TALL, DARK AND TEXAN

by Jane Sullivan

  Wendy felt a stirring of hope. "If I can get him out of there alone, can you grab him?"

  "Sure. Piece of cake."

  "When do you think he'll be there tonight?" Wendy asked.

  "Game starts at seven. You can start playing him right away, then move toward getting him out of there at halftime."

  "Wendy," Ramona warned, "don't listen to him. It's too dangerous."

  Wendy grabbed her purse from her desk drawer. She was going to need some new clothes for this, because she had no intention of going back to Wolfe's apartment. She checked her watch, then turned to Slade.

  "I need something sexy to wear. Trinity River Thrift closes in half an hour, so we'd better move it."

  As Wendy headed for the door, Ramona stood up. "Wendy, if you walk out of here, I'm going to call Wolfe. I'm going to tell him what you're planning to do."

  Wendy wondered what Wolfe would do if Ramona really did call him. He'd told Wendy he cared about her, and she knew it was the truth.

  Maybe he even loved her.

  But wasn't love all about supporting each other? Helping each other? Understanding each other? This had been her dream since she was eighteen years old. If he couldn't see how important it was to her, how could they ever hope to have a future together?

  "It's getting late, baby," Slade said. "Are you with me, or not?"

  She faced him. "Let's go."

  Over Ramona's protests, Wendy walked out of the office and into Slade's car, pushing thoughts of Wolfe aside and concentrating only on the task ahead. This was her one chance, maybe her only chance, to make it really big.

  And she wasn't going to pass it up.

  * * *

  Wolfe had pulled out of Ramona's parking lot onto the street and started to drive, hitting the gas on the SUV hard, pushing the speed limit and not giving a damn. He didn't even know where he was going, but home wasn't an option. Going home meant sitting on his sofa in frozen silence. Staring at four walls. Having nothing but a scroungy cat for company. Looking at that rug and remembering.

  So he just drove.

  I like my life the way it is. And I have no intention of changing it.

  That had been a lie. It had been such a big, fat lie that he'd barely been able to get the words out of his mouth. Now that he'd had a taste of just how wonderful life could be, he'd do anything to grab on to that feeling again. But Wendy had been the one to show him the way. And with her gone…

  With her gone, nothing would ever be the same again.

  Somehow he'd thought that if he loved her enough, she wouldn't let some surgeon mess with her like that and then put herself on display for some sleazy casting director who cared more about her body than anything else. But the minute—the second—somebody waved that opportunity in front of her, she'd leaped at it.

  And she'd forgotten he even existed.

  No. She hadn't forgotten. She wanted him to help her get four thousand dollars together. And as soon as that money was in her pocket, she'd have been out the door.

  Then she would have forgotten him.

  He wanted desperately to be angry about that. But the truth was that she'd never misled him. She'd never once suggested that she'd had even a random thought about staying in Dallas. He was the one who'd been a fool. He'd gone off in his own mind to that place where she'd throw away her ambition and stay with him forever. But that had been a fantasy—a fantasy that died instantly in the light of reality. Wendy was leaving, and she wasn't looking back.

  His cell phone rang. He started to ignore it, but the incessant ring grated on his already irritated nerves. He unclipped it from his belt and looked at the caller ID.

  Ramona.

  No. No way could he talk to her right now. He didn't want her sympathy, he didn't want her advice, and with Ramona it was definitely going to be one of the two. Right now all he wanted was to be left alone. He punched a few buttons and turned off his cell phone, tossing it to the seat beside him.

  He just wanted to be left alone.

  * * *

  Wendy sat in Slade's car outside Red's, a painfully stripped-down bar and grille in a lousy part of town. A movable sign out front advertised basketball playoffs on big-screen TVs inside, along with price breaks on beer and margaritas.

  Slade had told her that Braddock had enough money in his pocket that he could buy women the old-fashioned way—with drinks and dinner and assorted expensive gifts—so he probably wouldn't resort to hookers. So when Wendy picked up some clothes at Trinity River Thrift, she leaned toward skimpy without delving into sleazy. The bathroom had about half a roll of toilet paper, which now resided inside her brand-new thirty-eight double-D bra.

  "Okay, baby," Slade said, as he killed the engine. "Do your stuff. Show him you're interested, offer him sex and get him out the door."

  "So how are you and I going to talk to each other?"

  "Huh?"

  "Talk. You know. Communications. Listening devices. So you'll know what's going on inside."

  Slade waved a hand. "Nah. That's not necessary. As long as you don't make the guy suspicious, you won't have anything to worry about."

  Wendy felt a jolt of apprehension. She remembered how Wolfe had wired her to the max and given her every warning in the book about not taking any chances. And then he'd promised her he'd be in there in an instant if things went bad.

  "What if I get into trouble?" Wendy said.

  "Are you going to screw things up?"

  "Well, no, but—"

  "Then you won't get into any trouble. Now go. I'll be waiting to grab him the minute you come out."

  Wendy paused, but Slade waved his hand at her, shooing her out the door. She froze for a moment, all kinds of second thoughts pounding away at her, but then she decided that maybe Slade was right. As long as she didn't make a mistake—and she had no intention of doing that—everything was going to be just fine. And when it was all over with, she'd have money in her pocket and be on her way to Los Angeles.

  She stepped out of the car into the cold night air and made her way across the gravel parking lot, tripping a little in her high heels. She opened the door and went inside. The bar was nothing more than a huge oblong room with big-screen TVs in every corner, the sound cranked up to supersonic levels so the crowd would hear it over their raucous cheering and groaning. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of the patrons were men and the vast majority of the waitresses had for real what Wendy had faked with Cottonelle.

  She made her way to the bar and slid onto a bar stool, laying her coat and purse on the seat beside her. The bartender leaned over the counter and gave her a big grin.

  "Basketball fan?" he said.

  "Not really," she said, "but if you're looking for men, this is certainly the place to be, isn't it?"

  "Smart woman. What'll you have?"

  She ordered a gin and tonic, then sat back and surveyed the crowd. It took her a few minutes, but she finally spied Braddock sitting at a table with three other men. He was a well-built man in his forties, with sandy-brown hair, sharp features and a mug of beer in his hand. He wasn't exactly her idea of a high-level drug dealer, but then again, this wasn't a TV show, either.

  Okay. She had her target. No problem. She could do this. The bartender brought her drink. She picked it up, turned on her stool and zeroed in on Braddock. She had a good line of sight on him, and after a moment, he happened to glance at her. He started to look away, then did a double take, and she smiled at him. He stared at her for the count of three, then looked away again.

  The game had begun. It was only a matter of time now.

  * * *

  Wolfe came up the warehouse elevator, knowing he couldn't put off going home any longer. He hadn't seen his Porsche in the garage, but then he hadn't really expected to. After the argument he'd had with Wendy, he knew she wouldn't be coming home tonight. She was probably staying with Ramona. And in the end, that was probably a good thing. What else could they say to each other?

  The moment he walked thro
ugh the door, Weenie wound himself around his ankles. Wolfe went to the kitchen to feed him, then glanced over at his answering machine and saw the red light blinking. He thought about bypassing it, but at the last minute, flicked his finger against the button and heard Ramona's voice.

  "Wolfe, there's trouble. You have to call me the second you get in. Please."

  Wolfe yanked up his cordless phone and dialed Ramona's number. She came on the line.

  "Ramona. It's me. What's up?"

  "It's Wendy."

  Wolfe snapped to attention. "Wendy? What about her? What's wrong?"

  "After you left the office, Slade came in. He has a line on a drug dealer with a big bounty from another bondsman. He's going to use Wendy as a lure. If they get him, Slade agreed to split the money with her."

  "Who is this guy? How dangerous is he?"

  "I don't know, exactly. But Slade said that he and his buddies would be armed to the teeth."

  Wolfe's apprehension took a quantum leap. "When are they going after him?"

  "Tonight. There's a crappy little bar where Slade says this guy and his buddies have shown up the past two nights to watch basketball playoffs. There's another game tonight at seven. Wendy's going in there to try to lure him out around halftime."

  Wolfe checked his watch. Time was running out.

  "What's the name of the place?"

  "Red's."

  Ramona gave him quick directions, and he wrote it all down on a pad by the phone, then ripped the sheet off and shoved it in his pocket. "I'm on my way right now."

  "Keep me posted."

  "I will."

  Wolfe hung up the phone and ran into the other room, grabbing every bit of firepower he could conceivably carry, then went down the elevator and leaped into his car, berating himself the whole way.

  Damn it, he should have helped her. Hell, he should have given her the money if that was what she wanted. Instead, she'd turned to Slade, a man who had only his own best interests at heart. He wouldn't watch out for her. He'd use her, but he wouldn't protect her, and as much of a maverick as he was, he could end up getting her hurt or killed.

  And if anything happened to Wendy, Wolfe was never going to forgive himself.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  For the next twenty minutes, Wendy pretended to watch the basketball game, keeping one eye on it and one eye on Braddock. If he looked her way, she held his gaze as long as she dared, and soon he was glancing her way more and more often. Then the halftime buzzer sounded. She saw him lean in to his buddies, say something, then rise from the table with his beer mug in hand.

  He was heading her way.

  Excitement surged through her. She'd done it. Now it was time to go in for the kill.

  He slid onto the bar stool beside her, eying her up and down. "I'd ask if you come here often, but if you did, I guarantee you I would have remembered."

  Wendy gave him a smile. "Is the game going your way?"

  "Not tonight. I'm liable to walk away a little poorer than before."

  "Then maybe you'd rather not put yourself through the misery of watching the second half."

  "You have a better suggestion?"

  "I was thinking maybe we could go someplace a little quieter." She raised an eyebrow. "My place, for instance."

  He stared at her a long time without blinking. "Are you always this direct?"

  She shrugged. "Well, I suppose we could sit here for another hour, you could buy me a drink or two, you could watch your team lose, and then we could go to my place." She paused. "Or we could just cut to the chase."

  His eyes narrowed with what looked like suspicion, and for a moment she thought she'd pushed too hard too fast. He glanced down at her artificially enhanced bustline, then met her eyes again.

  "Let's cut to the chase."

  Wendy felt a surge of exhilaration. She'd done it. He was coming with her. In only a few minutes he'd be in handcuffs and she'd be four thousand dollars richer.

  "Let me just settle up with the bartender," she told him, and reached into her purse for her wallet. When she flipped it open, though, something fell out and fluttered to the floor. She started to reach down to pick it up, but Braddock beat her to it. And when he rose again and she saw what she'd dropped, she felt a surge of panic.

  It was one of Ramona's business cards.

  Braddock looked at the card, then looked at Wendy. She tried to stay calm and keep the guilty expression off her face, but she knew she was failing miserably.

  "Where did you get this card?" he said.

  She opened her mouth to respond, but absolutely nothing came out.

  "Is this a setup?"

  "Setup?" she said. "What are you talking about?"

  Braddock's eyes darted back and forth, as if he expected to be ambushed at any moment. Then he rose from his seat and clamped his hand onto her arm.

  "Come on, baby. You and I are going somewhere to have a little talk. And don't say a word on the way, or I'll make sure it's the last one that comes out of your mouth."

  He dragged her by the arm through the bar, down a long hall past the rest rooms and pay phones, then out the back door of the bar. Her heart was beating in her chest like a battering ram, her breath coming in sharp little bursts. He spun her around and pinned her against the Dumpster.

  "Tell me what's going on," he demanded. "Who's with you?"

  The cold night air clogged Wendy's throat until it felt so tight that she couldn't have responded even if she wanted to.

  Braddock looked nervously over his shoulder, then turned back to Wendy, his expression angry and impatient. "I asked you who's with you!"

  "N-nobody's with me. I just came in here to have a drink. That's all."

  Braddock leaned in close, stroked his hand down her hair, then very deliberately wrapped the length of it in his fist and pulled.

  "I can make you talk, baby. And by the time I get finished, you'll be telling me the truth."

  * * *

  As he drove to the bar, Wolfe gripped the steering wheel with a savage force, every nerve in his body tightened to the breaking point. Each time he missed a stoplight he cursed, then slammed his foot on the gas and burned rubber the second the light turned green.

  Finally he spotted the place, a plain brick building with a half-lit neon sign out front. He pulled into the parking lot. As he was bringing his SUV to a halt, he spotted Slade's car, and his anger shot through the roof. The little bastard was kicked back in the driver's seat, his foot on the dashboard, tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel, just sitting there as if he had nothing better to do.

  Wolfe got out of his car, slammed the door, stalked up to the driver's window and banged on it with his fist. Slade jumped halfway out of his skin, then rolled down the window. "What's going on in that bar?" Wolfe demanded. "Where's Wendy?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Just answer me!"

  "I don't know."

  "What do you mean, you don't know?"

  "She hasn't come out yet."

  "Aren't you listening in?"

  "Hell, no. It's a simple job. There's no need—"

  "Why, you little—" Wolfe gritted his teeth and slammed his fist down on the roof of Slade's car. "Damn it!"

  As Slade recoiled, Wolfe turned and strode toward the door of the bar.

  "Hey! Where are you going?"

  Wolfe didn't respond. A moment later he burst into the bar. The place was crowded. Televisions were blaring, and smoke filled the air. He walked through the room, looking for Wendy, intending to haul her right out the door the moment he found her.

  She wasn't there.

  Apprehension hit him like a thunderbolt. Could that guy have dragged her out of here when Slade wasn't paying attention?

  The bathroom. Maybe she was in the bathroom.

  Wolfe glanced around, finally spotting the hallway that led to the bathrooms and the pay phones. He shoved open the door to the women's bathroom and called
out Wendy's name. Getting no response except the startled looks of the women lined up at the mirror, he spun around and started to head back up the hall. Then he noticed that the back door was ajar. He yanked it open.

  Wendy. There she was.

  He felt a swell of relief at seeing her, countered immediately by a rush of dread at the situation she was in. Braddock had her backed up against the Dumpster, her long hair wrapped around his fist. He looked angry. Wendy looked terrified. A burn of anger ignited inside Wolfe, then exploded him into action.

  * * *

  When Wendy saw Wolfe standing in the doorway, she couldn't believe her eyes. But then he strode outside, looking as big and bad as she'd ever seen him before, a huge, menacing presence that made Braddock's eyes go wide as searchlights. Wolfe really was here. He really was angry.

  And he really was going after Braddock.

  As Wolfe stalked toward him, Braddock instantly made the connection. He pulled a gun from beneath his coat, tightened his fist around Wendy's hair and yanked her closer. But when he moved the weapon up to point it at her head, he was a second too late. Wolfe swung his arm out and punched Braddock in the face. The gun went flying, crashing into the Dumpster with a loud clatter.

  The second Wendy felt Braddock's grip loosen, she scrambled away, and Wolfe was on him in an instant. He grabbed him by the collar, spun him around and forced him down to the ground. Once Braddock's nose was in the dirt, Wolfe put a knee against the small of his back, hauled his hands behind him and clipped on a pair of handcuffs.

  Breathing hard, Wolfe rose to his feet and turned to Wendy, standing tall, his breath clouding the air, every inch a man in control, a man who protected those he loved, a man who had stood between her and disaster one more time. And just the sight of him made her want to cry with relief.

  He held out his hand. She took three steps forward and fell into his arms.

  "Wolfe," she said. "You're here. You came. Oh, God, I can't believe you came."

  "Are you okay, sweetheart? Did he hurt you? I swear to God I'll kill him if he hurt you."

  "No. No, I'm fine. I'm just…" She began to cry, sobs choking her voice to the point that she could barely speak.