“Maybe you’d like to see the sheriff’s office after lunch? Sort of a busman’s holiday.”
“A Federal agent having a busman’s holiday in a sheriff’s office?” Peter asked.
Adam grinned. “Don’t be a snob. You might specialize in drug enforcement, but we do it all.”
Peter laughed. “Okay, you’re on.”
Ginny went back to the kitchen. The look Adam shot him raised that man in his estimation.
It hadn’t even occurred to him that there would be no privacy here if what he wanted to talk about was something he’d rather his lovers not know about.
One thing Peter had learned in the last month or so was that the food and the service at Lusty Appetites were both excellent.
Tracy had sent him a side of garlic bread, and he wondered briefly if she meant to reward him for eating healthy, or tell him he might as well have the garlic bread because there’d be no kisses from her.
He excused himself when he finished eating and stole into the kitchen.
“Hey, no civilians in here,” Kelsey Benedict said. Since she was laughing, Peter just smiled, went over to his woman, and pulled her into a very lusty kiss.
Her flavor sank deep, and Peter had a moment to wish they were both back at Jordan’s, naked and between the sheets…or in the shower…or the spa.
Damn, I’m getting hard. He eased back from Tracy, completely satisfied when she blinked as if coming out of a stupor. “See you later, Blondie. Thanks for lunch.”
“You can thank us at the cash register.” Kelsey laughed.
“Of course.” Then, to Tracy, “Adam’s offered me a tour of the sheriff’s office. I’m hoping that doesn’t mean he wants me to see the inside of the jail. So if I don’t show up, come bail me out, please.”
“I’ll consider it,” Tracy teased.
Adam stood talking to Ginny as he waited for Peter. Of course, she ducked her head when Peter approached, but he didn’t take it personally. Peter gave her a twenty, which more than covered the meal, and waved off the change. Her “thank you” sounded shy.
He’d heard a little of Ginny’s story, and honestly couldn’t blame her for her timidity. All things considered, Adam was pursuing the right course, using subtle gestures and constant exposure to get her used to him, and to prove to her that not all men were pricks.
“I like your town, Adam,” Peter said as they walked the few blocks from the restaurant to the sheriff’s office.
“So do I. It’s a good town, with solid people and a history that goes back a long way. The people here are peaceful and law abiding, and for the most part life here is simple and predictable. Not that we haven’t had our moments.” Adam turned and gave Peter a level stare.
Peter knew he was referring to one of those moments that occurred last month, out at the airstrip.
“Last month, as I recall,” Peter said, “you were pissed when Morgan and Henry took it upon themselves to step in front of you, metaphorically speaking. That they took action without consulting you first.”
“I was. Which leads me to wonder, are you planning to do the same thing?”
They’d reached Adam’s building, and that man turned and raised one eyebrow, sending Peter the kind of stare he imagined would make most grown men sweat.
“Hell, no. I invited you to lunch in order to put you in the loop. But I’m going to need your word that neither Jordan nor Tracy finds out about our discussion.”
“Keeping secrets from your lovers isn’t guaranteed to help promote the health of your relationship,” Adam advised as he opened the door. “Words from my fathers, and I believe they know what they’re talking about.”
“Point taken,” Peter agreed. “But at the moment, I’m more interested in promoting the health of my lovers. I don’t want them worrying about me.” Jordan, in particular, seemed to have a bit of a hard time with the fact he was in love with a man in a dangerous profession. Peter could see no need to add to his burden. On top of that Peter felt an urgency to do all he could to nail Ramos.
Peter had awakened that morning with the gut feeling that if Miguel Ramos wanted him as badly as that little bastard Enrique Smith had claimed, then he’d likely be able to discover anything at all about him—his life, and the best way to hurt him. He’d already called his boss, so he knew his family back in Virginia was going to be protected.
Now it was time to do as much for his family here in Lusty—while at the same time beginning his own offensive maneuvers.
“You’re not really on vacation, are you?”
Peter appreciated Adam’s directness. “No. I’ve been asked to make myself scarce because that slime bucket, Miguel Ramos, has put a contract out on me, which means there’s a leak somewhere on the Task Force.”
“And of course, you’re not going to do exactly what you’ve been asked to do, are you?”
Because Adam smiled, Peter knew he had an ally. He could see no reason to pull any punches with his lover’s brother.
“Of course I’m not. Make myself scarce? Not fucking likely. I’m going to nail that bastard. But I’m going to need your help to do it.”
Adam gestured to the third desk in the sheriff’s office. Peter knew it was the desk used by their part-time deputy, Jasper Jones.
“Make yourself at home, Special Agent Alvarez,” Adam invited. “Tell me everything you can, and let’s see what we can do about building a case against Miguel Ramos.”
Chapter 12
Miguel Ramos felt the surge of his power as the silence around him stretched out. At the moment, not even the birds seemed inclined to sing. Usually, when he enjoyed this part of his private garden, a plenitude of birds would serenade him. Today, likely, they sensed the predator in him, and kept still.
He took one moment to focus inward, to appreciate the strength that flowed through him. Surrounding himself with bodyguards and servants was all well and good. But sometimes it became necessary to demonstrate exactly why it was he was the man everyone called “Don Miguel.”
He kept an iron-fisted control on his empire, which meant not only knowing and controlling everyone and everything within it. It meant keeping fear alive in the hearts of the men and women he owned.
Alfonso Flores stood before him. The young man’s usual insouciance was beginning to give way to caution. Caution, Ramos knew, would soon give way to fear.
Alfonso had grown up in the same streets that had forged Ramos into the man he’d become. He’d had great hope for the young man who’d come to his employ two years before. He’d shown such promise.
But for Alfonso, the lessons of survival gleaned in the gutters of los barrios had only penetrated skin-deep. They had not forged him, and his improved circumstances had only made him soft, lazy, and arrogant.
Alfonso Flores had turned out to be a disappointment, and Miguel Ramos no longer tolerated disappointment.
“You will explain to me how it was Señor Davies managed to elude your surveillance, por favor.”
“He was determined to lose me, Señor Ramos. He must have spotted me as soon as he arrived at the airport in Dallas. It proves that he is a man not to be trusted.”
Ramos gave the boy points for creativity. He felt certain that other men would buy such reasoning, and in fact, what Alfonso said might very well be true.
“Señor Davies’s abuela lives in Dallas. Did you know that, Alfonso?”
Confusion lit the young man’s face for just a moment, and then he smiled. “I did not. If you wish to make an example of Señor Davies, I will be happy to kill the old woman for you.”
Another time, Ramos would likely have excused Alfonso. He was young, not yet seasoned, and certainly believed himself loyal enough. And had he not so recently suffered the loss of several million dollars worth of diamonds, Ramos knew that he very likely would have.
Ramos sat back in his comfortable chair, crossed his legs, and let his hands rest easily on the arms of it.
“I don’t like failure. Ever. It is not Señor D
avies who has failed me, Alfonso. He did what any man about to visit his grandmother would do. He perceived a threat and acted in such a way as to evade that threat.” Had Davies not called him that very morning, Ramos would have been more inclined to believe Alfonso. But he had called, explained that he’d been aware of his shadow, and had chosen to evade rather than kill the man.
Lorne Davies had then stated, unequivocally, that no one in his business world would ever be allowed near his grandmother.
Ramos respected a man who took a stand in order to take care of his family.
“You, however, failed to keep the man in your sights. Worse, you let him see you. Such failures could lead to catastrophic consequences. Such failures cannot be tolerated.”
Alfonso’s bravado finally deserted him.
“Por favor, Don Miguel—”
“Silencio!”
Now Alfonso realized the power of Ramos, and terror filled his face. Ramos got to his feet and gave a nod. Two of his bodyguards stepped forward, flanking Alfonso, but not touching him. They were only to prevent the young man from running away.
He, and only he, would mete out the punishment that Alfonso Flores had earned.
“Rico, if you please?”
“Yes, sir.”
His lieutenant stepped forward, a silver tray in his hands. On the tray, gleaming in the sun that just now broke through the clouds, lay the first real knife Miguel Ramos had ever owned.
He’d taken it from a bandito who’d thought the young Ramos—at the time scruffy and skinny—to be easy prey. Ramos had killed the bastard with his own knife, a surprisingly good-quality switchblade.
Ramos noted Alfonso’s eyes had widened, his stare fixed on the weapon. The metal of the handle was so worn the etchings it had once boasted could no longer be discerned. The hilt of the knife fit in Ramos’s hand with the comfort of an old friend.
He held the knife for a moment, bringing it directly in front of his face.
Alfonso’s gaze followed the weapon. Then blinking, he finally looked into Ramos’s eyes.
Ramos didn’t believe in making anyone suffer unless they had truly earned it. Alfonso hadn’t earned cruelty, just death.
Ramos pressed the button, and the knife blade sprang free, as sharp and lethal as ever it had been. Moving with deadly speed and accuracy, Ramos plunged the blade into Alfonso Flores.
He stepped back as Alfonso fell, as he cried out in shock and pain, as he died.
“Take him to the desert. Let the animals find sustenance from his flesh, and the hot sun bleach his bones a ghostly white.”
His men scrambled to do as he ordered, their fear restored, their respect commanded. Ramos took no joy in the death of Alfonso Flores. Neither did he mourn him, or feel even an iota of remorse. Killing Flores had been a necessary act.
Miguel Ramos would always do the necessary.
He accepted the cloth Rico handed him, and cleaned the blade of the knife. Closing the weapon, he laid it on the tray. Then he took the second cloth being offered, this one scented with lemon, and wiped his hands.
“I wish to speak to our friend near Waco,” he said to Rico. “I believe it is time for him to make a move, as well.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get him on the phone for you. Would you care for some espresso, sir?”
“Yes, I’ll take it on the terrace. I want to watch the ocean for a while. Then you may place the call.”
Yes, Ramos would always do the necessary. But that didn’t mean he needed to deprive himself of any of the pleasures of life.
* * * *
Tracy arrived back at Jordan’s before either of the men. In the few days they’d been staying together, she had most often been the last to arrive. Peter tended to get home first, and could be found either working on the gardens, or reading, or making dinner.
Tracy wasn’t sure what he did with his time during the day. She’d thought he’d get bored, not going to work every morning. When she’d said as much one evening he’d shrugged and said he appreciated the change of pace of vacation time, and that he’d be back at work soon enough.
What bothered Tracy was that Peter had said that to her without meeting her gaze, and she couldn’t help but think something was going on with him.
Of course, maybe she was imagining things, because her emotions had been all over the place the last few days. How could they not be? She was finally living her dream, indulging herself every night in the men she loved. And yet the reality of her dream was both more and less than she’d imagined.
Tracy entered the kitchen and put the foil-covered baking pan in the oven, setting the temperature on low. When she’d lived alone, she didn’t bother bringing any of the extra daily specials home. She’d have her dinner at work and let everyone else divvy up what was left.
She turned away from the stove, intent on setting the small table that stood under the pretty picture window that looked out over the backyard. The dining room was nice, but for sheer hominess, she preferred the kitchen. The men did, too. Tracy worked quickly, wondering when the men were going to get home, but mostly…mostly, she realized, just appreciating the time alone. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she thought about that. Her relationship with Jordan and Peter was still shiny new. Should she be grateful for private time already?
Drawn to the peace of the outside, Tracy wandered out the kitchen door. Jordan had picked up a glider at a yard sale on the way home from Waco a couple of days before. He and Peter had set it up on a corner of the back patio.
Tracy sat, folding her right leg under her, using her left to gently propel the swing. She thought about the change her life had taken, and she thought about the little moments when she’d catch an expression on Jordan’s face, or one of a different sort on Peter’s.
They’d taken an enormous step together, the three of them, but none of them were treating it that way. They were all acting…well, they were acting in the moment.
Tracy let her gaze wander to the house behind her. Odds and ends. Jordan’s house was furnished with odds and ends, items he’d taken from his family’s attics, scrounged from yard sales, or picked up at the overstock warehouse just off the Interstate. Of course, her contributions to the décor had been more or less along the same vein, as had Peter’s.
Temporary. We’ve filled the house with things that are temporary. Are we temporary, too?
The sound of a car door closing alerted Tracy that someone had arrived. She considered getting up to see who it was, but her leg kept making the glider move. She let her head lean back against the cushion while the swaying motion of the glider soothed her. Then the sound of a high-heeled shoe on stone made her open her eyes.
“There you are. I heard the sound of the swing from the kitchen.”
“Hi, Aunt Samantha.” Tracy straightened up, but Samantha Kendall gestured for her to stay where she was. While she was Jordan’s mother, she really wasn’t Tracy’s aunt. If you grew up in Lusty, as a kid, you tended to call all the older folks who weren’t parents or grandparents, “aunt” and “uncle.”
“It’s a wise woman who seizes the moment to relax,” Samantha said and, to Tracy’s delight, kicked off her shoes and joined her on the glider.
“It was a busy day at the restaurant today.” True enough, that fact could explain why Tracy felt a little more tired, and unsettled, than usual—if it weren’t for the fact that she knew the real cause of her restlessness.
“I heard you had an unusual day. We don’t get many tour busses driving through town, let alone stopping to fill one of our businesses with customers.”
Tracy grinned. “The driver took a wrong turn. When the ladies on board—a seniors’ group from Philadelphia on their way to Dallas—saw the name of the restaurant, they insisted on stopping for lunch.”
“This is such a pretty spot,” Samantha said after a few minutes of quiet. “I’ve always said so.”
“I know. I feel the same way. I love this house.”
“I was so pleased when Jor
dan told me that the three of you were going to be staying here. I’ve worried about him. But then, last month, he met Peter. And now he’s finally opened his eyes and seen you.”
Tracy blushed. She’d never told anyone, other than Julia, about her feelings for Jordan Kendall. Apparently, she hadn’t needed to. She was beginning to understand her secret had really been no secret at all.
“I feel it only fair to tell you I made the first move,” Tracy said.
“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.” Samantha looked at her. “Sometimes, we women have to make the first move, take the first risk, if we really want our heart’s desire.” She paused, and Tracy sensed she wanted to say more. Finally, Samantha turned to her.
“Do you have your heart’s desire, sweetheart?”
Tracy had always found Samantha Kendall to be an unusually insightful woman. That belief had just been underscored.
“I would have to say no, not yet.”
“If it’s any comfort, I can tell you that Jordan has seemed more at ease with himself these last few weeks. It’s never been easy for him. Just his nature, I suppose, because no one in the families has ever, to my knowledge, made him feel self-conscious, or treated him with anything but acceptance and love.”
“And you would know if they had,” Tracy said.
“Oh, you bet I would.” Samantha sighed. “His fathers have told me that, in many ways, he very much resembles his great-great-grandfather, Warren Jessop. They’ve told me that in his journal, Warren writes of how it took him years to feel completely comfortable in his own skin. He credited the constant, patient love of first Adam, and then Amanda, for his finally learning to accept himself and love himself just the way he was.”
“All the years I’ve known Jordan, I never realized he felt that way.” That little bit of information certainly explained a lot. She’d have to think about it, process this new piece of the man she loved, and decide what to do about it—and him. In the meantime, Tracy met Samantha’s gaze. “He told me when I was thirteen that he was bisexual. Not trying to shock me, but maybe testing me, to see what I’d say. But I think, even back then, I’d already known. I’ve always known. And of course, it didn’t change how I felt about him.”
Covington, Cara - Love Under Two Strong Men [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 12
