Cowboy Delirium

by Joanna Wayne

“With as few details as possible. Don’t identify me. Just say that one of the kidnappers didn’t realize what he was getting into. Assure him I’ll do my level best to see to it that you get out of this alive, but that no one can know I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “He’ll want to know why you don’t let them come and rescue me.”

  “Say I hate shootouts. People get killed. Tell him I’m afraid to so blatantly go against the guys I’m working for.”

  “And if Zach doesn’t buy into this and goes to Buerto?”

  “Your job is to convince him not to.”

  Her job. This was growing more complicated by the second. Now she wasn’t just a victim; she was caught up in the duplicity.

  Rio handed her the phone, but she was way ahead of him. She knew what they had to do the rest of the night. It would be incredibly risky. Regrettably, it didn’t involve making love.

  Chapter Seven

  Zach filled his mug with coffee and walked out to the wide front porch of the big house. His brothers were inside, but he wanted to digest the information from Jaime before he shared it with them. The thought that Buerto might be involved in the kidnapping put a whole new spin on things.

  It would explain why Buerto’s descriptions of the abductors had been so sketchy and why he hadn’t identified any of the computer-generated or photo mug shots of possible suspects Zach had made him look through. But why would a man like Buerto Arredondo become involved in such a reprehensible deed? Was he planning to steal the artwork they’d been considering and have Jaime’s family smuggle it out of the country for him?

  Even more perplexing was why one of the bastards who’d taken Jaime hostage would have such a sudden and drastic attack of conscience. But then Jaime did have a way of winning over everyone who met her, especially men. The guy might have fallen for Jaime.

  Or he could be feeding her a giant helping of bull.

  If Jaime would have just given some concrete clue as to where she was, he and his brothers could have led in a charge to rescue her. He liked action. Waiting around for someone else to call the shots was driving him mad.

  Zach looked up as the rattle and rumbling of a pickup truck broke the quietness of the night. He took another sip of coffee and waited for Billy Mack to park his vehicle and meander up the walk to the house.

  “Any news?” Billy Mack asked as he hit the top step.

  “Some,” Zach admitted. “Come inside, grab a cup of stale brew and I’ll fill you in at the same time I fill in my brothers.”

  “Good news?”

  “That remains to be seen, but it has potential, if you don’t mind admitting that you might have been playing footsies with the enemy.”

  RIO OPENED THE BACK DOOR of the cabin and Jaime stepped inside. She felt the phone call with Zach had gone well, except that he didn’t have any pertinent details about the cargo shipment. That lack of knowledge made her own plan that much more critical. Now she just had to sell Rio on it.

  “If Luke’s replacement isn’t coming until morning, there’s no reason we can’t use that time to see what Buerto is really up to.”

  His eyebrows arched. “I’m about to put in a call to the CIA. They’ll start investigating him immediately.”

  “It still may take days. Time is urgent, Rio. You said so yourself. We can go to his office tonight and go through all his files. I know most of his passwords. We may find the information on what they’re smuggling out of the country.”

  “Where is this office?”

  “Inside the loop. Near downtown Houston.”

  “In a high rise?”

  He was taking her seriously. Her confidence buoyed. “No, on the fourth floor of a building just off Highway 59. There’s no security guard at night. We all have pass keys that grant access to the foyer where the elevator is located and I have a key to Buerto’s office unless he’s changed the locks.”

  “There’s risk involved in a break-in, Jaime. If Buerto is involved, he’s associated with guys who make Luke look like Santa Claus.”

  “Then let’s hope we don’t run into them. We could run into the janitorial staff, though, so I can’t show up in this sheet.”

  “Or in your bloody dress.”

  “We can stop by my house to get a change of clothes. Poncho took my purse and keys with him, but I can open my garage door with a code. I wasn’t planning to be gone long so I left the door from the garage to the house unlocked.”

  “A lack of keys is never a problem for me, but your house could be watched.”

  “It’s a chance we have to take, and if push comes to shove, you have a gun. I’m guessing you know how to use it.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Yes. I’m not completely without guile.” She started to walk away.

  He caught her arm and tugged her to a stop. “If this is a woman-scorned reaction, remember that we don’t know Buerto is guilty of anything at this point.”

  “I hope he isn’t, but I need to know the truth about him. In the meantime, there are lives at stake. So what do you say, partner?”

  “I’m not your partner, Jaime. I give the orders. I don’t want your life in any more danger than it already is.”

  “Fine. What do you say, boss?”

  “Let’s go for it.”

  He yanked his dark T-shirt over his head, revealing his muscular chest sprinkled liberally with dark, curly hairs. Desire shot through her, making her light-headed.

  “My shirt’s clean. Wear it until we get to your townhouse. It’ll fit you like a baggy dress, but will be more comfortable than that sheet that keeps baring body parts.”

  She looked down to see that her right nipple was exposed. Her face reddened but she left the sheet just as it was as she took the shirt from him and marched back to her bedroom to change.

  The shirt smelled deliciously like Rio as she slipped into it. It was almost as if she were wrapping him around her naked body and her spirits lifted to a natural high. She no longer felt like a prisoner, and the cabin had lost much of its oppressive qualities.

  She was now an integral part of a CIA investigation and she might just have a part in bringing down members of a powerful drug cartel and stopping a deadly attack.

  Even the level of danger didn’t frighten her the way it should. But then Rio would be beside her every step of the way.

  RIO HAD TAKEN A QUICK assessment of Jaime’s River Oaks townhouse two nights ago when he’d taken part in the abduction. It was in a gated complex, landscaped with a fountain near the entry, surrounded by benches and meticulously landscaped gardens. Each townhouse had its own private drive and a three-car garage.

  He’d guess her domicile to be in the million-dollar range, way out of his league. Even the hired help here probably drove newer cars than the well-used domestic sedan Poncho had left for him.

  It was easy to forget she was an heiress back at the cabin but there was no ignoring it here. Yet she was sitting beside him dressed in his black T-shirt and somehow looking incredibly sexy. It fell halfway down her thighs. One shoulder was bared. Fortunately there were no nipples winking at him. He prided himself on his control in difficult situations, but he was still a hot-blooded male.

  Rio scanned the area. There was no reason to expect the cartel to be guarding her house since they believed her locked inside the isolated cabin, but he was wary all the same. He pulled up in front of the townhouse and stopped in almost the exact same spot Poncho had parked two nights ago.

  The house was dark. Too bad he didn’t have his night vision goggles with him.

  “We can pull the car inside the garage,” Jaime said.

  “Good idea. Give me the code to the garage door. I’ll open it and you can drive in. But stay inside the car with the door locked while I make a quick inspection of the premises.”

  She repeated the numbers of the code. “They’re my birthday. That’s also the code to the alarm system.”

  “You need to change those to something less obv
ious.”

  “Believe me, I’ll change a lot of things after this. Not that more creative numbering would have kept you from grabbing me at my door and forcing me into the backseat of Poncho’s car.”

  He went into the garage. A sporty red BMW was parked in the far right space, leaving ample room for Jaime to pull the sedan in beside it. A motorbike that looked to be brand-new was parked on the far left. Buerto’s, he assumed. He imagined the man hanging out here with Jaime, making himself at home, showering in her bathroom. Sleeping next to her in her bed.

  Rio had a sudden urge to slam a fist into the man’s face on general principal. If he found out he’d set Jaime up for the abduction, he’d make good on that urge and love every second of it.

  He walked past the Harley as Jaime pulled into the garage. He waited until she was inside, then pushed the button to lower the door. He entered the house through the unlocked door. When the alarm began to beep, he punched in the code. Before he’d turned around completely, he heard her car door shut.

  So, as expected, the little spitfire didn’t follow directions, he thought.

  Inside the door, he waited for Jaime. When she stepped into the townhouse, in one motion he grabbed her, pushed her against the wall, and pressed his forearm across her chest.

  “That’s how quickly and how easily someone could have their hands on your throat, Jaime. Next time, do as I say.”

  “Okay, already. I learned my lesson. Let go.” She squirmed against him, trying to break free of his grasp.

  With the length of his body pressed against hers, desire hit him so fast and hard that he couldn’t breathe. He looked down at her blue eyes and imagined taking her right here against the wall. As tempting as the vision was, reason and safety won out.

  He managed to pull away, but his body still rocked from a raw, primal desire that just wouldn’t quit.

  “Let’s take a look at the rest of the house,” he said, but his voice was gravelly and the ache in his groin was downright painful.

  As they passed the laundry room, Jaime tossed her bloodied dress into the washing machine along with a pair of panties. “I simply can’t put them back on unless they’re clean.”

  “You’ll have to wear the dress at the cabin,” Rio said. “If Poncho sees you in something different, he’ll know we left the cabin and all hell will break loose.”

  “I’ll wear it, and when this is over, I’ll bury it,” she said with a shiver.

  He followed her into her bedroom and this time he actually looked at the pricey furnishings. A snow-white coverlet draped the king-size bed, which was covered with an assortment of colorful pillows, all just waiting to be dived into. He tried to imagine himself living in a house this luxuriously decorated. He couldn’t.

  It was his cowboy roots, he told himself.

  Unwanted, new images attacked his mind. The house he’d lived in with Gabrielle. The simple furnishings. She’d been so proud of the dining table and chairs he’d refinished and the crib he’d made for their coming baby.

  The disturbing memory was scattered by the somber sound of Jaime’s voice. “This used to be my favorite room in the house, like my own snug little hideaway. But now…I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe here again.”

  She clutched a clean pair of jeans and a pink silky blouse to her chest. “I have to get a shower and wash my hair, but I can be dressed in a matter of minutes. There’s liquor in the small bar in the study if you want to fix yourself a drink. Or if you want to grab a shower, the guest room is just down the hall.”

  He’d have preferred a shower with her. And here he went again, trying to mentally fit into a saddle that would never belong to him when he had a lot more important things to deal with.

  He could use that shower if he was to keep from smelling the way he had under a desert sun in perspiration-soaked fatigues. And then they’d make a call at Buerto Arredondo’s office. One good clue could make all the difference.

  One bit of solid information about what the cartel had planned for their Detonation Day. But all his actions had to be tempered with keeping Jaime safe. He’d promised her that, and it was a promise he planned to keep.

  THE LOCK ON BUERTO’S OFFICES had not been changed. Rio followed Jaime inside, amazed at how enthusiastic she’d become about cooperating with him. She’d even brought a backpack so that they could copy any suspicious files and take the copies with them.

  And two frozen gourmet pizzas in a black tote bag that she’d left in the car. The woman thought of everything.

  “That’s my desk,” Jaime announced, pointing a flashlight beam at an uncluttered desk in the center of what appeared to be an outer office. The rest of the building was dark and they’d decided flashlights would be less conspicuous in case there was any security that Jaime wasn’t aware of.

  “Buerto’s office is through that door on the left. There’s also a large storage area and a small bathroom. Nothing is elaborate, but it’s functional.”

  For a man interested in collecting expensive art, he had a serious lack of paintings on the light green walls, Rio noticed. The only decor in this office was a fake potted plant and a vase of white daisies. Judging from the fresh flowers he remembered seeing in Jaime’s house, Rio figured she’d brought those to the office.

  He picked up a folder from her inbox and skimmed through pictures of sculptures created by a Greek named Umberto Mancuso. None of which would be useful. “What were your basic duties?” he asked.

  “I went with Buerto to visit the local galleries. I kept notes on the pieces of interest and then did Internet searches to see what I could find out about the artists, other works they’d done and the values of those works. If Buerto was still interested after I collected all the information, I arranged for at least two formal appraisals.”

  “And what did Buerto do?”

  “Aside from visiting the galleries with me, I’m not really sure. He had visitors from time to time, but I got the impression they were personal friends. And he made frequent trips back to Mexico to check on his resort—if there is a resort.”

  “That should be easy enough for the CIA to verify. What is the name of the resort and exactly where is it located?”

  “I don’t remember, but I can pull it up. I do know that it looked very luxurious in the pictures. It reminded me of places I’ve stayed in Greece and on the French Riviera.”

  “Probably nothing like the barracks I’ve stayed in.”

  She looked at him with serious eyes. “But you’ve served your country and saved lives. I was searching for adventure. You were living one.”

  Leave it to an heiress to equate carrying a twenty-pound survival pack up a mountain while taking enemy fire with a vacation in exotic ports.

  Jaime started typing as soon as her computer booted. “This is weird,” she said. “All my files have been erased.”

  “They might still be lurking in the main memory. Maybe I can pull them up.”

  Jaime gave him her seat at the computer. He checked the usual retrieval spots. They were all empty. “Someone’s deleted everything.”

  “I guess that proves your point. Buerto deleted the files because he never intended to buy the art, just as he never intended to see me again. The rat used me and then set me up to be killed. Now we’re talking a woman scorned. He’s going down.”

  “That’s my girl. I need to get on his computer and into his files.”

  “Right this way.” She opened the door to Buerto’s office. It was considerably bigger than hers with a full executive desk and a leather swivel chair. A sea-blue plaid couch stretched along one wall. Two glass doors opened onto a narrow balcony.

  “That’s where he went to smoke his cigars,” Jaime said. She sat down at the Buerto’s computer and started typing series of numbers with no results. “Everything is password protected. I can’t pull up a single file, but none of the titles seem related to art or to a resort. In fact most are numbers.”

  “Let me take a look at them.” He set up a program
to create and check thousands of password combinations, using numbers and letters.

  Jaime hung over his shoulder. “You’re a hacker!”

  “Being a SEAL is not just about fighting and looking cool in sunglasses.”

  The numbers kept spinning. Finally, one of the files opened. “Bingo.”

  Jaime moved in closer. “That’s just words put together in nonsensical patterns. It makes no sense.”

  “It’s in code. Get me some discs so I can copy the files. I’ll work on deciphering the codes later.”

  “You decipher secret codes!” She gave him a look of amazement. “I suppose you’re also fluent in ten languages?”

  “Just three.” He smiled.

  A new file came up, also in code. He’d need time to figure all this out and there was no guarantee he had that time.

  Jaime set a box of discs at his elbow. “I’ll check the file cabinet for hard copies of information.”

  “Super idea.”

  A dozen computer files opened within the next hour. The last one was a series of over one hundred names, not in code. Several of them Rio recognized from his research after taking this job or from hearing their names mentioned by cartel members. One was his CIA supervisor. All of the names he recognized were of men and women working in law enforcement in Texas border towns.

  It looked an awful lot like a hit list, possibly the names of men listed for annihilation on Detonation Day.

  Zachary Collingsworth was number twenty-five on the list.

  Jaime was not going to take this well, he knew. He’d tell her later, once they’d finished their search in Buerto’s office and were on their way back to the cabin.

  By 4:00 a.m., Rio was bleary-eyed and in desperate need of a cup of coffee. He copied the last of the files and pushed away from Buerto’s desk. “I think I have everything,” he said.

  “Good, because I didn’t get much except investigative journals on me and several other women who might have been considered as victims—all of whom I know. In fact, some are good friends. All of them are from families who are rich enough to pay a multi-million dollar ransom and also have access to company planes that could have been used to ship goods. I guess I drew the lucky straw.”