by Lexi Blake
Holly, the lonely heart. A man really couldn’t blend into the background in a town this small. “Henry Flanders. Nice to see you again.”
Holly flushed prettily. She was a lovely woman, but she couldn’t compare to his Nell. “Sorry about hitting on you at Hell on Wheels. I didn’t know you were involved with Nell. I like Nell. I wouldn’t try to come between the two of you. She’s so nice. Well, until you forget to recycle and then, boy, can that girl give you a lecture.”
He’d already decided on how to handle that particular problem. When Nell got mouthy with him, he would shove his cock between her lips and the problem would be solved. Or maybe a ball gag. She would look awfully cute in full bondage. “It’s okay. I’m only here for another week or so. Maybe two. I plan on spending all my time with Nell.”
Holly nodded. “I’m glad. And I can’t thank you enough for helping out with the whole bar fight thing. Max has too much fun with stuff like that, if you ask me. He would have taken forever to end it. We were lucky you were there because that Laura lady was in some pain. I don’t know why a woman who recently had surgery would go hitchhiking across the country, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Bishop didn’t want to talk about it either, but Holly could come in handy. “Hey, is there any way to boost this signal? It’s awfully slow.”
Holly groaned. “Yeah, it gets that way when my boss uses up the signal to watch Internet porn.”
A bald head popped up from behind the bar. “Don’t tell Anne. She gets real mad about that.”
Holly’s eyes rolled. “I won’t mention it if you’ll get back to work. We’re filling up in here, Lonnie. I need two Manhattans and that fellow over there was asking about a martimmy. I think he means martini, but he has a weird accent. And stay off the Internet. We have a paying customer.”
Lonnie immediately started pulling down bar glasses and bottles of liquor.
“It should work better now. How about a Scotch? Lonnie keeps a fifteen-year around for Stef Talbot, but he won’t miss a couple of fingers.”
Finally, civilization. And it didn’t hurt that it belonged to Talbot. “Make it three fingers and I’ll forget all about your boss’s porn problem.”
She winked and walked away. Sure enough, the speed picked up. Thank god. He’d read the dossiers Seth had put together, but he wanted to look these asswipes up himself. Sometimes there were things out there that didn’t fit into a twenty-year-old’s version of a file.
It didn’t take too long before he’d completely discounted Jim Miller. Miller ran a company that had gone under when Nell had proven that the small restaurant chain named Tasty and Healthy actually used lard as a regular ingredient. Miller had been embarrassed on network television and had vowed revenge on the group that had taken him down, but Seth had neglected to look at the asshole’s personal page. His wife gave birth to a new baby the same day Nell’s place had been broken into. There were pictures of the former CEO holding the tiny girl.
So it came down to Mickey Camden and Warren Lyle.
Camden previously had run a small pharmaceutical firm. Nell had decided the lab animals needed their freedom. It should have been a simple open-and-shut case with Nell going to jail for breaking and entering, but while she was freeing the rabbits and monkeys, she also discovered that Camden was trafficking drugs for a cartel.
Camden was awaiting trial. Nell had paid a small fine.
He was going to smack her ass for that. She’d gone in alone. Anything could have happened to her. She was a chaos magnet.
Camden was one to watch. Lyle, too. Lyle’s firm specialized in storing nuclear waste. They handled everything from biomedical nuclear waste to large energy firms. Nell had managed to prove they were cutting corners and the EPA had taken his ass down. Lyle’s wife had left him.
Two people. Seth was damn good. Without Seth’s program, he would still be going through Nell’s computer, still be sifting through the hundreds of protests she’d participated in or organized over the years. Now he only had to deal with two assholes. He needed to figure out where they were.
But he needed better Internet. He couldn’t hack anything with this piece of crap. And it slowed down again. He glanced up. Lonnie had disappeared behind the bar again.
An odd pinging sound zinged through the air. Bishop looked back and a man in a trucker hat was walking through the lounge area with a small handheld device that was pinging and lighting up as he waved it around.
Bishop packed up Nell’s computer and pulled out his cell. He’d gotten Seth’s number from an e-mail. He quickly texted the kid with the two names he was concerned about.
Lyle and Camden. Run their credit cards. I’ll be at your place in twenty.
He moved over to the bar. He could use that drink. Holly set the Scotch in front of him. Seth would need half an hour or so to get his task done. He could take his time. Nell was very likely getting her toes painted by some naked person. Bishop took a long sniff of the perfectly oaky liquor and gave a silent prayer of thanks that Stef Talbot had excellent taste in Scotch. He took a nice sip, the flavor familiar and comforting.
Like Nell. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste her on his tongue, still smell the spicy scent of her arousal, feel that soft skin pressing against his.
“Could I get a beer?” a deep voice asked. Bishop felt someone move into the seat beside him.
Lonnie grabbed a longneck from the cooler and quickly popped the top. “Fred. How’s it going?”
A man in a Western shirt with pearl snaps sat on the barstool beside him. Bishop quickly estimated his age, status, and likely field of employment. Gray hair peeked from beneath a cowboy hat that had seen a lot of wear, but the shirt was of excellent quality and the watch around his wrist was easily worth a couple grand. He was around sixty-five, had some money, and worked in the sun if the deep lines on his face were any indication. He likely owned a ranch.
“I’m getting by, Lonnie. That’s all I can ask right now.”
The barkeeper frowned, concern obvious on his face. “I heard a rumor that Noah might be getting married.”
“I don’t know about that, but I sincerely hope my son gets his head out of his ass before he does something he shouldn’t.” The rancher took a long drag off his beer. “I don’t think this would be happening if my Ellen was still alive.”
Lonnie patted the bar in front of him. “Yeah. I still miss her. How’s Brian doing?”
A long sigh came from the cowboy. “He’s comfortable. That’s all we can hope for now.”
“If there’s anything Anne and I can do to help, let us know. I’m going to go grab you some pretzels. I keep the kind you like in the back.”
Maybe Lonnie wasn’t such an ass. Bishop sipped his Scotch and wondered where he would be at this time next year. Colombia? Argentina? Would they move him to the Middle East? Fuck, he might not even be alive next year.
Who would be watching after Nell?
“You got any kids?”
Bishop nearly cringed. Damn. The last thing he wanted was to get into a discussion with a complete stranger. “Nope.”
The cowboy sighed. “Well, you’re still young. One day you’ll have kids and, let me tell you, you need to remember that they will drive you to drink.” He chuckled. “I will say that it was easier when my boys were little. All they wanted was a taste of whatever their momma was cooking and for their dads to play some ball with them.”
“Dads?” He couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but it came out.
“Fred Glen.” He held out a hand.
Bishop shook it. “Henry Flanders.”
“Well, Henry, I own a ranch. I was married and had a son. James. My wife was killed in a car accident when Jamie was just a toddler. My best friend had a kid, too. Noah. Brian’s wife left him and he came to live out on the G with us. That’s where we met our Ellen.”
Was he saying what Bishop thought he was saying? “You shared her?”
A brilliant smile crossed the man’s fa
ce, and he touched the gold band on his left ring finger. “We married her. She was Jamie’s and Noah’s momma. We had a good twenty years together. She died a while back. Brian’s not going to last long. He’s got a bad heart. I think it broke the day our Ellen died.”
What the hell was worth that kind of heartache? Nell. A vision of her looking up at him with perfect trust in her eyes assaulted him. He should keep quiet. The guy would stop talking eventually. None of this meant anything to Bishop. “Would you do it again?”
He nodded. “Oh, god, I would do it in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t change anything.”
“But she died. He’s going to die.” Nell could die. It was better to walk away, to not feel anything. His mother had died. It was what people did. They died. They left. They failed.
“I’ll die one day, too. But if I hadn’t loved Ellen, if I hadn’t shared a life with Brian and our kids, well, I wouldn’t have lived. This ache in my gut, it means I lived, son. I loved. I built something. I don’t regret a minute of it. Not even the end. Brian and I held her when she passed and then we had each other. No. My only problem is my boys. They have a woman coming between them. My youngest is going to make a very big mistake and I can’t stop him. He thinks he’s in love.”
A long moment passed. “How can you tell?”
Fred Glen turned slightly. “How can you tell if you’re in love?”
Was he in love with Nell? He’d never felt anything close to the way he felt when she walked into a room. Was that love? “Yeah.”
“When you can’t think of anything but her.” A mysterious smile curled his lips up, like he was lost in some ridiculously sweet memory. “When she’s the only thing in the world that matters. When you realize you want to be a better man, make the world a better place, because she’s in it. When the choices you make, about yourself, about the kind of man you are all boil to one thing—will she be proud of you? That’s when you know.”
Bishop took a damn long drink this time.
There was a loud beeping behind him. Holly rushed around the bar.
“Oh, dear, this is going to get bad,” Holly said, worry plain in her voice.
Fred Glen’s face lit up. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Bishop opened his eyes, and the redhead was putting down her tray. She looked behind the bar. “Damn it, Lonnie. Get out here. We have real trouble.”
Lonnie poked his head out of the back and quickly disappeared again. “It’s just Mel.”
Holly practically vibrated as she stared out into the lounge. “I swear to god, I’m going to quit one day.”
“Who’s Mel?” The only thing he knew about the man named Mel was that he believed in aliens and had a thing for beets. Bishop took another sip of the Scotch. He tried his damnedest to stop thinking about what Fred Glen had said. He didn’t love her. He was just sleeping with her. He’d been her first man and he felt a responsibility toward her. That was all. He wanted her.
If he played his cards right, he could find the bad guy and be back in time to have dinner with Nell before they explored a little bondage this evening. He was going to tie her to the bedposts, spreading her arms and legs wide, splaying her open for his very delicious torture. He would lick her from head to toe. He would get her so hot she would be begging for his cock. He might even clamp her nipples. That would be pretty.
“Mel’s a legend around these parts. He considers himself an alien hunter. Notice that he’s got tinfoil under that hat of his. Claims it keeps the death rays from taking him.” Fred was grinning, his weariness fading for the moment.
Bishop turned in his chair, watching the action out in the lounge. Mel was the man in the trucker hat with the weird beeping thing. It was going off like crazy as he stood in front of a young man with a shock of dark hair. His face was unlined, his eyes wide as he looked up at the lanky man. He had been talking to a pretty brunette who moved away the minute Mel walked up as though she knew disaster was about to happen and wanted to get clear of the blast radius.
“All right, you. You know damn well you’re not supposed to be here,” the man named Mel accused.
The younger man shrank back a bit, clutching his glass. “I am only trying to enjoy my martimmy. Go away.”
Dude did not come from here. What was that accent? Croatian?
Mel didn’t seem to give a crap about the weird accent. “Not on your life, buddy. You are in direct violation of Intergalactic Council Order 100923-4821. This is protected ground. You’re not allowed to breed here.”
Holly rushed up, an envelope in her hands. “Oh, god, he’s talking about breeding. I am so sorry. If we don’t let him kick someone out about once a month, he gets antsy, and that’s bad for everyone. The town got together a couple of months back and put together this nice package for Mel’s victims.”
“Holly, he ain’t a victim. He’s a Sibalian male of mating age. That ain’t even his real form,” Mel explained.
“What is this man talking about? I’m here on vacationings. This is ridiculous.” The man set down his drink, his face flushing. “I demand to talk to the management.”
Holly pressed the envelope in his hand. “Management snuck into the kitchen to watch Internet porn. I’m so sorry. There’s no charge for the drink and the Trading Post has a free quarter pound of fudge for you. You can get your oil changed at Roger’s Garage for nineteen ninety-nine. Polly offers a free wax, but I kind of think she enjoys that. She’s a little sadistic if you ask me. And there’s free coffee for you at Stella’s. Please don’t sue us.”
The man huffed, grabbed the envelope, and stalked out.
“Nothing to worry about here, people.” Mel held up his detector thingy. “You’re all safe. You don’t have to worry about being overrun with Sibalian young. Whew. That was a close one. The vodka in the drink would have triggered his mating pheromones and then no woman would be safe. No need to thank me.”
Mel tipped his foil-lined hat and waved good-bye, his job apparently done.
“Nope.” Fred Glen was smiling broadly. “Wouldn’t change a damn thing. This is the place to live, son.”
Bishop slapped some bills on the counter. He needed to get to Seth’s and then get home to Nell. Well, get back to his room. Nell was waiting for him and he had plans on how to spend the night. It did not include watching an alien hunter threaten tourists. “Thanks, Fred. It was good to meet you.”
He grabbed his case, put on his coat, and headed out. Night had fallen and the cold blasted him. He wanted to be back with Nell where it was warm.
His phone buzzed, a text coming in.
It’s Lyle. Used a credit card in Alamosa two days ago.
Bishop sighed. One assignment down. He could find the fucker tomorrow and then bury him. There had to be plenty of places to bury a body out here. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d killed someone.
Nell would protest him if she knew. He could hear the lecture on how he should rehabilitate criminals, not internally decapitate them. But he was really good at internal decapitation. It was his signature move. Bloodless. Usually no one had time to scream. And, when he thought about it, it was fairly painless. Killing with kindness. Nell would approve.
And then she would protest.
Any way he looked at it, Nell would never be able to accept the real John Bishop. And what the fuck was he thinking anyway? That he could take Nell with him? He worked deep-cover assignments with some of the most dangerous terrorists and drug dealers in the world. He’d worked with female agents before. He’d used them as cover. They were beautiful and deadly and knew when to keep their mouths closed.
Nell would protest the terrorists and get her gorgeous ass shot in five seconds flat.
There was a quick, loud, sucking sound and Bishop’s eyes were flooded with a blue light. It was gone in an instant, but a cold wind blew him back. What the fuck?
Mel walked from around the side of the building. “He’s off. Gotta make sure with those boys. When they get the mating heat, they can take out
whole cities. You ever seen the episode of Star Trek with the tribbles? Yeah, that’s what it’s like. Luckily I have a direct line to MI17, and they can open a wormhole.”
Bishop shook his head. What was the proof on the liquor again? “MI17?”
Mel nodded as though all of this was perfectly normal. “Sure. The Brits don’t acknowledge they have an MI17, but that’s just silly. Who else would have put down the Great Invasion of ’89? It sure wasn’t going to be that Star Wars defense project. Hell, no. Mayonnaise. That’s what scares those Orcanians.”
Bishop was pretty sure he was the one who had landed on a different planet.
His phone rang as he watched the deeply odd man walking toward an old pickup truck. He slid his finger across the screen to answer. “Yeah?”
“John?”
Bishop froze.
“It’s Bill. I’m alone, but you need to get here and quick. Nell is missing, son.”
His heart threatened to stop. “What do you mean? She was with her mother when I left her.”
“It’s been chaotic around here. We didn’t realize she was missing until a couple of minutes ago. Callie asked her to go and let in Kelly, Polly’s girl. The gate can only be opened by residents and guests who have keys. Nell went out to manually open the gate.”
“Where is this Kelly person?”
“That’s just it. She’s not here, either. She was in her car at the front gate, and now she’s gone. I’m trying to pull up the security tapes right now. Pam and Callie are with the others searching the grounds, but I have a very bad feeling.”
Bishop ran for his car. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Call the sheriff.”
“I called him before I called you. Rye Harper’s on his way and the sheriff’s going out to Polly’s to make sure Kelly didn’t go home.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“It’s been about half an hour since anyone saw her.”
Nausea threatened to take over. That was practically forever. If all Lyle wanted to do was kill Nell, he likely would have shot her and left her body lying there, but he’d taken her. Bishop had to hope that Lyle wanted to torture her for a while. He couldn’t even believe he was thinking the words, but she had to be alive. He could help her, put her back together, anything—just as long as she was still alive.
