by Dana Marton
“Glad to see you’re wearing it, anyway,” Dylan said, as both men followed her.
Ryder was all cleaned up, she noticed, and fully dressed. He’d probably been waiting for her to wake up so he could leave. She thought of the way they’d spent the first half of the night, together on the couch, and her body warmed at the memory.
And then Dylan hugged her suddenly, as she put the plate on the counter. She didn’t resist. But neither did she feel any of the sexual awareness she’d felt in Ryder’s arms.
She stepped away to get a fork, but didn’t touch the food. She could never eat first thing in the morning. She needed coffee. “Tell Molly I really appreciate this.” She went to set up the pot and realized she was out of filters.
Shoot me now.
“So what happened? I hear they found a tunnel near the ravine.”
She told Dylan what she knew. With all the emergency services out there yesterday, everyone probably already heard all about it.
Ryder’s cell phone rang. He stepped outside to take it.
“Is he bothering you?” Dylan asked. “I don’t like some government man snooping around your place. He has no right to be here. The tunnel had nothing to do with you. He’s acting like you’re under house arrest or something.”
“He’s just trying to help.” She rolled her eyes. “He thinks he is, anyway. He only stayed the night because the doc in the E.R. said I might have a concussion.”
“You could have called me.” A touch of hurt in his voice.
“It was no big deal.”
“Just watch him. That’s all. He could be setting you up. They think illegal business is going on at your ranch. He’s cozying up to you. He’s in your house all the time, without as much as a search warrant. He could be building a case against you. I know you know him from the army, but…you have to question this guy’s motivation.”
She thought for a second. What if Dylan was right? How well did she know Ryder, anyway? It’s not as if she’d never met government men who were less than honest, who skirted the truth to achieve their agenda.
Something she needed to think about.
Among other things.
She faced Dylan. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Where do the men you bring in camp exactly? I didn’t see any sign of them yesterday.”
“At the far end of the ravine. They had a good time, too. They’ll be coming back. Here.” He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through some pictures of people in fatigues rappelling down a rock face that she recognized. “The trainer sent these over with a new reservation.”
He shook his head. “Don’t see the attraction, personally. Staying out there in that heat with no running water but, hey, if they’re into that kind of stuff, I’m happy to take the money.”
Part of which went to her, she thought, and helped her keep the ranch until she decided what to do with it. “I’m glad you found a use for the place,” she said. “Border patrol might want to talk to you about those team building people, though. They might have seen something.”
He put away the phone. “I doubt it. If they did, why wouldn’t they tell me, or the authorities? I’m guessing the smugglers were smart enough to move only in between groups, when they were sure no one was out there.”
Or only on dark, starless nights.
“Makes no sense. Why the ravine? Has to be the hardest place to build a tunnel, through all that rock. There are plenty of places along the border where it’d be easy digging.”
Dylan thought for a moment. “Probably that’s why. They knew nobody would be looking there. Drug running is a billion-dollar business from what I hear. They can afford fancy equipment to do the hard work. Kenny said the tunnel even had ventilation and electricity.”
She hadn’t heard that. Ryder had probably dragged her off to the E.R. by the time that was discovered. “I hate this.”
“I know. I wish you didn’t get involved.” A troubled expression crossed his face. “You didn’t need this, with everything that happened with Tommy recently and all that.”
Ryder strode back in, a frown on his face. “I need to go into Hullett.”
“Me, too.” Grace immediately stepped toward him. If there’d been some development in the Molinero case, she didn’t want to miss it. And if he was trying to pin the smuggling on her… Wasn’t there a saying about keeping one’s friends close, but keeping one’s enemy’s closer?
“I think I’m going to fill that prescription. My ankle is still throbbing,” she told him.
“You should stay here and keep off that foot. I’ll stay with you,” Dylan offered and took her hand. “I can call Molly to go to town and fill that prescription.”
Ryder’s lips narrowed. “Actually, this errand I need to run… I could probably use her help.”
She pulled away from Dylan, grabbed the plate and put it into the fridge, then limped toward the stairs. “Give me a minute to get ready.” And left the men staring daggers at each other in her kitchen.
They both moved at the same time to help her up the stairs.
She flashed them a forbidding look over her shoulder. “Don’t even think about it.” She wasn’t an invalid, dammit.
She made it up on her own, brushed her teeth, washed her face, changed out of her wrinkled clothes. She’d taken a quick shower the night before, after Ryder had driven her home from the E.R., but had put regular clothes on instead of pajamas, to feel more comfortable around him.
As if that was a possibility. Her awareness of him seemed impossible to shake.
She limped down the stairs, and tripped halfway. Ryder was there before she could have fallen, and carried her the rest of the way in his arms. He’d showered last night, too, and was still wearing his own jeans, but the clean shirt she’d given him from Tommy’s belongings. And the cowboy boots, of course. Sans spurs.
He was learning.
“Dylan said to tell you goodbye for him. He had some pressing appointment,” Ryder said.
She didn’t mind. She didn’t like the tension between the two men. It was silly and unnecessary.
“Where are we going?” she asked, stepping into her own boots. Right foot only. The brace on her injured ankle wouldn’t allow for shoes for a while.
“Stakeout.” He hesitated. “Unless you’re not up to it. I could drop you at a girlfriend’s house.”
“Not a chance.” She put out fresh water and food for Twinky and the kittens who, thank God, were old enough for solids, then stepped outside and locked the front door behind them.
She realized her truck was still out by the ravine. Great.
“We would have taken my SUV, anyway.” Ryder apparently read her thoughts.
Of course they would have. Because he just had to be in charge. She limped away from him. “I have to take care of the horses.”
“I already walked Cookie. Not because I didn’t think you could handle it. I like the old gal.”
Had she been that prickly about accepting help? Okay, fine, she had. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He’d gone out of his way to help, and then went the extra mile to make sure he didn’t hurt her feelings. If she didn’t watch it, she was going to start to like him. Which would be really stupid.
Dylan was right. She would be smart to be cautious of Ryder McKay.
She walked into the barn, breathing in the familiar scents of horses and hay and felt immediately at home, relaxed a little. Cookie and Maureen snorted a greeting.
There’d be no more riding for her now, she thought with regret, and patted them, checking Cookie’s side. “How are you this morning? Looking good.” She’d always talked to animals.
Cookie’s stomach was no longer distended. She’d be going back home soon. Murray was being let out of the hospital today to recover from all the testing
and the minor surgery he’d ended up needing.
She went for fresh water first. “Where did you put the bucket?”
“Never touched it,” he called over his shoulder, busy mucking out Co
okie’s stall.
She spotted the damned thing in the corner and limped toward it. She noticed a couple of other things out of place, too. Ryder must have been looking around for something this morning.
Searching the place? She watched him when he wasn’t looking. But he seemed to be paying attention to only the horses, immersed in what he was doing. He insisted on helping with the water and the feed, so they were done in under ten minutes. Which didn’t lessen her annoyance of him messing with her things and possibly spying.
“So where are we going exactly?” she asked as she closed the barn and they began to walk toward his car. Ryder slowed his steps so she could keep up with him.
“Staking out the wire mill. One of the women rescued from the tunnel last night says she was told she could get a job there if she could make her way over.”
“They don’t hire a lot of women.”
“Exactly.”
According to Esperanza, Paco had been hired by the wire mill, too. “Doesn’t mean they have anything to do with anything. Could be whoever is bringing these people over is using the mill as bait. It’s one of the largest employers around here. Everyone has heard of it. Makes the bad guys sound legit.”
She thought about that some more. “I thought the mill had been cleared. I didn’t think you found anything that linked them to Paco.”
“When I called, I was told nobody there had any contact with a Paco Molinero. Checked with HR. Checked with the managers. They aren’t hiring at all, supposedly, haven’t for a while, not in this economy.”
She hated the thought that anyone at the mill could have something to do with illegal business. She knew a couple of guys there.
They talked about that, among other things, on the ride on the way over.
“So if you all think the mill is somehow involved in something shady, how come immigration services is not swarming the place?”
“Not enough evidence,” he said without looking at her.
She thought about that for a second, about him, his buddies, how he’d come to be on her land. “I don’t think so. They search places based on rumor. One anonymous tip comes in over the phone, and there they go.”
Sending one man on a stakeout instead of a full INS team that could lock the place down and ID every worker didn’t make any sense.
“INS does what INS does. I don’t work for them.”
“Who do you work for, exactly?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You never wear a uniform with any kind of identifying insignia on it. Neither do your friends.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re in some sort of a special unit.” She shared her conclusion with him. “But I don’t think it has to do with budgetary recommendation.”
He remained silent.
“Obviously, you can’t talk about it.” She thought some more. “Because what you’re doing is top secret.”
He stared straight ahead.
“I have nothing to do with the smuggling.”
He did look at her then, annoyance flashing across his face. “I know you don’t. Give me some credit.”
He did sound sincere.
“If I thought you were involved, you’d be in an interrogation room right now, not riding shotgun, going on a stakeout with me. You’re all right.”
“How do you know?”
“Over a decade of experience. Plus I ran you through the system.”
She hated the thought of that, but liked that he admitted it. “I don’t know who I can trust.”
“You can trust me.”
She had instincts, too. Honed in battle. They said he was a dangerous man. Yet she didn’t think he was a danger to her.
They reached town and he pulled into the drive-through of the first fast-food restaurant they came across. He bought her coffee.
“Thanks.” Something warm and fuzzy was happening in her chest. She ignored it. She wasn’t ready to let the subject of his team go just yet.
“I don’t think you’re here about some poor guy who comes up to do farmwork for three dollars an hour,” she said once she had the first few sips of hot liquid. “The six of you are here to fry bigger fish.”
He cast her a fathomless glance. “Think about something else.”
Okay, really big fish. “I’m thinking your mission has to do with national security. You’re waiting for something. What is it?”
“For your own good, you should stop guessing.”
Which meant she was getting uncomfortably close. “This has to do either with terrorists, or some nasty weapon coming through.”
A muscle began jumping in his cheek.
Her eyes went wide. “Both?”
He swore under his breath. “Do you ever listen?”
She smirked at him. “Only when people tell me things I want to hear.”
“We’re not going to discuss this any further.”
“I have no intention to pump you for details. I do understand concepts like undercover op and national security.” Not that she believed in unlimited government power. But she really was beginning to believe that Ryder was working here on the side of good. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be helping him.
They reached the mill and she turned her attention to that. The parking lot had a gate, but it stood open, nobody at the guardhouse. The place wasn’t exactly a high-security facility. Ryder pulled in, parked in the back, in a spot from where they could see the front door and people coming and going.
He got a fancy camera with a telephoto lens from the backseat and took some pictures, then lowered the expensive equipment to his lap. “Do you know how to use one of these?”
She’d used cameras before. Even nice ones. “I’m sure I could figure it out.”
“We’ll do a little surveillance before I go in.” He held the camera out for her. “Don’t touch the settings and you’ll be fine.”
Their fingers brushed together as she took the camera, the brief connection sending tingles zinging through her. Which reminded her again how he’d held her in his arms part of the night. Which brought on more tingles.
Ridiculous.
She refused to have the hots for Ryder McKay. She was a woman with principles. He was annoying, bossy and inconvenient in her life in every way. He was a government man. She deliberately let her mind linger on that thought, but it failed to produce the usual cutting distaste.
He pushed the door open. “You keep taking pictures. I’ll go and look around.”
“I’m sorry. Did I miss the memo that said you were the boss of Texas? Sometimes papers get shuffled around on my desk.”
He looked at her with incredulity in his eyes. Then the look hardened. “You were almost killed yesterday. You’re not coming with me. No way. End of story.”
“I can handle whatever you can handle,” she shot back, although she wasn’t sure if the words were true. But she didn’t want him to see her as a weak mess.
“I can’t afford to have to worry about you.”
Blunt. Okay, that hurt. So this was it. He’d seen her have that night terror. And now he knew she was broken. Now he knew she was good for nothing. Her eyes burned suddenly. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked out the side window. Shrugged. “Whatever.”
He hesitated, watching her, but she didn’t turn back to him again.
He got out. The door closed behind him. She didn’t even watch him walk away.
By the time she figured out the camera, he was across the parking lot and walking around the corner of the building. A couple of guys stood around, talking. She snapped pictures and felt ridiculous. A large percentage of the workforce was Hispanic, but they were from the local community. She even knew some of them. Spying on them felt wrong.
She found a new one in her zoom, Jesus, who rented an apartment from her old pastor at the Methodist church, then realized the man was heading straight toward her. She put the camera down before he could have caught her taking pictures. He walked to his rust-eaten truck
one row in front of hers, spotted her, waved with a big smile and came over.
She got out. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here, chica? Long time no see. Ready to give my jalapeño chili another try?” Dust and dirt covered him. The place had shower facilities, but they were so filthy, most of the workers waited until they were home to get clean. Jesus was a tinner last time she’d heard, working over molten tin, coating wires, pretty much the sweatiest job at the mill.
“As soon as my stomach lining grows back.” She wished she had her pickup with the cooler in the back so she could offer him a cold drink.
“You here looking for a hot guy to take home? I could introduce you to a couple.”
“Only if he’s willing to muck out my stalls.”
He gave a wicked grin. “Is that what they call it these days?”
She punched him in the shoulder. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Maria likes it there.” He winked at her. He was the content husband of a pretty woman and the happy father of three kids. “Who are you waiting for, anyway?”
“A friend is dropping off an application. I’m just along for the ride.” Great. Now she was lying to her friends.
Jesus took in the fancy SUV. “Manager man?”
She nodded.
“No hiring, for nobody. A ten heads operator left last month—they’re not even replacing him.”
She actually knew what that meant. Tommy had done a brief stint as a ten heads operator back in the day, working in the drawing room, working on the machine that ran ten strands of wire, drawing them down to a smaller size.
“The mill can’t be having money troubles. Old Mitzner seems to be doing good.” She nodded toward the sparkling new BMW in the owner’s spot by the door.
“That’s Mikey’s. He took over when his father died last year.”
She stared. Old Mitzner was gone, and nobody had told her. Of course, she’d been too busy with her job, with her classes and Tommy. Still. She took a slow breath. Even Dylan hadn’t said anything. He probably assumed she’d already heard.
She stared at the building. Mitzner could be an ornery old coot, but he was a decent man. He always did right by his workers. His son, Mikey, was a weasel.
