by Taylor Lee
“Whether these men stay in your cross hairs depends on whether you remain in charge of this case, Deputy Trouble. That is something that you and I have yet to agree on.” Her father held up his hand, stopping her certain protest. “Listen to me, Deputy Trouble, and listen well. According to Detective Sorenson, you could have been badly hurt, even killed.”
Tanya shot Gunnar a disparaging glance and muttered, “You know what a drama queen Gunnar can be. I’m—”
Sheriff Trouble cut sharply though her protestation. “That’s enough, Tanya. You need to know that I’m deadly serious about potentially taking you off this case. Not only because you put yourself in a very dangerous position by essentially begging an unhinged man to retaliate. In addition, and even more important, you could have derailed the entire investigation. If, God forbid, that stranger didn’t stop Manny Davis from attacking you, or you were there by yourself, we might have nothing to go on except your dead body.”
“Geez, Dad, who’s the drama queen now?”
“Tanya. Trouble. Do not say another word.”
The anger flaring in her father’s dark brown eyes and rigid jaw reminded Tanya of Flint Burke. When he had ordered her to get the hell off the ranch and not come back without a warrant, he had looked even more commanding than her angry father did now. It had taken her most of the ride home to come to grips with the fact that she had done as he’d told her. It wasn’t often that she followed orders without arguing, but clearly the blond-haired stranger was no one to mess with. Nor was her father, Tanya conceded, seeing the genuine anger underscoring the sheriff’s stern expression.
Putting up her hands, she emitted a hard sigh. “Look, Dad, I admit I pushed Manny Davis harder than maybe I should have. I know he has a short fuse. But I was trying to get him to admit that he was with Violeta. I let my anger get the best of me. I apologize and promise you I won’t do it again.” Before her father could interrupt her, she rushed forward. “And yes, Dad, the last thing I want to do is screw up what we both know is likely a very strong case against Manny Davis and the rest of those assholes. According to Marcie Jones, when she left the party, all of them were there and riding high.”
At that moment, Gunnar came to her aide. “She’s right, Sheriff Trouble. Marcie confirmed that when she left at 10:00 p.m., the guys were with Violeta.” He hesitated and said with a questioning frown, “Although I don’t remember her saying that Burke dude was with them.”
Tanya snorted. “Of course he was. He’s been hanging with that sorry bunch up close and personal since he arrived on the scene. Why wouldn’t he join the fun?”
Gunnar shrugged. “I dunno, Deputy, it seemed pretty clear that he wasn’t into jailbait—at least from what he told you.”
Not wanting to remember how the stud had taken her on much less acknowledge how his arrogant appraisal of her had affected her, Tanya disagreed. “Obviously we need to confirm with Marcie who was present when she left the party. My money is that conceited hunk was part of the disgusting gang that’s preying on underage girls.” She added with a frown, “My money is also on the fact that guy has spent some time behind bars—for more than an overnight stretch. You don’t get that cocky around cops unless you’ve had plenty of practice pulling their chains.”
Not hiding his sly grin, Gunnar noted in an offhand tone, “Yeah, Tanya, I couldn’t help but notice how he pulled your chain. I’m not used to seeing any guy get the best of you. But he—”
Tanya reared up, cutting the detective off in mid-sentence. “The last thing that arrogant prick did, or will ever do, is get the best of me, Detective Sorenson. Once I figure out how he happened to end up in our sights, part of our White is Might creeps, I’ll bet you a month’s paychecks that he is up to his cocky ass in all the shit that Manny and his gang are.”
Gratified that her father had sat back in his high-backed chair, clearly thinking, she was surprised when he said, “That’s an important question you’re raising, Tanya. Where did your white knight come from? Whether you admit it or not, that stranger may have saved your life, at least kept you from being seriously hurt.”
Tanya snorted. “He hardly saved my life. As I said before, you know what a drama queen Gunnar—”
Seeing her father’s scowl, she stopped in mid-sentence. “Okay, okay. So maybe I do owe Captain America a thank you card or maybe a box of chocolate-covered cherries. I don’t know why the hell he did what he did, but I’m reasonably sure that Gunnar and I could have held our own.” She rushed on before her father could interrupt. “My sense is that he was trying to keep Manny from going berserk or saying or doing something that would confirm we were on the right trail.”
Even as she said it while acknowledging her father’s disbelieving frown, as she had in their silent ride back to the sheriff’s office, Tanya conceded it wasn’t only the stranger coming to her aid that was surprising. What was more shocking was how he took Manny down in a couple of the most striking martial arts moves she’d ever seen. Clearly the guy was either ex-military or, more likely, a prison-hardened fighter. But even now, hours later when her heart was beating relatively normally and her adrenaline high had crashed, the thing she was most challenged by was the way he’d ordered her to leave—and that she’d obeyed him.
****
Ryker Thompson managed to talk Manny Davis off the ledge, gratified when Pete and Mac came to his assistance. It was clear the irate man was close to blowing. For the first ten minutes, Manny shrieked a flurry of graphic threats describing what he intended to do to Deputy Trouble if it was the last thing he did. After half a bottle of rotgut booze, he changed his target and turned on Ryker.
Pointing to the bruise on his face, he demanded, “What the hell was that about, Burke? You think you can come on this property, then a week later like some fuckin’ Avenger take me down? Take the side of that pig cunt? Nearly break my fuckin’ arm in the process?”
Seeing that Manny was about to go off on another tirade, this time fueled by alcohol, Ryker stood up and shot the flushed guy a hard stare.
“Hear me, dude. Whether you admit it or not, I saved you from a hell of a lot of trouble. And I’m not talking about that feisty deputy or her sheriff father. You came close to admitting that you and the guys were partying with underage girls the same night that one of them was murdered. I don’t know how the rest of the guys feel, but I sure as hell don’t like the idea of either one of that father, daughter duo on my tail. It’s not as though I don’t have a few skeletons in my closet that I’d just as soon that dynamic duo doesn’t discover. Particularly the mouthy deputy.”
“Burke’s right, Manny. You and I both know that once Tiny Trouble gets a bead on something, she’s like a fuckin’ dog with a bone. She won’t give up. And I’m tellin’ you, Manny, I for one don’t want her to find out who we were with Tuesday night. And, buddy, I gotta believe that you don’t either given that you were still partying long after the rest of us crashed.”
Manny leapt to his feet and turned on his friend. “What the fuck are you saying, Mac?”
Mac put up his hands and glared at his friend. “I ain’t saying nothin’, Manny, and I’m not gonna. Unless you can’t keep a rein on that temper of yours and that mouth. Christ, it’s bad enough we have to deal with that mouthy bitch without wondering how long you’ll keep from going bat-shit crazy and draggin’ the whole dammed bunch of us down with you.”
****
Ryker breathed out a hard sigh as he parked his truck at Sadie’s and prepared to hike the rest of the way to Barrett Meier’s house. He needed to run a few dozen things past the erudite man, who was the one person in this bizarre mission who knew his real identity. He was still challenged by the remarkable scene that had taken place earlier. He didn’t know what the hell Deputy Trouble and her sidekick were after when they strode across Sledge Perkins’s land. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Remembering Manny Davis coming back to their bunkhouse long after Ryker had returned from his meet-up with Meier would now for
ever be burned in his memory. Particularly the image of the clearly drunken man stumbling into the shower and returning naked from the laundry room, where Ryker heard the washing machine running. Even then it had occurred to him that it was an unusual time to wash your clothes. Now it looked particularly damning.
Shaking his head, Ryker returned to the earlier scene with the two cops. Christ Almighty, was Deputy Trouble on target? He’d heard the guys talking about the girls they were seeing. From their misogynistic braggadocio, he’d assumed the guys were dealing with underage girls. Which was a crime in the making—something he would need to deal with, and soon. But as volatile as Manny was, Ryker hadn’t pegged him for a murderer. Stunned by the deputy’s implied accusations, he’d forced himself to try to keep the situation from blowing up until he could get a handle on it. Fat chance that was ever going to happen. Because of how unstable Manny was, it didn’t take much to shove him over the edge. Particularly with Deputy Tanya Trouble determined to light his fuse.
Thinking about Deputy Trouble, Ryker marveled. Holy Christ, whoever named that little hotshot couldn’t have been more on target. As annoyed as he’d been watching her purposefully pulling Manny’s chain, he had to admit he’d never seen a more brazen woman than Tanya Trouble. Remembering her taunting his infuriated colleague, Ryker wasn’t surprised to feel his cock rise, apparently wanting to voice its opinion about the saucy deputy. He snorted in appreciation. Hell, how could his dick not get excited? The only thing that was more arousing than watching her taunt Manny was to know that he’d managed to get to the little hellcat. When he’d purposefully moved in on her, he hadn’t missed the flush that stained her cheeks or the flash of heat he saw in her eyes. Clearly, the uppity deputy wasn’t accustomed to being taken on, much less responding to a mere man. In that he had a brazen streak himself—likely as wide as the deputy’s—Ryker was sure that it wasn’t only her cheeks that were flushed. If he’d been close enough to see her chest or feel between her legs, he was confident her responsive body would have confirmed her arousal.
“What can I do for you, Agent Thompson? Now that you’ve tasted the crème de la crème of whiskey, did you tire of that inferior bilge they serve at the Bitter n’ Twisted saloon?”
Ryker laughed. “I have to admit, knowing that I might be able to finagle another shot or two of that 50th Anniversary Four Roses you introduced me to was a compelling reason to return. After sipping that elegant potion, even my Maker’s Mark is coming up short.”
Meier grunted. “Given that you are the first guest I’ve entertained in several years who even knows what Maker’s Mark is, let alone Four Roses, I’m pleased to welcome you back.”
Following the hefty man into the impressive room he’d seen the night before, Ryker was struck by the incongruence of Barrett Meier and his remarkable estate in the Sierra Vista countryside. Granted, this whole damn area was incongruent. Pressed up against Douglas, the town bordering Mexico, the seemingly sleepy desert towns of Douglas and Sierra Vista harbored a contained explosion ready to blow. Whether it was the undocumented immigrants aided by unscrupulous coyotes passing through a border that was a virtual sieve or the rabid ranchers and their henchmen who were determined to claim their country as pure—make that as white as it should be—no telling what or who would strike the match. Added to that, a homicide that had taken place on the very ranch where he was living. Ryker was struck with the crazy quilt situation he found himself in. He hoped that Meier could shed some light on at least one aspect of the insanity.
Settling onto the plush leather chair and taking more than a cautious sip of the potent whiskey, Ryker confronted his host. “Help me out, Barrett. And please be straight with me. As you know, I’m determined to get to the bottom of the sophisticated bribery and trafficking border crossing corruption scheme taking place essentially under your nose. Tell me, how likely is it that the local police, specifically the Cochise County sheriff’s office, are major players?” Before Meier could respond, Ryker added, “My national FBI team is convinced that the level of graft taking place in your backyard wouldn’t be possible without the collusion of the sheriff’s office and everyone who works in it.”
Meier took a healthy draft of his drink, then apparently seeing that Ryker had made headway in his, topped off both their drinks. Settling back into his chair, he pinned a superior sneer on Ryker.
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble. It amuses me that your supposed hotshots claim to know what is going on at the border without bothering to come and look at it.” He put up his hand, stopping Ryker’s certain protest. “At least you had the guts to come here and are actually asking for my opinion. In that I never hesitate to set the Fibbies straight, along with the rest of your hotshot, alphabet soup colleagues, let me clear up one of your many misperceptions.”
Meier slugged back a noisy draft, then scoffed. “So that you don’t make a damn fool of yourself barking up the wrong tree, let me tell you something that you can shove up all your ignorant, higher-ups’ asses. Titus Theseus Trouble is without a doubt the smartest and most honorable man you or any of your high-falutin’ cohorts are likely to meet. We should all be so lucky that in this godforsaken den of thieves there is a man of Sheriff Trouble’s stature.”
Ryker hesitated, then forced himself to ask, “What about his daughter? The deputy.”
Meier shook his head and said with an admiring chuckle, “A chip off the old block. However, unlike her righteous father, the feisty daughter is as self-righteous and as impossible to control as her father is reasonable. Although I’ll admit, it’s not surprising that the eunuchs who’ve tried to contain that little firecracker—such as that insipid Dr. Courtland—haven’t made a dent.” A stealthy grin crossed the stern man’s countenance. “But then, we don’t have a lot of real men around here. You know, the kind of man who appreciates Four Roses fiftieth anniversary whiskey.”
Chapter 7
Yanking at her boxing gloves, Tanya tossed them on the floor in front of the bag she’d been mercilessly pummeling. Seconds later, her helmet joined the gloves and Tanya swiped at the currents of sweat coursing down her face and neck. Grabbing a towel off the Desert Diablos Fitness rack, she glanced across the room at Tara, the oldest of her sisters. Swiping at her sweaty body and tousled hair, Tanya shook her head, wondering as she often did how she could be such a mess and her beautiful blonde sister could be so perfect.
Even after what Tanya knew was an arduous eight-mile, killer-course on the treadmill, Tara could have walked onto a Sports Illustrated photo shoot featuring hard-body dynamos. Her sun-streaked hair, tied in a high ponytail, contrasted with her dark-brown, almost black eyes. Tanya groaned. God, Tara even made sweat look sexy. Unlike Tanya, who was literally dripping with sweat, Tara’s sweat was contained, the enticing moisture merely giving her body a glistening glow. And of course her shapely calves, toned thighs, and mile-long legs underscored her impressive five-foot-eight-inch height. Most unfair of all in Tanya’s mind was her sister’s gorgeous bust. If you got to be tall and slender, couldn’t you at least have miniscule boobs? But no, Tara’s righteous breasts befitted a centerfold.
In Tanya’s mind, her boobs, like the rest of her were overdone. If she had to be a squirt, couldn’t she at least have been proportioned as one? But no, she had tits and an ass that could only be described as ample. Heck, they might have even looked sensational on a woman five inches taller. Like her sisters. Yeah, her legs were great, and fortunately, her waist was reasonably small. But c’mon, as all the fashion magazines decreed, the days of hourglass figures and Marilyn Monroe measurements were a thing of the past. Distinctly not desirable in this you-can-never-be-too-thin era.
Apparently, her fiancé, Bram Courtland, was a fashion magazine devotee. Lately, he’d become more outspoken about her eating habits. He’d even gone so far as to send her articles on “waist management.” The latest one described a chubby mom who, to the joy of her proud husband and children, had finally tamed her eating habits, freeing the s
velte body trapped inside her rotund exterior. Too bad Bram didn’t know that article only confirmed Tanya’s intent. Not that she would or should tame her eating habits, but that she never intended to be a mom.
After they’d showered and changed, Tanya was glad when Tara agreed to stop at the Bitter n’ Twisted. While she couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason she’d suggested the late night respite, Tanya knew that she needed more than a little sister talk. As always, when the girls got together, in addition to men, their “go to” topic of conversation was their father. As expected, Tara’s first question went to the imposing man who would always be at the center of their concerns. Having been left with three little girls under five years of age by a beautiful but flagrantly unfaithful wife, Titus Theseus Trouble had seemingly decided that his daughters were all the women he needed in his life. Steadfastly ignoring the many suggestions that he get out more or at all, Titus had spent the last twenty-five years of his life becoming the most admired lawman in five states and steadfastly insisting that his three beautiful daughters were more women than he could possibly handle.
“I stopped by the CCSO office today, and Dad seemed distracted, uncharacteristically on-edge.” Tara smiled at her youngest sister. “What have you done now, Tanya, to add more gray hair to that handsome father of ours?”
Tanya laughed, knowing that without question some of her father’s obvious consternation was due to her run-in with Manny Davis and his gang of reprobates. While he’d ultimately agreed that she could continue to manage the Violeta Acedo murder investigation, he declared that he would be keeping a tight rein on her. It wouldn’t take much for her concerned father to step in if he decided that she was pushing the violent Manny Davis to the point that he would strike out. To be honest, Tanya agreed. She knew that she was walking a fine line. Even she admitted that Manny could have hurt her this afternoon. Shoving at the memory, she admonished herself. The last thing she wanted to think about was how Captain America had come to her rescue.
