.
Behind her at the house, Vincent and Stephanie ran countless wires from new satellite dishes on the roof, down into the storage room next to the kitchen. Every time she walked into that converted space, it looked more and more like some kind of NASA ground control. Computers and monitors and radios lined a long table that Ty had built into one wall.
The sound of Ty’s hammer was much slower than her pulse when she looked up at him on a ladder, replacing old wood on the porch roof with fresh timber. Seeing him in jeans and a T-shirt definitely chased any chill from the light sea mist that blew across the hills. Though she couldn’t complain about seeing him in his suits on a daily basis, now that he’d taken over the job as police chief of Rodrigo. After being the one to arrest Phelps, Pete had been fair and professional with Ty, and the whole department was operating smoothly.
But today, Ty was hers. He secured the piece of wood and climbed down the ladder. “They’re wrapping up?”
The two of them watched the harvesters packing up the last of the boxes for the day and head for their cars. Mariana exchanged waves with them, then walked up to the porch. Ty stood with her, his elbows on the new railing he’d repaired last week.
She slid her hand down his arm. “Wait here.” He turned and leaned back on the railing. A small smile curled his mouth as his gaze followed her into the house. His keen attention hadn’t wavered. It felt like every day, they found a new way to communicate, either with words, simple looks or with their bodies.
Crossing the living room, she could hear more movement in the spare room, along with a murmured conversation between Vincent and Stephanie. Javier had even come by to do some work on the place with Ty the other week, but had lit out before dark. Sydney had spent late nights at the house, recounting all the lore she could collect on the Frontier Justice of the past.
Mariana grabbed four glasses off her bar cart, along with a bottle of tequila. The sound of the glass must’ve reached the spare room, because the conversation ended and footsteps approached. Vincent and Stephanie caught up to Mariana when she arrived back at the porch with Ty. She set the glasses and bottle on the rail.
There’d been no sign of the Seventh Syndicate near her property, her store or anywhere else in the county. But the electronic brain Vincent and Stephanie were installing in the house did pick up hints about the criminal organization. And as soon as there was a hard target, Frontier Justice would be there.
Ty uncorked the bottle and poured into each glass. Everyone raised theirs. Late sunlight glinted through the amber liquid. The depth in Ty’s eyes as he looked at her brought more heat than the tequila ever could. She gazed back at him, and watched his breath slow, filling his chest. He smiled, secret and wicked. The two of them spoke with silence.
Ty toasted. “To the Balduccis.”
Vincent and Stephanie repeated it back with reverence and clinked glasses. Mariana stood on the porch of her family house, memories of her parents around her. Their orchard remained, and thrived. And the influence of her ancestors was alive again thanks to Ty and the others. She knocked her glass into Ty’s. “Salud.”
&nb
sp; * * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Wyoming Christmas Ransom by Nicole Helm.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.
You crave excitement! Harlequin Intrigue stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards and reward the book lover in you!
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever and whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS of your choice
OR
EXCLUSIVE GIFTS from your favorite authors or series.
Click here to join for FREE
Or visit us online to register at
www.HarlequinMyRewards.com
Harlequin My Rewards is a free program (no fees) without any commitments or obligations.
Wyoming Christmas Ransom
by Nicole Helm
Chapter One
Gracie Delaney didn’t care for the nickname “Angel of Death,” but in Bent, Wyoming, it was something of the truth. If she came to a person’s door unannounced, they knew what was coming.
The fact that she was young, maybe a little girl-next-door looking, no longer fooled people. As the coroner for Bent County, Gracie’s work was death.
It wasn’t as bad as some people made it out to be. Considering her parents had died in a car crash when she’d been six, and she was the lone survivor of said crash, she’d been intimately acquainted with death her whole life.
Funny, life was a lot harder than death. Death was easy, and it was final. The cause might occasionally be a mystery, but it was a mystery she always solved.
Gracie blew out a breath as she parked her car in Will Cooper’s yard. Life, meanwhile, had a hundred mysteries she couldn’t figure out. Like why two years after she’d informed Will Cooper of his wife’s death, she still came to check in on him routinely.
She’d informed a lot of people of their loved ones’ deaths over the course of two years, and while some reactions stuck with her, maybe a few even haunted her, only Will’s reaction had ever caused her to act outside a professional capacity.
She supposed it was the fact he couldn’t accept his wife had simply skidded off the road and crashed into a tree. He insisted the detectives had missed or overlooked things. He’d become obsessed with proving foul play.
Gracie had felt sorry for him and his inability to accept the truth. So, she’d let him have access to records she shouldn’t have let him have access to. She’d shown him, over and over again, how the only thing that had killed his wife was an icy road and a tree.
Still he pushed into this theory that whoever his wife had been having an affair with had been the one to kill her.
Gracie got out of the truck and stared at the ramshackle cabin Will currently lived in. He still owned the pretty little two-story he and his wife had shared in Bent proper, but rented it out to a family with kids. He claimed it was because up here he could do his metalwork without any neighbor complaint, but Gracie figured it was something more isolating than all that.
He wasn’t a Bent native. He’d moved here after marrying Paula Carson and though he’d lived in town and been building a name for himself with his metalwork, Paula’s death had changed him. He’d isolated himself and since he had no family in Bent, no natives had been too worried about a stranger’s hermit behavior.
Except Gracie. For all intents and purposes, she was his only link to the outside world.
God, she wished she could help him.
“You’re going to,” she said to herself. “Right here. Right now.” She’d been playing into his obsession for too long, and it had to stop. No more looks at old reports. No more trips to that road to study curves and angles. She’d still be his friend, but that was it. Like a drug dealer refusing to continue to deal an addict their drug of choice.
Will was going to have to go cold turkey or solo. Her chest tightened and for the briefest second she considered retracing her steps. He’d go solo. She knew he would, and she didn’t want him to.
She wanted to fix him. To help him. And yes, maybe she was a little inappropriately hung up on the guy, but that only factored into it a little.
She shook that thought away and started for the cabin. No Christmas lights, not a hint that it was December and even rough-and-tumble Bent had brought out its Christmas decor. But not for Will. She wasn’t certain he celebrated anything anymore.
She heard the faint strains of music and bypassed the cabin door, instead walking around the cabin to the back. He had the doors open on his shed, and inside he worked on a metal project.
He’d once had a blacksmith shop down in town, something both local ranchers had used and tourists had gotten a kick out of. But he’d closed it after Paula’s death. In fact, he hadn’t worked for a year after, living off the rent from the house.
Slowly over the past year he’d gotten back into metalwork. Little artistic projects he made custom for ranches, or occasionally sold to the antique store in town.
Gracie had been hopeful it was a sign he’d give up obsessing over the mystery of Paula’s affair and death. Like so many times with him, her hopes had been dashed.
And you are done being a silly, too-hopeful girl.
She nodded to herself as she crossed the yard. He worked, mask over his face, black T-shirt clinging to his chest even with the cold air around them. He was working with some tool that shot a flame out of it in one hand, clamps in another as he heated and twisted metal. Faint lines of grime and sweat streaked across his impressive forearms and his biceps strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt.
She allowed herself a dreamy sigh, because he wouldn’t hear her over the noise of the tools. Because this was it. She was cutting ties. Well, she was cutting off the supply of information. She just had a sinking suspicion that meant he’d cut ties with her, too.
He turned off the blowtorch thing, nudging the mask up on his head to reveal his face. A few trickles of sweat dripped down his square jaw, and she didn’t know why she found that appealing.
“Hey,” he offered. “You bring those pictures?”
Gracie shook her head. “No, Will. I didn’t.”
He frowned, setting down the tools and pulling the mask completely off his face. “Then why are you here?”
Ouch. She forced herself to smile. “I always come hang out on Friday afternoons.”
“Usually with the thing I asked you for, though.”
“I’m not...” She cleared her throat. “I can’t keep bringing you stuff.”
He frowned, eyebrows drawing together as he stared at her. Not just anger, but confusion, as if it didn’t make any sense to him.
How could it not make sense? “For two years I’ve helped you try to undermine both my investigation and the police’s. I’m...” She swallowed at the nerves flapping around in her chest and throat. “I’m done,” she said, wishing it had come out more forcefully and not so wobbly.
“Done,” he said flatly.
“I’m still your frie—”
“I don’t need a friend. I never did.”
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. “Okay.” She wouldn’t cry
in front of him. She couldn’t allow herself to show the hurt. It was so stupid. She’d all but forced her company on him for two years. He might be the obsessive one, but she was pathetic.
She turned, blinking back the tears that burned in her eyes as she forced her lead-like legs to move back toward her car.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“Home,” she said, hoping he couldn’t read that squeak in her voice. Oh, who was she kidding? He didn’t care. If it didn’t have to do with the case, he did not care. She’d been a means to an end, and she couldn’t be anymore.
“Why?”
She laughed, surprised at the way bitterness could grow just as large as sadness. “You don’t want a friend, and I can’t keep being your supplier. So.” What else was there to say?
Apparently nothing, because Will didn’t try to stop her after that. She got to her truck, didn’t bother to look back and drove away.
It was time she moved on. Not just for Will, but for herself.
* * *
WILL WATCHED GRACIE get into her truck. He had no idea what had just happened. And damn if it wasn’t at the worst possible time.
After two years of combing through everything, he’d found a secret file on Paula’s computer within an old grocery list. It didn’t name the man she’d had an affair with, but it gave some clues. Will thought maybe a few pictures of the accident might unearth a clue that was connected.
Of course, he had those pictures memorized at this point. He had everything memorized. Losing Gracie’s help didn’t really matter one way or another. Though it was nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of.
Nice to have someone who didn’t look at him like he was crazy, especially on days when he thought he was a little crazy. After all, what man investigated the death of his cheating wife for two years? Especially after every law enforcement agency involved had found no reason to believe foul play was involved.
