Camouflage Cowboy

by Jan Hambright

  Grace let out an audible gasp. “A Chevy, something. White. Plate number B485.”

  “That’s what I got, too.”

  “That was amazing. How did you do that?” Grace asked.

  “Nobody likes to endure a traffic stop. Especially not a rogue cop who already believes he’s above the law. And I listen to my police scanner.”

  Chapter Six

  Grace fingered the warning ticket Nick had casually tossed on the kitchen counter the night before, then moved to the sink to rinse off the breakfast dishes and put them into the dishwasher.

  “I’m going to see the bays,” Caleb said from his seat at the bar in the center of the kitchen, where he sat next to Nick. “Mister Nick is going to take me.”

  “Not without a jacket. It’s chilly this morning.” Grace turned on the water to scour the plates, cups and silverware. She shut off the faucet, dried her hands on the dish towel hanging next to the sink, then turned to look at the two of them conspiring together at the breakfast bar.

  “Your fleece hoodie is in the suitcase, Caleb. It’s lying open at the foot of the bed in Mommy’s room. Go get it.”

  “All right.” He climbed down off the high stool with help from Nick and took off at a run.

  Grace’s heart squeezed in her chest. She forced a lump of emotion down and moved to the edge of the counter directly across from him, as she listened to Caleb’s hurried footfalls against the hardwood floor in the hallway. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

  He stared back at her, a sexy grin bowing his lips. She was struck by his good looks, his physical persona and the intensity of his gaze. Pulse skipping, palms slicking, she dropped her perusal.

  “This big, empty house could stand to see some action.”

  “You picked the right child to make that happen.” Feeling the need to qualify her son’s ever-changing energy levels, she continued, knowing it was a reality not everyone understood, or could handle on a daily basis for that matter. “That is, whenever he’s running on a fresh blood supply. He goes from listless and sleepy to a bundle of energy in a matter of hours. That’s why I generally take the sick day my boss, Bailey Lockhart, gives me the morning after he has had a transfusion.”

  Nick’s smile faded. “He’s a great kid, Grace. Pepped up or asleep.” He slid his hand across the counter to cover hers. It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to fall apart that instant. She couldn’t remain here forever.

  “I want you and Caleb to stay for as long as it takes.”

  She stared at him, feeling the heat in his touch as it pulsed along her arm in an intimate connection she could feel growing between them.

  “I’ll find a way to neutralize the creep stalking you.” There was absolute seriousness in the set of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his intense blue eyes.

  A blade of fear knifed through her. “Be careful, Nick. He’s got friends with badges who don’t seem to mind helping him. He’s been able to trace me everywhere I’ve been for the last three years.”

  “That’s when you run?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he, Grace?”

  Her emotions locked up, strangled with tension that wound tight like a cord inside of her. The whole truth could drive Nick away when she needed his help the most, but she couldn’t live with herself if she let him walk into a trap because he hadn’t been forewarned.

  “His name’s Rodney Marshall. He’s my ex-brother-in-law.”

  “Your ex-husband’s brother?”

  “My dead husband’s brother.”

  Nick didn’t flinch, didn’t follow her statement up by questioning why or how—much to her relief. Instead he squeezed her hand before he pulled back.

  “You haven’t seen the brotherhood I hang out with. They’re exes, too. Ex-military.” He smiled again, making her fears recede, but only a fraction.

  Rodney Marshall was dangerous, especially high on the poison of a grudge. A vendetta against her for what she’d done to…

  The sound of Caleb’s footfalls were obscured in a rhythmical scraping noise that came with him into the kitchen.

  She turned to look at him where he stood grinning, wearing a pair of Nick’s cowboy boots, whose leather shafts ended just above his kneecaps, and a cowboy hat he unceremoniously pushed back with his hand to look up at them, but no jacket.

  “Caleb. We’re guests here. You can’t get into Mister Nick’s things without permission.”

  Turning her attention on Nick she realized he was laughing under his breath so hard he almost fell off his stool as he stared down at Caleb. “Looks like we need to make some adjustments, buddy.”

  He looked over at her, his handsome face contorted with amusement, and she was relieved he wasn’t upset with Caleb for poking around in his things.

  “I’ll go find his jacket.”

  “What’s your bay’s name?” Caleb asked Nick as she left the kitchen, headed down the hallway to her room in search of the fleece hoodie. “Saddle him up. I wanna ride.”

  She smiled as she entered the spacious room Nick had put her and Caleb in last night, thinking of the influence Zachary Giordano’s Wild West horse tales, recited at recess at Cradles to Crayons, had had on Caleb’s desire to be a cowboy someday.

  Sucking in a breath, she paused next to the empty suitcase and stared at the pile of clothing her son had torn through in his excitement to get outside to see Nick’s horses.

  Going to her knees, she scrounged until she found the jacket at the bottom of the stack. Living out of a suitcase had some advantages, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a single one right now.

  Shaking out the fleece hoodie, she headed for the kitchen, unable to hear the sound of their voices.

  Once she reached the room she knew why. The place was empty.

  Concerned, she headed for the big window above the sink and looked out into the backyard, spotting Nick and Caleb walking across the grass at a turtle’s pace, with Caleb’s oversize cowboy garb slowing them down. He was wearing one of Nick’s sweatshirts with the sleeves rolled up, and the tails of a dish towel hung out from under the cowboy hat, where Nick had used it to fill up the space between the brim and Caleb’s head.

  At least he could see where he was going.

  They stopped to talk for a moment, before Nick scooped him up and planted him atop his shoulders.

  An ache squeezed inside of her. She pressed her hand to her chest to protect her heart. Being alone was hard; she’d learned to live with it, but seeing her son looking up at Nick Cavanaugh put it all into painful perspective for her.

  Caleb was alone, too, deprived of a strong male role model. Running away again would only make that harder than ever to remedy.

  She had to stay.

  “WHAT THE HELL?” he mouthed under his breath, adjusting the focus on his binoculars. He was on his belly on the ground three hundred yards east of the horse corral.

  He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t flinch as Agent Cavanaugh lifted a funnily dressed little kid off his shoulders, put him down and stared in his direction for a moment. He’d never seen the kid before. Maybe Cavanaugh had a nephew?

  Cool Texas wind stirred the dry brown grass surrounding him, but he remained perfectly still, like a diamondback waiting to strike, minus any warning rattle.

  The agent was generally gone by this time of the morning, so what did the kid have to do with him still being home? A string of mental curses raced around inside his head. He needed to get in, but he’d have to wait. He couldn’t risk detection, not when his plans were firming up so neatly.

  “Boom,” he whispered, watching the agent turn his back to open the corral gate, before he picked up the boy in his arms and went inside, disappearing in the midst of the horses.

  He snaked backward, careful to minimize the amount of dust he raised with his movements. Detection could end his days on the lamb, and he was too damn close to reeling in the big one. He couldn’t let
that happen.

  Inching down below the shallow rise, he made the decision to wait it out, and rolled onto his back to stare up at the graying sky overhead.

  If Cavanaugh left early enough and took the brat with him, he could get inside the house.

  NICK SCANNED THE TERRAIN well beyond the corral. There it was again. That hinky sensation of being watched that always walked across the back of his neck whenever someone’s or something’s eyes were boring into him. It had saved his butt more than once in Iraq, but nothing moved in the shocks of fall-brown grass except the morning breeze. Satisfied, he turned and unlatched the corral gate, then picked Caleb up and waded into the cluster of horses.

  Caleb’s arms quickly locked around his neck.

  He felt him tremble as he eyed the horses, whose ears rotated forward as they stared back in curiosity.

  “Relax, bud, I’ve got ya. They’re not going to hurt you.”

  Caleb’s death grip softened, but he still eyed the creatures with suspicion.

  “This here’s Jericho. He’s my ropin’ horse. I use him to chase the cows.” Nick moved in close to the big bay, reached out and patted the animal’s neck. “Go ahead, give him a pet. He’s kid gentle.”

  In a show of trust, Caleb gingerly extended his right hand and put it on the horse. A slow grin replaced his look of concern as he stroked his hand along Jericho’s neck.

  “See. What’d I tell ya?”

  He nodded. “Him’s nice.”

  “That’s right. Would you like to sit on his back?”

  Caleb swallowed, his bright blue eyes widening as he looked at the horse, then back at Nick, then back at the horse.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  “Zachary-G does it.” He pulled his hand back and began a nervous game of finger play between his right and left digits.

  “I’ll stay right here next to you, Caleb.”

  His desire to do what Zachary-G did eventually overruled his nerves. “Saddle him up, Mister Nick.”

  Nick grinned. “All right, tiger, here you go.” He easily lifted Caleb and set him down on Jericho, but he retained a hold on the little boy’s leg just in case. With his left hand, he gathered a handful of black mane. “Hang on to this, Caleb.” He gestured and watched him squeeze the mane tightly in both hands.

  “You can tell Zachary-G you’re riding bareback.”

  Caleb grinned as he sat atop the big horse, and Nick’s heart jolted inside his chest. The little guy had overcome his fear like a trooper. A measure of pride affixed itself to his thoughts.

  “That’s probably enough for today. Next time I’ll saddle him up and we’ll take off across the field.”

  “Fast?” Caleb asked, still smiling.

  “As fast as you wanna go.”

  Caleb nodded, released his handful of horse mane and reached out to Nick with both arms.

  Struck by the child’s level of trust, Nick gathered him off the animal and carried him to the gate. He pushed it open, stepped outside of the corral and lowered Caleb onto his oversize-boot-clad feet. He latched the gate and turned around, catching a flit of movement in a clump of grass fifty feet to the east.

  Caution glided through him as he stared, watching for a second telltale sign. Transfixed, he picked out a pair of eyes watching back. The source of his earlier agitation?

  “Caleb, look over there,” he whispered to the boy. “A coyote. He’s watching us from the grass.” Nick squatted down, picked up a clod of dirt and chucked it toward the wild animal. It hit the ground five feet in front of the coyote and broke apart, sending tiny pellets of dirt in his direction.

  The coyote bolted and took off.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said, grinning as he squinted into the midmorning sun that was in the process of escaping into the spotty clouds above.

  “Let’s get you back inside to your mom.”

  With one last glance in the rangy coyote’s direction, Nick and Caleb headed for the house.

  PROGRESS TODAY ON HIS IED wasn’t happening, he decided. Shortly after Agent Cavanaugh and the kid had gone inside, he’d spotted a woman standing at the kitchen window.

  Aggravated with the delay, he made the decision to pack it in and head for the lower twenty acres on the edge of the ranch. He’d been holed up in an abandoned barn for the past month, waiting for his opportunity to strike again—while he intermittently used Agent Cavanaugh’s big, empty house with its closed-off rooms as if it were his own.

  NICK STARED AT THE PAPER WORK on his desk and rocked back in his chair. Since leaving the ranch around noon, he hadn’t been able to get Grace and Caleb Marshall off of his mind, or the fact that the assignment he’d taken from Governor Lockhart could force him to compromise his values. It would be different if Grace were here in Freedom to blackmail the governor, but that thread had come unraveled the moment he met Caleb. Still, there were things about Grace that concerned him. Like why in the hell her ex-brother-in-law was stalking her. Did she renege on giving him her deceased husband’s baseball-card collection like he’d been promised in the will? Or not hand back some family heirloom? Doubtful.

  “Hey, bro.” Matteo pulled a chair up next to his desk and sat down. “You got a pen? I finagled a glance at Grace Marshall’s employment application.”

  Nick straightened in his chair, feeling guilty for asking, but anxious for the information that could help explain Grace’s predicament.

  “Three years ago, she worked at a preschool in Billings, Montana, called Love and Learn. After that she listed a restaurant in Amarillo called the Armadillo. Nothing here in Freedom except part-time at Cradles to Crayons.”

  Nick wrote down the information, then opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the water glass he’d lifted from Talk of the Town.

  “It’s clean. Be sure you tell Faith.”

  Matt took the cup. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing. Grace seems like a nice woman.”

  “She is, and her son, Caleb, is a great kid.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “No problem. Not one I can elaborate on.”

  Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, but you know the team is always here.”

  He nodded. “I appreciate that. How are things at the Twin Harts? Any lead on the guy in the surveillance tape?”

  “Nothing but the single boot track we cast. Came back as a standard issue, U.S. Marine Corps.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Yeah.” Matt stood up, went to his desk, picked up the casting and brought it over, where he handed it to Nick.

  “Looks like a boot without much wear. Probably never seen a tour of duty. Could be our guy just likes to dress up and play soldier.” He handed the cast print back to Matteo.

  Amelia walked up and put a piece of paper on Nick’s desk. “Your plate number B485 belongs on a 1998 Chevy Impala, white. Registered owner is a Tom McCarthy, lives right here in Freedom. I copied down his phone number for you.”

  Nick looked up. “Thanks, Amelia.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said over her shoulder as she turned and headed back to her desk.

  “I swear, she’s former CIA,” Matt said in a conspiratorial voice loud enough that Nick was certain she’d heard it.

  “Efficient and beautiful,” he said, watching her turn her head slightly. Anything was possible, Nick decided.

  After all, their boss, Bart Bellows, had spent time working for the CIA, or at least that was the clandestine rumor.

  “Take it easy. I’ve got to get home—I’m taking my two favorite girls out to dinner tonight,” Matt said, referring to Faith and her baby girl, Kaleigh.

  “Have a good time.” Nick watched Matt park the chair where he’d found it, grab his jacket and head out. Suddenly Nick realized that he also had someone to go home to this evening for the first time since he’d joined the CSaI and moved to Freedom. But he had a phone call to make before he took off.

  He
lifted the telephone receiver and dialed the number on the sheet of paper Amelia had given him.

  “Hello.”

  “Tom McCarthy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My name’s Nick. I’d like to inquire about your 1998 white Chevy Impala.”

  “Sold it. Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Sorry, you’re too late. I should have pulled the newspaper ad.”

  “Sounds like my buddy beat me to it. Was he of medium build, dark brown hair, paid cash, named Rodney Marshall?”

  “Yeah. You described him, but he said his name was James Allred. Says he lives in Amarillo.”

  “Sorry. My mistake.” Nick hung up the phone. It would make sense that Rodney had used an alias to buy another car from a private party. He would probably eventually ditch it somewhere just like he’d done with the black sedan. Rodney Marshall was going to be as predictable as the lack of rain in southern Texas. The only thing Nick wanted now was to know what motivated the guy. And only Grace Marshall knew that for sure.

  He shuffled together the written request he’d printed out addressed to the attorney general of the state of Texas, asking for a medical waiver to open a sealed adoption file, a request that didn’t have a chance of being granted. It was, however, a step that any good investigator would naturally seek first. All he needed was for Grace Marshall to sign the request.

  A wave of guilt showered him, pooling in the corners of his mind. He had every intention of confronting Governor Lockhart again as soon as possible, but next time he planned to put a name to the faceless baby the governor had given up. Maybe knowing for sure who her daughter was would change things. Maybe then she would reconsider.

  Pushing the paperwork into a clean file folder, he uncovered the facts Matteo had recovered from Grace’s employment application for Talk of the Town.

  He had her fingerprints. He had the names of the cities where she’d resided in the past three years; Billings, Montana, being the only hole he needed to plug. He needed to run all of her background information to cover his bases, but… Disgusted with himself, he grabbed the paper, opened the top drawer of his desk and shoved it inside.