by Diana Palmer
“Tank Kirk.” They shook hands.
“Tank?” Parks asked, amused.
Tank shrugged. “I killed one in Iraq. The name stuck.”
“Come on in. Lisa made a cake and coffee. We can talk before the kids get back from a friend’s Christmas party,” he added with muffled laughter. “Once they’re home, it gets harder to have a conversation.”
“I’ve got a new nephew back home.” Tank laughed. “We’re up to the eaves in big plastic baby toys.”
“We’ve moved on to the next level of those,” Parks said, indicating scattered games and spinning toys and little pedal cars. “Good thing it’s a big house.”
“You’re telling me!” Lisa Parks laughed. She came out to greet them. She had green eyes, like her husband, but blond hair and she wore glasses. She was a pretty woman, still slender after two children. “Come in and have coffee and cake.” She glanced at the tall man. “I know. You hate cake, you don’t drink coffee...you’d rather be dragged behind a mule than sit around talking to people all day.”
The man gave her an enigmatic look.
“How about checking out that truck we noticed earlier?” Parks asked the man. “Take one of the boys with you. Just in case.”
The man glowered at him. “I invented stealth.”
“I know that. Humor me.”
The other man sighed. “You’re the boss.”
“Oh, and Grier called,” Parks added darkly. “It seems you’ve upset his secretary. Again.”
“Not my fault,” the man said with the first strong emotion he’d shown since Tank had met him. His eyes flashed. “She starts it and then runs to her boss to tattle when she can’t take the heat.”
“This is not my problem,” Parks replied. “Take it up with Grier.”
“Tell him—” he indicated Tank “—not to be so trusting. He never even asked me for ID.”
“What good would that do?” Parks muttered. “You never carry any. Which reminds me, I also had a call from a sheriff’s deputy who stopped you for speeding yesterday...”
“Tell you about it later,” the tall man said. “I’ll check on the truck.” He held up a hand when Parks started to speak. “I’ll take one of the boys with me,” he said with irritation.
He walked out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Parks said when he’d gone. He shook his head. “He’s head of the class when it comes to risky operations, but he’s a pain every other way.”
“Who is he?” Tank asked.
“Carson.”
“Is he related to your sheriff, Hayes Carson?” Tank pressed.
“Well, see, we don’t know if Carson is his first name or his last name,” Parks replied. “In fact, if you hack into government mainframes, you discover that he doesn’t even exist.”
Tank blinked.
“It’s a long story. Right now, let’s just eat cake. My wife—” he smiled at her “—makes the best pound cake in south Texas.”
“Flatterer,” she teased as she put the cake on the table and passed out plates and forks and a knife. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony, dig in. I’ll just get the coffee!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TANK LIKED CY Parks and his wife. They were surprisingly down-to-earth people, despite Parks’s unconventional background. He, along with local doctor Micah Steele and counterterrorism teacher Eb Scott, had formed a small unit of mercenaries who went all over the world as part of their jobs. They were taught, in turn, by a group of legendary fighters, now retired, whom they still kept in touch with.
Eb Scott’s school drew pupils from all over the earth. He taught all sorts of subjects, including small-arms instruction, defensive driving, hostage rescue and demolition. There were rumors, unsubstantiated of course, that the occasional government agent benefited from Scott’s instruction.
“Is there anything you guys haven’t done?” Tank asked Parks when they were strolling through the barn to look at some of his prize yearlings.
Parks shrugged. “We never took over a country.” He chuckled. “But one of our locals, Grange, did. He used to work for Jason Pendleton, but he’s got his own place now. His father-in-law manages it for him while he’s occupying the Military Chief of Staff position in Barrera, over in South America.”
“I understand the president of Barrera has family locally, too,” Tank remarked.
He nodded. “His son is Rick Marquez. Rick’s a lieutenant of detectives with San Antonio P.D. now, and his mother still runs Barbara’s Café in town. Good food. Almost as good as what my wife cooks.”
Tank nodded. “That was good cake.”
“She’s a wonder.” He glanced at his companion. “You married?”
Tank shook his head. He smiled secretly. “But I have prospects.”
Parks chuckled. “Good for you.”
“I appreciate the hospitality,” Tank added. “I travel a lot for the ranch. You get sick of hotels, no matter how good they are.”
“Tell me about it.”
Tank sighed. “I just hope your sheriff has some ideas about how we can track down this guy before he offs one of us,” he said quietly.
Cy nodded. “You’re worried about your family.”
Tank agreed. “And not just my family—my girl,” he added softly, referring to Merissa. “She’s the one who warned me. This rogue agent bugged her phones, as well as the ranch. Rourke’s got his eye on all of them, but it’s still unsettling.”
Cy clapped him on the shoulder. “I know how it feels, believe me. But we’ve got plenty of people trying to ferret out his identity. He can’t hide forever.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tank said.
* * *
TANK ENJOYED CY’S two little boys. They were smaller versions of their father, both with dark hair and green eyes. They wanted to know all about Tank’s ranch and what sort of cattle he ran. He got a kick out of listening to them hold forth on the subject of genetics. Obviously they were already headed in the direction of becoming ranchers when they grew up.
Tank called Merissa early the next morning.
“Anything going on that should worry me?” he asked her gently.
She laughed breathlessly. She hadn’t expected him to call, and she was all aflutter at the sound of his voice. “Not much,” she said. “Your man came and fixed the car for us. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. You’re sure he was our man?” he added worriedly.
“Oh, yes. Rourke came with him,” she added. “He’s a very interesting person.”
Tank ground his teeth together. “He’s my friend, but he’s a merc,” he began.
“You aren’t...jealous?” she asked shyly.
“Jealous?” he burst out. “Of course I’m jealous! You’re my girl!”
There was a soft gasp. He could almost hear her heart beating. “Oh, that sounds...very nice.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “Does it?”
“I like Rourke a lot. But not in that way,” she said primly.
He chuckled. “That sounds very nice, too,” he repeated her words.
She laughed.
“I love to hear the way you laugh,” he said softly. “I miss you.”
There was an indrawn breath. “I miss you, too. You aren’t going to be there a long time, are you?”
“No, just today. I’m going to talk to the sheriff later...” He paused as a car pulled up out front. He peered through the curtains. It was a squad car. He grinned. “Speak of the devil.” He laughed. “It’s the sheriff. I have to go. You take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes. You do the same. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He hung up and went outside. Cy Parks joined him on the porch.
A tall blond man in a uniform got out of the Jacobs County Sheriff’s Department vehicle and came toward them.
“Tank Dalton?” the man asked with a smile as he studied Cy’s companion.
Tank grinned. “Sheriff Carson?”
�
��Hayes.” He shook hands. “If it’s not too early for you, I thought I’d ask if you could come over to my office for a chat.”
“Go ahead,” Cy told him. “If you need a ride back, I’ll send one of the boys.”
“No need.” Hayes grinned. “I’ll bring him back.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
* * *
TANK CLIMBED INTO the patrol car with Hayes and they drove to the sheriff’s office.
“How’s your arm?” Tank asked him.
Hayes grimaced. “Still painful. I’m doing physical therapy and hoping I’ll regain at least partial use of it, but things are unsettled right now.” He shook his head. “I’ve been shot before, but I never had consequences like these.”
“I know what you mean,” Tank replied quietly. “I had injuries that required multiple surgeries. It was a few months ago, but I still get jumpy if there’s a car backfire.”
“Law enforcement is not a job for the weak of heart.”
“I totally agree,” Tank said. “That’s why I market cattle now.”
Hayes laughed. He led the way inside the building to his office, and offered Tank a seat. “I like my coffee strong.”
“Me, too.”
“Good thing, that’s the only way you’ll get it around here.” He produced two cups of coffee and put Tank’s in front of him. “There’s cream and sugar...”
“I don’t want either. ”
“Same here.”
Tank leaned back in the chair. “Did you ever catch the would-be assassin who shot you?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Hayes said with evident irritation. “We’ve put pressure on everybody we know. I even had my father-in-law ask around.” He leaned forward with a grin. “That’s how you indicate you’re really desperate—you involve a drug lord in your investigation. But my wife’s father has a good heart. He’s just in an illegal business.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t seem to run out of applications for jobs on his horse ranch in Jacobsville. But just between you and me, I think a lot of the applicants are undercover narcs.” He chuckled.
“That wouldn’t be a surprise.”
Hayes sipped his coffee. “We identified the shell casing,” he said. “Unfortunately the bullet’s still in me. The surgeon refused to remove it. He said it would complicate my recovery if he went in digging around delicate tissue.”
“I’m still wearing one of mine, too,” Tank replied. “I remember reading about Doc Holliday of O.K. Corral fame—they said when they examined his body, he was carrying several ounces of lead...bullets that doctors had just left in him.”
“In those days, the late 1800s, it would have been lethal trying to remove them,” Hayes agreed. He put down the coffee cup. “I’m still trying to understand why this man, whoever he is, targeted you and me. Neither of us can actually describe him. We don’t know who he is, or who he works for.” He frowned. “My office computer was destroyed, and when I had one of Eb Scott’s computer techs try to recover the hard drive, he was killed.” His eyes narrowed. “What is this guy trying so hard to cover up?”
Tank shook his head. “I have no idea. But he’s good at what he does. I had a friend of mine, Rourke, come up and check my place for bugs. It turns out that the surveillance company I hired was bogus. Their consultant, who was supposed to plant surveillance equipment, bugged everything, too.”
Hayes shook his head. “I can’t remember a case like this, not in my whole life.”
“I wasn’t in law enforcement that long, but neither can I,” Tank said. “There hasn’t been another attempt on your life?”
Hayes shook his head. “Well, that’s not quite true,” he added with a short laugh. “It seems El Ladŕon, before his untimely death, hired a new assassin to come after me.”
“And...?”
Hayes’s eyes twinkled. “He hired a guy who worked for my father-in-law briefly. He’s gone back to Houston, but he still keeps in touch, just in case the assassin wants to take me out.”
“They didn’t know who he was?” Tank exclaimed.
“Nope.”
“It wasn’t Mr. Parks’s employee, the other Carson?”
“No. Now there’s an interesting case,” Hayes mused. “He actually blew up El Ladŕon with a couple of hand grenades down in Mexico. The Mexican government did take a brief interest in the case, but we have a DEA agent who’s related to the former president. He made a couple of calls for us and they dropped the inquiry.”
Tank just shook his head. “This is one odd case.”
“Indeed it is.”
“I understand that Carson doesn’t carry ID and can’t be found in a database anywhere,” Tank replied.
“He’s an enigma. I owe him my life. So does my wife.” Hayes shook his head, too. “He has some unique skills. In fact, he just went on our honeymoon with us before he went to shepherd you down here. In a separate room,” he added with a chuckle. “He’s thick with Cash Grier, which leads to an assumption I probably shouldn’t make.”
“That he works, or worked, for the government in covert assassination,” Tank said, nodding at Hayes’s surprise. “I happened to mention to him that I noticed his gait. It’s one I saw in spec ops people in Iraq. Men who hunt men walk that way.”
Hayes nodded. “I know. If you ever see Cash Grier walk, it’s an experience. He’s still skilled with a sniper kit. In fact, a couple of years back, he took out a kidnapper who was holding a DEA agent’s child hostage. Did it from an astonishing distance, in the dark. Amazing.”
“His wife was a movie star, wasn’t she?”
He nodded. “They have a little girl, so he’s not so much into dangerous occupations as he was. They have Tippy’s younger brother living with them also. He’s just fourteen. He and Cash go fishing together and they game online. They’re best friends.”
“Nice for him. For both of them.”
“Yes.”
“You said she sees things,” he began.
“She has premonitions,” Hayes told him. “They’re uncanny. Saved Cash’s life a time or two.”
“My...friend,” he said hesitantly, “sees the future, too. But she’s never certain exactly what she sees. Sometimes it’s clouded. Like the guy who’s stalking me. She saw him sitting in front of a mirror trying on wigs. We concluded that he’s good at disguise.”
“That reminds me. I had Rick Marquez ask his father-in-law if he could check into that for us.”
“His father-in-law?”
Hayes nodded. He grinned. “Runs the CIA.”
Tank whistled.
“Anyway, he found a whole list of undercover agents from several agencies who have a reputation for their use of disguises. So I’m afraid it’s going to take a long time to narrow it down to even a handful.”
“Another dead end,” Tank agreed. He sighed. “I could stand in the center of town and wait for him to come shoot me.”
“From what we’ve been able to put together, he avoids crowds when he’s planning a hit.”
“Which would explain why he didn’t just shoot me in the front yard of my own ranch when he came out to put in the surveillance devices,” Tank told him. “He did seem disconcerted that we had so many armed men just standing around.”
“Good thing,” Hayes said. “I don’t think he’d have minded killing you face-to-face.”
“Nor do I. But if it hadn’t been for Merissa, I wouldn’t have been expecting it.” He shook his head. “She didn’t even know me. She came walking up to the back door, in a blizzard because her car wouldn’t start, to tell me I had to be careful. She said it was because of something I didn’t remember.”
Hayes frowned. “Was she more specific than that?”
“Not really. It comes and goes with her. She said that I knew something that I wasn’t aware of knowing, and it posed a risk to the man.”
“Nebulous.”
“Yes. But even so, it probably saved my life.”
“What do you remember abou
t the man, the supposed DEA agent, who led you into the ambush in Arizona?” Hayes asked.
Tank sighed. “I remember that he wore a suit. It’s still sort of hazy. He was medium height, nothing remarkable about his features. He was the sort of guy you wouldn’t even notice on the street.”
Hayes was remembering. “Yes. The guy I remember was pretty much the same. But he had a marked Texas drawl.”
“I think it was the same guy, after I was shot, who was giving a drug mule hell for calling 911 for me—he had red hair and a Massachusetts accent. But he was dressed the same.” He shook his head. “I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Nice of the mule to call for help.”
“Yes. Unexpected. I don’t even know who he was. I owe him my life. I hope they didn’t kill him for it.”
“You never know. I’ve heard of whole villages wiped out just for revenge against one man who lived in it.”
“So have I.”
“My wife and I saved one man from El Ladŕon,” Hayes recalled. He laughed. “My wife held an AK-47 on him and never knew if it was even loaded—but she bluffs well. Anyway, he didn’t want to hold us hostage, but his bosses knew his family and threatened to kill them if he stepped out of line. Carson, who works for Cy Parks, got his family out of Mexico.”
“So he does have at least one soft spot?”
“Not sure about that,” Hayes said. “He doesn’t seem to care about much. Although, he does have something of a reputation with women.”
“Deserved.” Tank chuckled. “I saw him in action at the airport. He draws them like flies to honey.”
“Draws them, yes. But he’s not a sentimental man.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, either.”
“How about your brothers?” Hayes asked. “This must be hard on them, too.”
“They worry. My older brother Mallory has a new son.”
Hayes smiled. “I like kids. My wife has a little brother and sister who live with us. They light up the place. We’re hoping to have one of our own.”
“You said something about Cash Grier’s secretary having a photographic memory, and that she saw the rogue agent,” Tank said. “Any help there?”
Hayes shook his head with a long sigh. “She had a police artist draw the man she remembered. But the nose was different, the hairline was different...” He grimaced. “The only thing familiar was the ears.”
