“Three kids with penny-ante possession charges across the last year. All from Cochise College—and not a one of them over nineteen.”
Clay Wayland’s voice sounded harsh and tight. The county Sheriff sounded way rattled, and way past pissed as he continued. “We found the remains on a tip, in an old warehouse. The place has been shut down for two decades, but the vat of lye was new.”
Wayland paused, and DEA Special Agent Luke Denver gripped his miniature secure cell so forcefully he was afraid he’d crack the battery. Most of the road between Douglas and Bisbee was reasonably straight and flat, which was a good thing, since his mind had gotten stuck on three dead teenagers who would never come home for Christmas Break.
No doubt the kids were running drugs, probably small stuff, maybe to the campus or even to local high schools. It was a common way to make extra bucks these days—stupid as hell, but they didn’t deserve to get murdered and left to dissolve in a vat of lye like exterminated rats.
“I think we’ve got ourselves a turf war,” Wayland said. “But who in Christ would be stupid enough to poach on Guerrero’s territory?”
Denver guided his classic turquoise and white ’69 Chevy west as fast as he dared to push the limit. “We must have weakened Guerrero when we took down the cattle rustling part of his operation near the MacKenna ranch and wiped out their inside contact in local law enforcement. Now some other group thinks it can move in while Guerrero’s cartel is distracted.”
“Perfect.” The sound of Wayland smacking something with his fist made Denver wince. “Fucking perfect. This little Christmas charity bash of yours better turn up some good intel, or a shitload more people are gonna get dead before New Year’s Day in Douglas.”
“I’ll call Rios when it’s over, and he’ll be in touch.” Denver punched off and tucked the small cell into its hiding place. His gut churned as he covered the last few miles into town, then drove the truck up the winding rain-soaked street and into the last remaining parking spot below Navaeh’s Bed-and-Breakfast.
Navaeh’s was situated just off Main Street in Old Bisbee, on one of the sloping hills that reminded him of San Francisco. He’d heard that at one time, Bisbee had been called little San Francisco. Under normal circumstances, he’d enjoy the view.
He shifted into first, cut the engine and the lights, and firmly set the parking brake—he sure as hell didn’t want that truck taking a journey of its own. The old Chevy had been his grandpa’s pride and joy, and shortly before he died, the old man had given it to Luke. Luke didn’t have much that mattered to him other than his job and that old Chevy.
He sat for a second or two, reminding himself of the basic details of his cover ID of Luke Rider.
Rider.
Who the hell came up with these undercover names?
Had to be some soap-opera obsessed technician in Accounting.
For better for worse, whoever named him, he was Luke Rider, ranch foreman on the Flying M. He worked for Sky MacKenna Hunter and her new husband Zack Hunter. Zack was an ICE agent who recently moved back to Douglas, his hometown.
Thanks to the cattle rustling bust, Zack and Sky knew about Luke’s real identity and purpose, but they were one-hundred percent on board with helping him continue in his role. With any luck, the ongoing and intense joint efforts of just about every local and federal law enforcement agency in the region might yield enough intel, leads, data, and arrests to bring down Guerrero’s operation.
As he reached for the Chevy’s door handle, Luke caught the familiar vibration of his phone. It was powerful enough that he felt it from within the hidden pocket in his specially-designed gun holster that had been sewn to the inside of his duster. He reached under the black duster, slipped the phone out from below his firearm, and checked the Caller ID.
It was his partner Cruz Rios, who’d managed to get himself hired on as a ranch hand at Coyote Pass Ranch about a week ago. Rios was busy getting info on Wade Larson, owner of Coyote Pass, among others in the area—rancher, lawman, and cowhand alike.
Coyote Pass Ranch bordered the Flying M, and after that came a short string of border ranches also owned by long-time Douglas ranchers. All of them would eventually have to be investigated.
Button number one on the phone was a direct line to Rios. One punch and they were connected.
“Denver,” Luke answered in his slow and easy Texas drawl. Luke’s and Rios’s cell phones had such sensitive reception that he could hear as clear as day, cows lowing in the background and the chirrup of crickets.
“Trouble at Larson’s,” Rios said.
Luke’s pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got cut fences and footprints,” Rios said, “but get this—the tracks lead on to the ranch, not off it. It’s not illegals. Wrong direction. And it’s not Guerrero mules, either. These guys didn’t seem to know where they were going, or maybe they weren’t sure about what they were doing.”
Rios coughed, and Luke heard him spit on the ground. Not a good sign. Rios only spit when he was worried.
Luke’s partner continued. “When I followed the trail, I found blood—a lot of it, but no body.”
“Shit.” Luke clenched his free hand. “Larson?”
“Safe in his house. All the hands, too.” Rios paused, and Luke could almost smell the man’s frustration over the encrypted digital connection. “Looks like the bastards turned on one of their own. We may never find what’s left of him—or her. But I think this makes Larson a less likely target for our investigation. Even an idiot wouldn’t kill somebody on their own spread and leave the evidence in plain view.”
Luke didn’t like Larson, especially after he’d watch the man try to possess Sky MacKenna when she didn’t want him, but he knew Rios was right. Sky had been a suspect too, way back before the rustling investigation exploded, but Luke knew she was clean. Larson had helped them bring down the cattle-rustling operation along with the rogue deputy running it—and Larson was probably clean, too.
Luke gave Rios the short on the dead kids the sheriff had discovered in Douglas, and listened to Rios swear for a full thirty seconds before the words came out of his mouth. “Turf war.”
A shitload more people are gonna get dead before New Year’s Day. . .
“Call the sheriff’s office and our field office—get some extra officers out there to search Larson’s ranch and the surrounding area,” Luke said. “See if you can find where they dumped the body. We need some clue who’s moving in, and why they think they can start a war with Guerrero’s cartel and win it.”
“We need to take down the rest of Guerrero’s operation, and right now,” Rios said. “That’s the fastest way to find out who the new players are. You get into that charity party and make nice with Francisco Guerrero. And don’t shoot the fucker unless he draws on you first.”
Rios punched off.
Luke glanced through the rain-speckled windshield, to the upper story of Navaeh’s B & B, and saw a woman’s curvaceous silhouette pause in front of the sheer curtains. Two floors below, in the living room window, a second outline appeared, this one tall and heavily-muscled, topped with an unmistakable hat. Luke couldn’t see the hat, but he could call the make and model—O’Farrell, a Cheyenne Pinch, probably black, pure beaver, and with a beaded edge.
That hat cost more than most people made in a month.
And Luke Rider had been helping to investigate the bastard wearing it for the better part of a year.
Francisco Guerrero.
The youngest son of the worst drug lord ever to cross the border.
Francisco Guerrero was a relatively new player in the family operation, brought into the fold by his two older brothers a little over three years ago, when the old man died.
Guerrero, the youngest, had a pre-law degree from Cornell, an impeccable set of American manners, and a thin but glossy patina of respectability thanks to owning a string of auto dealerships throughout Cochise County. He was slowly buying up businesses and property in the Douglas-Bisbee area, digging himself and his family operation so deep into Douglas that it would be pure hell rooting him out.
Since Guerrero had come to Douglas, the drug trade volume had doubled, never mind the body count. New ideas, new methods of illegal operation all the law enforcement agencies were just beginning to sort out—the bastard was a real game-changer.
Luke got out of his truck, all too aware of the weight his Glock against his leg.
“Look out, Sugar,” he said to the woman in the upstairs window, then glanced back at Guerrero’s outline. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
Chapter Two
Trinity MacKenna peeked through the bedroom’s filmy curtains and stared out into the drenched December evening. Goose bumps pebbled her skin, the colorful glow of Christmas decorations on each of the power poles somehow mesmerizing her.
The sight brought back countless memories of her childhood, of celebrating the holidays with her sister Sky, and of her parents before their mother died.
There were some not-so-happy times after cancer stole their mother away from them. Then there had been some worse times in her teen years when she tried—and failed—to live up to her beautiful, popular older sister’s reputation and successes, but Trinity preferred to think about joyous days, or at least the warm and happy moments.
Below the B & B, the door of a classic old pickup truck swung open, and Trinity watched as a man climbed out. In a fluid athletic motion he put on a dark cowboy hat and shut the door of the truck. With his long black duster swirling around his legs, he looked dark and dangerous, like an old west gunslinger who’d come to town to track down his prey.
The man tilted his head up, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat, and for a moment she could have sworn he was looking right at her. It was as though he could see through the curtain and straight through the tiny little dress her friend had talked her into wearing. Trinity’s heart pounded and heat swept across every curve and swell of her body.
She swallowed hard, knowing she needed to back away from the window, to break the electric current that seemed to connect her to the mysterious cowboy, but she couldn’t move.
“Trinity, are you ready to come downstairs and join the party?” Navaeh’s voice sliced through that charged connection, snapping Trinity’s attention away from the man and to her friend.
“Just about.” Trinity cut her gaze to Navaeh, her gorgeous friend who was peeking through the bedroom door. “I need to fix my hair and that should do it.”
Navaeh came in, her blue evening dress shimmering in the light as she shut the door behind her with a thump. “Here, let me help.”
“Are you sure?” Trinity moved away from the window and to the old-fashioned vanity mirror. “You already have guests.”
“These people are party veterans.” Navaeh—whose name was “heaven” spelled backward even though she liked to tell people hell forgot to come looking for her—gave Trinity her locally famous grin. “They’ll amuse themselves.”
“Thanks.” Trinity frowned at her reflection while she yanked down on the tiny skirt of the lipstick-red dress. “But this thing is ridiculous on me.”
Navaeh rolled her eyes. “You look fabulous.”
Trinity cut her friend a skeptical glance. The darn dress barely covered her ass, and her nipples poked against the silky material like mini- torpedoes, especially after her sort-of-encounter with Mr. Tall-and-Gorgeous Cowboy. The neckline plunged halfway to her bellybutton, showing the full curve of her breasts from the inside for cripes sake. “I can’t wear this to your Christmas Charity Extravaganza, Nav. They’ll think I’m a high-class call girl.”
“Hey, with this bunch, you could make a fortune.” Navaeh's grin was mischievous in her reflection.
Trinity turned from the mirror to glare at her best friend and pointed to the three-inch heeled sandals on her feet. “And where did you find these? If you had a better memory, you’d remember I’m a bit of a klutz.”
“You’re not a klutz. Well, maybe you used to be.” Navaeh’s blue-green eyes glittered mischief. “And I’d say that dress was made for you. Those long legs, cute little butt . . . ”
Trinity snorted. “Stop looking at my butt.”
“Can’t help it.” Navaeh backed up, propped her hands on her full hips as she checked out Trinity’s figure. “I just can’t get over how much you’ve changed in the last four years. No more glasses, and you’re so . . . tiny. I didn’t even recognize you when you first came to the door, even though we talked on the phone through every five-pound increment. Those pictures you emailed me don’t even come close to doing you justice.”
With a self-conscious smile, Trinity studied her best friend since her first year at Cochise Community College, and on up through their fourth year at the University of Arizona.
Before Trinity had taken off for Europe, she and Navaeh had been tighter than sisters . . . certainly closer than Trinity had been to her real sister, Sky. Those last few years, anyway, when Sky got her heart broken and just stopped talking to everyone—even the little sister who needed her more than anyone.
“It’s all still kind of weird to me.” Trinity raked her fingers through her hair as she spoke. “Having IntraLasik performed on my eyes was the best thing I’ve done for myself.” She smiled. “Other than losing those ten dress sizes, that is.”
Navaeh cocked her head. “And you took it off in a great way. Healthy eating, all that kickboxing. You really changed your habits. Your whole life. Sweetie, you’ll never be Meaty MacKenna again.”
Trinity shrugged and tried to smile again, but that old nickname stabbed pretty deep. It was one reason she had ditched her first name, Madeline, the minute she left home and started going by her more unusual middle name. A clean break. Leaving behind that life, that sadness, this place. . .
“That’s my goal,” she said, feeling more absurd than ever in the tiny little dress. “All the exercise makes a world of difference for me.”
“And what a difference.” Navaeh grinned. “Can’t wait for our old classmates to get a load of you now. They’ll flip—never mind all the major money in Douglas and Bisbee that’ll be at this party.”
“You’d think I’d be used to it.” Trinity smoothed her hands over the silky material of the dress and glanced down at her hips. “I’ve never had hip bones—well, not that I could ever see.” She cut her eyes back to Navaeh and pointed to her own shoulder. “And look at this. Shoulder bones!”
Navaeh laughed and hugged Trinity, her friendly embrace and soft baby powder scent bringing back memories of their college days. “I’m so proud of you, Trinity.” Navaeh pulled away and smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve always been gorgeous. But now . . . wow. You’re a knockout.”
“Yeah, right.” Trinity turned back to the mirror and pushed her strawberry blond hair on top of her head to see if it would look better up, and frowned at her reflection. The row of gold hoop earrings down her left ear glittered in the room’s soft lighting. While she was in England, just to be different and a little quirky, she’d had five piercings done on her left ear, with only two on her left.
It felt like a step out of Sky’s shadow, and a big leap away from the shy, awful days of Meaty MacKenna.
It’s old stuff, Trin. Grow up.
But coming home again—
Yeah. Coming home brought back the specter of that quiet, hurting fat girl who barely made it out of Arizona alive.
Truth be told, if Trinity hadn’t been changing jobs, and if Sky hadn’t emailed her to tell her about the rustling troubles at the MacKenna ranch, she never would have come home. Since she got here and found out the rustling problem was over, Trinity still hadn’t been able to bring herself to call Sky or go to see her. After a combined ICE-DEA operation, Sky and the Flying M were safe again—but the place didn’t feel safe at all to Trinity.
Still, Trinity knew she needed to force herself to head out to visit her sister, but it felt so horribly much like stepping back in time, like surrendering all the progress she had made in life.
Trinity sighed. “Sky’s always been the beautiful one in the family. The thinnest, the smartest—even the best barrel racer.”
“Being a rodeo queen doesn’t make Sky MacKenna royalty,” Navaeh said, looking more serious than Trinity had seen her since she got back to town. “Let me take you downstairs, and we’ll see who gets the your-majesty treatment from every eligible male in the room—and half the ineligible ones, too.”
Navaeh slapped Trinity’s ass hard enough to make her jump.
“Hey.” She rubbed her stinging butt cheek with one hand and glared at Navaeh over her shoulder. “You’re not acquiring an ass fetish, are you?”
“No, dork.” Shaking her head, Navaeh scooped up a gold hairclip from the antique vanity table. “Sooner or later, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to your sister. Now sit.” Navaeh placed her hands on Trinity’s shoulders and firmly pushed her down onto the bench in front of the vanity mirror. “Look at all you’ve accomplished.”
Trinity shrugged. “No big deal.”
Navaeh narrowed her gaze at Trinity’s reflection. “Graduated with honors from U of A. Hired by Wildgames—only the best software company in the world. Never mind jetting all over Europe and shooting up the corporate ladder. Hell, you practically ran Wildgames’ software development until they got bought out last month—and DropCaps Digital snapped you up with a giant bonus and a month off.”
She gathered Trinity’s hair into the clip and didn’t even stop for a breath. “And don’t forget the best part. You’re still dating an English god.”
Trinity knew better than to interrupt Navaeh on a rant, even to tell her she wasn’t sure about her long-distance relationship with Race Bentham. The woman barreled along like a boulder rolling downhill when she had a point to make, and she’d freak if Trinity mentioned she might be dumping a handsome, wealthy businessman with a Ferrari and a way-hot British accent.
“And now you look incredible,” Navaeh finished as she fluffed the soft cloud of curls left out of the clip. “Like you walked out of Cosmopolitan.”
Trinity couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s enthusiastic support. “It’s funny how confident and successful I’ve felt since I left home.” Her smile faded a bit. “Until my airplane landed in Tucson. Now . . . I don’t know. Time warp. I feel like I’m the old Trinity instead of the new Trinity.”
“Close your eyes.” Navaeh held up the hairspray can.
Trinity obeyed and held her breath as the spray hissed and a wet mist surrounded her. When she heard the can clunk on the dresser, she opened her eyes again and saw Navaeh’s reflection. She had her arms folded, her blue-green gaze focused on Trinity in the mirror.
“You know what I see?” Navaeh asked.
Trinity gave her friend an impish grin as she waved away the lingering smell of melon-scented hairspray. “A redhead in a too-small red dress with no bra?”
“Turn.” Navaeh didn’t even crack a smile as Trinity slid around on the polished bench to face her friend.
“Now don’t tell me.” Trinity scrunched her nose as though she was seriously considering Navaeh’s question. “A redhead with freckles?”
“I see the same Trinity MacKenna that I’ve known and loved—only with bright, beautiful wings.” Navaeh crouched so that she was eye level with Trinity and rested her hands on the bench to either side of Trinity’s hips. “Honey, you’ve always been a butterfly. You just finally had a chance to come out of your cocoon.”
Warmth rushed through Trinity and she bit the inside of her lip before saying, “You’re wonderful, you know that? You always know the right things to say.”
Navaeh adjusted the spaghetti strap of Trinity’s dress, a no-nonsense look on her stunning features. “Hush up and get that tiny ass downstairs. It’s time to soar, Ms. Butterfly. Besides, I want to see which of my moneybags charity donors falls all over himself first.”
Chapter Three
Luke hitched one hip against the bar while he nursed his fancy imported beer—twenty dollars a mug for charity’s sake—and studied the crowded reception room of Bisbee’s best-known bed-and-breakfast.
According to Sky MacKenna, Navaeh always threw one hell of a holiday party in the name of toys and medical care for local orphans. It looked like everyone with a sizeable bank account in Bisbee and Douglas had turned out for it again this year. Especially the people he was most interested in seeing.
Sky played a good ranch “boss” to help his cover, even though she now knew he was DEA and not just a damn good foreman. Too bad Zack Hunter had showed back up when he did and swept Sky off her feet. If he hadn’t, Luke would have asked the woman out, rules be damned.
Not going there tonight.
Not with three dead college kids on his mind, a bunch of blood on the Larson ranch, and a turf war exploding along a stretch of border land not big enough to hold that level of violence. Time to get down to business. The job had been his life anyway, for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to do something other than work.
There was no way the Guerrero operation was running so smoothly in a place like Douglas without some local help. The DEA had long believed there had to be somebody cooperating, somebody with a ranching pedigree and some border land, or another front or cover that made it easier for the Guerrero cartel to move their drugs into the United States.
This person wouldn’t have been born into a drug dynasty like Francisco Guerrero, and this person might screw up and leave a trail to follow. Whoever was making Douglas hospitable to the cartel might be the key to tearing down Guerrero’s perfect little world.
Luke took another swig of his beer, then strode directly up to the next suspect on the list the DEA had developed in its year of research before sending Luke and Rios into the field.
Bull Fenning, wearing pressed jeans and a crisp red flannel shirt despite the more formal occasion, claimed his scotch on the rocks from the bartender just as Luke drew even with him. He turned toward Luke, and Luke caught a flicker of surprise in the big man’s frost-gray eyes.
Fenning’s thick white eyebrows lifted, and the lines in his weathered face tightened as he said, “Well, now, Mr. Rider. This party’s steep for a ranch hand.”
“Foreman.” Luke offered his hand for Stevens to shake despite the dig. “But you’re right. I’m here representing the Flying M, since Sky MacKenna couldn’t come.”
“I forgot. Still on her honeymoon, even though she’s back in town.” Fenning grinned, but his expression remained wary.
Luke gave a smile in return, just enough to keep some sort of rapport with Fenning. The old man was a big time rancher in the area who had a big time grudge against undocumented aliens—UDAs—for damaging his fence line.
He’d lost thousands of dollars worth of cattle off his Bar F Ranch in the rustling operation Luke had helped to bust, and then he lost even more when the fences got cut. The cattle strayed out and died after getting into some bad feed.
But Fenning had recovered quickly. Maybe too quickly. DEA financial snoops were doing their best to figure out where Fenning’s stream of cash came from, since his insurance and the income from his stock weren’t sufficient to cover that kind of disaster.
“Glad to see the Bar F made it back so fast from losing so much of your herd.” Luke kept his tone conversational, relying on his cover as a ranch hand to make him non-threatening. “Sky said she’d never have been able to come back from a hit that big.”
“Sky trusts banks. The government.” Fenning drank his scotch in one gulp, then set his glass on the bar for a refill. His cheeks flushed maroon—maybe from emotion, maybe from alcohol. “My daddy taught me not to put all my bullets in one gun.”
Luke responded with a practiced silence, but he widened his eyes, playing his role as a younger man interested in Fenning’s wisdom.
Fenning picked up his refilled scotch. “Diversity. That’s the key. You want to stay in business, you better know how to diversify. Always have one stream of income that won’t let you down, and a stash of cash the government can’t touch.” He killed the drink, and his face turned redder as his expression relaxed.
Luke shifted his weight back and opened his stance to give the appearance of even greater interest. “So, if I get to the point I can buy my own ranch and run my own cattle, what other streams of income should I think about?”
The hard wariness came back in a rush, and Fenning answered with a snort. “Son, if you disappeared from Douglas tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss you. What makes you think I’m ready to tell you my business secrets?”
Luke shrugged, as if to say, fair enough. “Maybe down the road, I can do some work for you—show you what I’m worth.”
“I got myself a good foreman,” the old man grumbled, but Luke heard the hint of interest. Fenning’s foreman, Brad Taylor, was infamous in the community of ranch hands for partying hard, staying out late just about every night, and barely getting to work on time. Luke also heard that Taylor had a penchant for twins . . . at the same time. Maybe Fenning found that interesting enough to keep Taylor around.
“If something changes, let me know.” Luke gave a short nod then took a drink of his beer as he moved away from Bull Fenning before he overplayed his hand. Every detail of the conversation was recorded in his mind to share with Rios.
Diversity. Secrets. Cash the government didn’t know about. Definitely merited more digging—though the old man might be making his bucks filming Taylor’s exploits.
Luke made his way across the room to Gina Garcia, a statuesque blond who had bought the old Karchner’s K, a couple miles north of the Bar F. Drug activity had escalated since her arrival in the area, and some big busts had been made in a corridor discovered between the Bar F and the K & K. Luke’s gut instinct told him that the single mother had nothing to do with Guerrero or the new operation that was starting the turf war, but it wouldn’t hurt to question her and check out the K & K for good measure.
Gina was decked out in a long green dress and a glittering gold locket. Classy. Definitely easy on the eyes. Looked like she was born to wear evening gowns and sip champagne—so why was she so nervous she was picking lint off a branch on the Christmas tree?
“Evening,” he said as he approached her, then felt bad when she jumped.
Gina’s long fingers fluttered against her chest. Her green eyes went wide, but she seemed to relax when she saw who was speaking. “Luke. What are you—oh. Sky MacKenna couldn’t come because she just got married.”
Luke nodded. “Sky says every ranch owner around Douglas has to do their part for this shindig to work. But yeah. She wasn’t ready to give up her alone time with her new husband.”
Gina’s smile trembled. “I wish I had an excuse. Especially a good one like that.”
When her voice faltered, Luke realized she was about to cry.
Ah, hell.
Did he have a handkerchief?
With his free hand, he felt the back pocket of his pants through his duster, but he hadn’t come prepared for this.
“I mean, it’s just—well.” Gina’s voice dropped. “Everything’s so expensive. I didn’t realize I’d have to pay for more than the tickets. But it’s charity. And like Sky said, if you own a ranch in Douglas, it’s expected.”
Luke thought he was beginning to understand. “If it’s too much for you, Ms. Garcia, you don’t have to stay.”
“Gina, please.” She lowered her hand, and seemed to relax even more. She wasn’t flirting with him, not really, but Luke could tell flirting was a natural habit she was suppressing—probably because it seemed out of place at a highbrow event like this.
“It’s hard, getting in with the ranching and business crowd in Douglas, Luke.” Gina nodded toward Bull Fenning, who was terrorizing the bartender, who apparently didn’t want to serve him another drink so quickly. “My herd’s small, but the stock’s strong. I need them to know I’m going to keep building—and that I can hold my own.”
Luke took a taste of his beer. “Got it. Tough for a woman to make it as a rancher, even in the 21st century.”
“Sky’s doing it. I can, too. No matter what it takes.” Gina’s anxiety shifted to anger so quickly Luke almost raised his eyebrows. “My daughter deserves a fresh start and a good home. She’s only eight. I have to show her how to be strong.”
Fresh start—now that’s interesting.
How far would this woman go for her daughter’s welfare?
Guerrero’s people were opportunistic and ruthless as hell. Luke wouldn’t put it past them to use a child to get what they wanted from the girl’s mother.
We need to put more surveillance on the old K & K.
He was about to offer to help Gina feign illness and make her exit before she bankrupted herself for a soft drink when a loud female voice intruded into their conversation.
“Hello, there. You are one fine slice of cowboy.” A good-looking gray-eyed brunette edged up beside Gina Garcia, smiling at Luke and sticking her chest in his direction. The curve of her breasts was halfway to obscene through her thin black dress, and her manner left no doubt she’d be a willing roll in the hay.
Luke tipped back his beer bottle for another swallow. He had no interest in women who were that obvious. A little chase was more interesting.
“I’m Joyce Butler,” the woman said, extending her hand.
Luke made himself give her fingers a squeeze, but only because Ms. Joyce Butler was on his list. Rich father, politically connected. Her family had a massive amount of border land on the outskirts of Douglas—and Butler’s Rocking B hooked on the old K & K ranch. More importantly, Joyce Butler had reportedly been tight with Gary Woods, the sheriff’s deputy who went bad, rustled cattle for Guerrero, and tried to kill Sky. Joyce Butler had dated the bastard at one time, and she might have information about the Guerrero operation, whether she knew it or not.
When Joyce Butler gave him a quick wink, Luke sighed and took another drink of his overpriced beer. Damn. He’d bet his Stetson she was already planning a make-out session in the corner, or imagining that they’d do it right on the dance floor.
Gina Garcia mumbled a few excuses, then hurried away into the crowd, abandoning Luke with Joyce.
“Who are you, handsome?” Joyce’s voice had a rich, silky quality.
“Hired help,” he said, hoping it would back her off a step. “I’m here for Sky MacKenna.”
Joyce pushed a strand of her curly hair behind one ear and moved even closer to him. “Then you’re Luke Rider. Her foreman. I’ve heard half the girls in town talking about you.”
“Guilty,” Luke admitted, making note of all the potential exits in the room.
“A foreman.” Joyce brushed her chest against his, then moved back, like it might have been an accident. “I’m sure you know how to ride.”
Luke went to take a drink of his beer, but he’d already drained it. Fast as a flash, Joyce had his empty bottle out of his hand, trailing her nails over his knuckles as she took it away from him. Then she was off toward the bar, her hips bouncing back and forth like somebody was hitting drums and cymbals to keep the rhythm.
She works it well, but I don’t want that.
But, hell. He didn’t know what he really wanted anymore. His dedication to his work had cost him every important relationship he’d ever managed to build, so he’d stopped bothering to try. Sky MacKenna—yeah, she had piqued his interest before Zack Hunter had come back, but he’d never acted on it.
And then there was Rylie Thorn—a real spitfire friend of Sky’s. Now, that woman might have sparked Luke’s libido if she hadn’t reminded him so much of his younger sister.
Luke watched as Joyce passed by Cochise County’s new sheriff, Clay Wayland. Wayland was at the buffet table, talking to a sexy cowgirl with brown hair and blue eyes, who owned a ranch just east of Douglas—not on the border.
New man in town, around the same time as the new competition for the Guerreros. Despite Luke’s earlier conversation with Wayland, the fact the sheriff could be involved had potential, though Luke couldn’t imagine two crooked lawmen in the same small town. That was mostly a cliché in novels and movies. By and large, those who swore to serve and protect did exactly that.
Wayland’s attention to the cowgirl—was he just being polite or horny, or was he investigating some lead or other? As Luke watched, Wayland excused himself from the woman and took a call. A few seconds later, the man left without looking back, and Luke figured he’d gotten the call about the trouble at the Larson ranch that Rios had informed Luke of earlier.
Too bad.
That little cowgirl looked like she might have some spirit. Clay Wayland probably just lost out on a night of fun and relaxation.
The mellow malt flavor of beer lingered in Luke’s throat as he contemplated the fact it had been too long for his liking since he’d enjoyed the company of a fine woman. He’d known his share of ladies, but in the past few years, since he gave up trying anything serious, he hadn’t met any ladies who could keep his attention for more than a night or two of good, hard sex.
Past few years?
Hell. If he got honest with himself, he’d have to admit—that had been a problem most of his life.
He was more attached to his truck than most people. Probably a consequence of growing up hard and alone, then going into law enforcement. Like Clay Wayland, he rarely got a night of uninterrupted fun. And until he brought down the Guerrero operation and whoever it was starting a war with them, he’d be too busy for any kind of involvement.
That whole cattle bullshit Woods had arranged for Guerrero had just been a distraction, a sleight of hand, and a little more cash for the asshole. The real scheme involved smuggling drugs in from Mexico using illegal immigrants for Guerrero mules.
That was where Noah Ralston of Customs and Border Protection had gotten involved in the investigation, and Ralston and the CBP had subsequently called on Luke and his agency and gotten them involved.
Luke sure would like to know what that weasel Woods knew, but the bastard wouldn’t say a word even to cut his potential prison time. The men that Clay Wayland, Zack Hunter, and Luke had rounded up with Woods had been damn near worthless as far as information on the Guerrero operation.
Gritting his teeth, Luke clenched and unclenched his fists. No sign of Joyce. She was lost in the crowd at the bar. For half a second, he wished he could take the night off and have some fun, get the edge off, but time was one thing he—and Douglas—didn’t have. And Joyce wasn’t the type of woman he’d like to sink into to take that edge off.
Just as he was about to go looking for his own beer, he saw a woman coming down the stairs who had to be Navaeh, by Sky’s description. Pretty, vivacious, bright and intelligent eyes. And—
Damn.
The woman beside Navaeh.
Any thought he had about finding any other woman evaporated like water on a desert rock.
Navaeh said something that caused the woman to laugh, and her lips curved into a radiant smile that met her beautiful green eyes.
Eyes that seemed vaguely familiar to him. Yet he knew he’d never seen this woman before, and he never forgot a face. Ever.
Luke’s sharpened senses took in every detail of the woman and came up with a puzzle. She appeared strong, sexy and confident, yet there was a contradicting air of vulnerability about her.
Intrigued, he watched her stroll into the room, her movements smooth and graceful. Her strawberry blond hair was piled on top of her head in a sexy just-got-out-of-bed style, and her jade green eyes were big, giving her an innocent look.
Yet the tiny red dress she wore was made for sin. It hugged her figure, showing off her generous breasts, small waist and curvy hips. Definitely a dress designed to drive a man to his knees. And those high heels she was wearing—damn.
A vision came to him—having the woman beneath him, sliding between her thighs while her desire-filled green eyes focused entirely on him.
Luke’s groin tightened and he shifted his position.
Looked like this night might get real interesting.
How the hell was he supposed to keep his mind on business now?
