by Sharon Sala
“No way, Captain...ma’am.”
Cross sighed. She was all too aware of how determined this agent could be. He was one of her best, and yet she knew less about him personally than any agent on the force.
“Okay, then talk to me.”
“Last night I trailed Cherry and two of his boys through the mountains. They had a meeting with a man I suspect is the real power behind Denver Cherry’s tawdry little throne. I think they’d been to the new lab, but I didn’t get on their tail in time to find the location, or ID the man.”
Cross doodled on a pad on her desk as she listened. The news was not what she needed to hear. Boone had been under cover in Razor Bend for more than six weeks, and stillit seemed he hadn’t made a close enough connection with this bunch to gain their trust. They kept moving their drug lab, and although he was technically in the gang, they kept him apart from the funny business they were conducting. The most he’d seen and could swear to was the chemicals they used to cook up the methamphetamine.
“Okay, you missed a chance, that’s all. One missed chance does not a failure make.”
Boone grinned. “Where did you learn that bit of wisdom?”
“Fortune cookies.”
He laughed aloud, and realized it felt good.
And just because he couldn’t see her, Cross allowed herself a wide grin in return. It wouldn’t do to let the men know her heart of stone was actually made of glass.
“So, tell me what you’re thinking,” she barked.
Boone relaxed. He should have known she was just testing his frame of mind. Yet, when she asked, he realized he wasn’t thinking of the job, but of a woman named Rachel and how she’d looked in wet white flannel.
“It wouldn’t do to repeat it,” Boone drawled.
Cross rolled her eyes. “Go get yourself laid, and call me when your head’s on straight.”
A crooked smile broke the angles of his face.
“I couldn’t cheat on you, darlin’Waco. You’re the love of my life.”
A sharp snort prefaced the distinct click in Boone’s ear. He grinned again. Although Captain Cross had hung up on him, she’d fueled the fire of a need Boone was trying to ignore. He knew damn good and well that getting laid was out of the question, but if he was careful, he told himself he could see Rachel again. Not enough to get himself in trouble—just enough to sleep on.
He was telling himself no even as he was getting into his truck. He wasn’t going to do anything but look. She wouldn’t see him again—not unless he wanted her to. In his mind, there was only one place to start—the stream where he’d seen her last night.
When he finally found the location, he stopped in the moonlight, remembering the way the wet white gown had molded itself to her body, picturing the gentle thrust of her breasts and the imprint of long, slim legs beneath the fabric.
Long minutes passed while he wrestled with his conscience.
Finally, with an undisguised groan of disgust, he stalked through the cold, shallow water and started walking uphill, in the direction she’d disappeared.
The house was shining in the darkness, lit from within like a church on Sunday. Her car, the same car he’d seen on the street near the EMS station, was now parked beneath a tree. A light in the house was on, and the warm, yellow glow bleeding through the curtains was a balm to his solitary heart. To Boone, it was a beacon inviting him to come in from the cold.
But he couldn’t. This picket-fence, happy-ever-after life was not for him. Not now, maybe not ever, and especially not with a woman who feared the very sight of his face. Living a lie was easier for Boone than living with the truth of his own life. In reality, he was a lonely man. Under cover, he was simply a loner.
And then she came out of her house, and he forgot everything he’d told himself on the walk up the mountain.
Now, ten minutes later, he stood in the darkness, deep enough in the trees not to be seen, while he stared at the woman in the swing. Her head was thrown back, and her arms were straight and outstretched as she clung to the ropes, pumping her legs with each ebb and flow of her flight through the air. Her braid had come undone, and the long black hair now hanging down her back lifted and billowed around her face like a widow’s veil blowing in the wind.
He ached with a longing he didn’t understand. What he’d done tonight by coming here was way past stupid. He’d wanted to know her name, and now he did. Yet after he’d learned it, it hadn’t been enough. Now he stood in the dark with his heart in his mouth, listening to her laughter ringing out in the night. Somewhere between ten o’clock and midnight, Boone fell quietly in love. It made no sense. He’d only seen her twice before. Once on her knees in a stream, crying for a man who was nowhere in sight, and again in another man’s arms. But it didn’t seem to matter. He knew her name was Rachel, and he knew he loved her.
Denver Cherry rocked back on his heels, absently rubbing his paunch with the flat of his hand as he paced the floor in front of his television, his cell phone held close to his ear. Nearing sixty, the aging biker still sported long, graying hair with a beard to match. The tattoos on his arms and his belly were all the remnants he had left of a woman he’d once known in Seattle. Just under six feet tall, he carried fifty pounds of excess weight on legs that had been broken more times than he could remember. It was only after the last set of casts had come off that he traded his hog for a short-bed pickup and his biker leathers for jeans. While Denver’s mode of travel and appearance might have taken on a new look, his occupation had not. Denver lived by a motto he wouldn’t give up: Life is greener on the wrong side of the law.
Ignoring the intermittent static from the police scanner on a nearby counter, as well as the traffic on the CB base in the nearby kitchen, he stared intently at the big-screen TV on the other side of the room.
In deference to the call he was taking, the television was on mute, yet he was still able to follow the play-by-play of “Monday Night Football.” When the 49ers suddenly fumbled the ball, he winced, then cursed beneath his breath and grabbed an empty beer can from a nearby table. Crumpling it with one beefy hand, he threw it across the room, where it landed with a tinny-sounding clink. He had a twenty-dollar bet on this game, and now there was no time for them to recover. Added to that, the boss was bitching in his ear about stuff that was out of Denver’s control.
“Look, I know what I’m doing,” Denver muttered. “It’s not my fault that big shipment you sent out went down in the ocean off Padre Island. I told you that pilot was a user and a loser.”
There was a moment of total silence, and Denver wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds.
Over the years, he’d worked with plenty of men who considered the profits they made secondary to the power they could achieve. Denver wasn’t picky about the jobs he took. Shy of murder, if it paid good, he’d do it. But there was something about the boss that made him nervous. Something that didn’t set quite right. More than once, he’d had the feeling that the man would just as soon gut him as look at him. He swallowed nervously as a low, angry voice growled in his ear.
“I remember everything, Cherry, but you better remember something, too. I don’t like screwups, and those two fools you’ve got working for you aren’t pulling their weight.”
Denver frowned. There was no denying the truth. After the mess Tommy Joe made of the last delivery, he’d been ready to shoot him himself. If Snake hadn’t popped the watchman who caught them in the act, they would have gone down for sure.
“I’ve got a new man,” Denver muttered. “Been breaking him in all slow-like. If he shows up today, maybe I’ll send him on the run with the boys.”
“No way, Cherry. I don’t like new.”
Denver dropped into a chair, gauging the depth of his daring against what he was about to say. Boss or no boss, he’d had just about enough. His voice lowered warningly. “Listen here—you hired me to run it from this end, so either fire me or get the hell out of my face.”
There was a moment of comp
lete silence, then a warning whisper sent shivers down Denver’s fat back. “Fine. The new man is on your head.”
The line went dead in Denver’s ear. He shrugged. What was done was done. He disconnected, then traded the phone for the remote. The instant roar of the crowd drowned out the sound of Tommy Joe’s arrival. It was only after a shadow crossed his television screen that be realized he was no longer alone.
Denver glanced over his shoulder, waving for Tommy Joe to take a seat. When he refused, Denver knew something was wrong. By the look on Tommy Joe’s face, losing twenty bucks might be the least of his worries. He began to curse.
Once again the television was silenced as Denver got up from his chair. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but the absence of Tommy Joe’s other half was a good place to start.
“Where’s Snake?”
Tommy Joe shuffled his feet, then looked at the floor rather than face Denver Cherry’s wrath. His voice was barely above a whisper when he finally answered. “Jail.”
Denver’s face turned red. “Like hell! Then get him out. We’ve got a delivery to make tonight.”
“Can’t. Judge is out of town till tomorrow. The cops said arraignment will be sometime Tuesday afternoon.”
Denver doubled his fists, resisting the urge to slam one into Tommy Joe’s face for nothing more than relief.
“What did he do this time?”
Tommy Joe shrugged, and for Denver, it was the last straw in a day long gone wrong. He grabbed him by the throat and shoved him hard against the wall.
“You talk to me, you piece of sh—”
“Looks like I’m too late for the dance.”
Both men looked up in surprise, to see Boone MacDonald leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. The black denim he was wearing went well with the cold, taunting smirk on his face.
Unlike Denver, Tommy Joe was more than happy for the interruption.
Denver frowned. Seeing that hard-eyed loner lounging in his doorway as if he owned the place didn’t set too well with him, especially with the boss’s warning still ringing in his ears.
“Don’t mess with me, Boone, I’m not in the mood,” Denver warned, but the worst of his anger was already subsiding. With a curse, he shoved Tommy Joe aside and dropped back in his chair.
Pretending disinterest in the whole affair, Boone shrugged while breathing an inward sigh of relief. Tommy Joe was his ticket to this party, and had been from the start. Snake didn’t make friends, only enemies. If Denver got mad enough to run one of them off, Boone wanted it to be Snake, not Tommy Joe. Mixing with this crew for the past six weeks had been bad enough, but having it all blow up in his face without identifying the man behind the money would play hell with his conscience.
But while Boone was counting his blessings, Denver was gauging Boone’s cold expression with satisfaction. At least this man had something between his ears besides the hair on his head.
“What brought you over?” Denver asked.
Boone tilted his head toward Tommy Joe. “I was looking for him. He told me the next time I went to Oklahoma City, he wanted to go. I’m on my way.”
Denver straightened in his chair. This could be the answer to his immediate problem. He’d already warned the boss he was going to try the new man, and now here he was, heading in the direction Denver needed him to go.
“What’s so great about O.K. city?” he asked.
Boone shrugged. “My old lady. I check in on her every now and then, just to make sure she hasn’t slipped somebody else into my spot on her bed.”
Denver’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I didn’t know you were married. I don’t like none of my men too tied down.”
Boone’s pulse rate accelerated slightly. My men? Am I about to get that break?
Boone cocked his eyebrow and then smoothed his hand down the front of his fly, playing his part to the hilt. “I’m not. But a smart man doesn’t leave a woman like Waco alone for too long. She starts getting ideas about being better off without me...and you can’t be having a woman get too independent, if you know what I mean.”
When Denver laughed, Boone relaxed, and then glanced at the man cowering near the far wall.
“So, Tommy Joe, you still itching to take a ride?”
Tommy Joe glanced at Denver, then slumped. He knew the responsibility of delivering the haul would fall on his shoulders, now that Snake was out of commission.
“Guess not. I promised Snake I’d come by tonight. Maybe next time.”
Pretending disinterest, Boone nodded, but his senses were on edge. He’d already figured out that when Snake and Tommy Joe were “busy,” there was a load going out or coming in.
“Whatever.”
He was halfway off the porch when Denver’s shout halted his progress. He paused, then turned, watching the fat man hobble toward him.
“What?” he asked.
“How would you feel about doing me a favor?” Denver asked.
Boone stood his ground, giving nothing of his underlying excitement away.
“Depends,” he said.
Denver’s eyes narrowed as he watched Boone’s face for signs of too much interest. To his satisfaction, there was nothing visible but an impatience the man made no attempt to hide.
“I’ve got a little shipment of goods to be delivered tonight. With Snake in jail, I might be needing someone to help me out.”
Boone pretended to frown and glanced at his watch, then up at Tommy Joe.
“What about him?” Boone asked.
Denver Cherry’s voice was a mirror of his disposition. He sounded out of patience and purely put out. “His license is still suspended. I can’t take a chance on him getting stopped for some violation and having some gung ho cop confiscate my stuff.”
Boone shifted his stance. “Look, Cherry, I’m no saint, and I’m damn sure not stupid. I don’t do anyone a favor until I know what I’m hauling.” And then he grinned. “I’ve done too much time as it is. If I’m going down, I want it to be my choice.”
At that moment, Denver wished he hadn’t started this conversation unarmed, but it was too late to pull back now. “Meth.”
Boone nodded. “Then I want to know something.”
“Yeah, what?” Denver muttered.
“What’s in it for me?”
Denver laughed. It was a short bark of delight that sounded more like a shout than a chuckle, but it was proof of the satisfaction he was feeling. He knew he’d been right about this man.
“Enough,” Denver said, still chuckling beneath his breath. “So, you interested or not?”
“Where’s the drop going to be?”
“I’ll draw you a map.”
Boone stood in the yard, glancing at his watch and playing his hesitation to the hilt.
“What’s wrong?” Denver asked.
“Waco. She’s going to give me hell for not showing up.”
Denver grinned. “No she’s not. The party is on your way.”
Boone started back up the steps. “Okay, boss, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
The word boss was setting real good with Denver Cherry as he hunted through a drawer for a pad and pen. He liked a man who was willing to stay in his place.
Chapter 4
Traffic was moderate to heavy on Interstate 35-A. Boone had his pickup truck set on cruise control, careful not to risk a stop by some ticket-happy highway patrolman. As drug deals went, the shipment Boone was carrying was small. If something went bad, Cherry wouldn’t lose enough to hurt him. And if Boone did as he was told and the buyer came away happy, then so much the better.
But there was one thing about the trip that kept bothering him. Why hadn’t Cherry sent Tommy Joe with him? It would have made sense, even if as nothing more than a gesture of good faith to the man he was supposed to meet. He shrugged, then relaxed. Cherry was probably testing him on this run.
He glanced up in the rearview mirror, absently checking the lights behind him, then hit the turn signal and m
oved into the fast lane to pass an eighteen-wheeler. Moments later, a vehicle several cars back did the same. He thought nothing of it until it happened again...and then again...and then again. Within the space of half an hour, Boone knew he was being tailed.
The first adrenaline surge quickly passed as he recognized a familiar feature about the car. One headlight beam was yellow and one was white. Boone grinned, remembering the day he’d watched Tommy Joe and Snake replacing the bulbs. Snake had put in one kind of bulb, Tommy Joe another. It wasn’t until that night that they’d realized their mistake and, typically, they had left the lights the way they were, claiming they burned, which was really all that mattered. But at night it gave the headlights a wall-eyed appearance, not unlike that of an animal with one blue eye and one black.
“So, fat boy, you decided not to trust me after all,” Boone muttered.
Cherry had launched himself a spy. Boone eased back into the right-hand side of the lane and picked up the cell phone in the seat beside him.
A few moments later, a low, husky voice growled softly in his ear.
“Talk to me, baby,” Waco said.
“I’m in,” Boone said, and heard a deep sigh of relief.
“How so?”
“I’m northbound I-35 with a load behind the seat. It’s not big, but I’m being tailed.”
“I assume you’re alone.”
“Affirmative, Captain, except for the tick on my ass.”
“You think they’re testing you?”
“Yes.”
“And if not?” the captain asked.
“Then I’ll tell them if they can’t play fair, I’m going home to tell Mama.”
“Damn it, Boone, don’t get smart with me. None of this is worth risking your life for.”
Boone’s smile faded. “Better men have died for less.”
“The point is not debatable,” the captain barked. “If you suspect a trap, then get the hell out.”
“Why, Waco, darlin’, I think you really care.”
