Читать книгу The Cowboy's Deadly Mission - Addison Fox - Страница 13

Chapter 2

“Heard Belle was out visiting this morning.”

Tate stilled, the unfurled length of barbed wire heavy against his thickly gloved hands as his brother’s voice drifted over his back. He loved his brother but Ace had developed a way of nagging him over the years about Belle that was about as subtle as a cold sore at the prom.

Which, Tate figured, was sort of the point.

“She was the one lucky enough to pull duty this morning at six a.m. when I called in the breach.”

“Breach?” Ace pulled on his own pair of thick gloves. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“You have a better name?”

“Invasion. Attack. Infection. Take your pick.”

Anger and frustration layered Ace’s words and Tate stilled, giving himself a moment to really look at his brother. The weight of the ranch sat heavily on all of them—as welcome a burden as it was challenging—but Ace’s load carried a bit more freight. As the eldest son, he carried the weightiness of expectation along with all the other requirements of running one of the largest cattle ranches in southwest Texas.

Streaks of gray lined Ace’s temples, visible through the military-short cut of his hair. Lines fanned out from the Reynolds green eyes Tate and his brothers carried like a matched set of luggage, but it was the stiffness in his brother’s shoulders that told the real story. Where Tate and Hoyt carried a linebacker’s bulk, Ace had inherited their mother’s slimmer genes. The man was tall and wiry, his lean frame belying the sheer strength he bore in every bone and sinew.

Anyone who thought Ace Reynolds might be an easy mark quickly learned their mistake. Raw strength and power were the man’s hallmarks, his body as unyielding as his honor and approach to life.

“So what did Belle say?”

“She did some rudimentary tracking. Will be back out in a bit with Julio Bautista to look at the site. After they look at everything, we can repair the fence.” Tate let his gaze drift over the clean-cut hole before refocusing on Ace. “I sent the hands on to other tasks. Told them to come back around noon.”

“Should be enough time.”

“You don’t have to wait with me. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.”

Ace quirked one eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“No. Just figured you had better things to do.”

“I consider this better.”

Waiting for no further invitation, Ace hunched down and tugged at the bale of wire, smoothing over the edge Tate had already cut. “I’ll put this back on the truck.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Tate lined up the pieces they’d replace while Ace puttered around the back of the truck he’d driven out from the main house. Although he knew his brother would find out eventually, some small voice had Tate holding back his suspicions.

The light depression in the dirt. Belle’s suggestion of a lone bag of drugs or the suspicion of a cash payoff. Hell.

He didn’t need any help reading between the lines. And if she shared her concerns, they’d have Feds crawling the property before the afternoon was out. He ran a working ranch, not a damn forensics lab.

“You always were a crappy liar. Ready to tell me what’s going on?” Ace slapped the thick gloves against his thigh. “And before you argue with me, omission’s a lie.”

It briefly crossed his mind to argue, but Tate held his tongue. Ace had a right to know. Even as he knew he’d only add to the weight that already rode his brother’s shoulders.

“There’s yellow police tape over there. Belle thinks the shape left in the grass looks like a single bag of drugs.”

“One bag?” The words were barely out before Ace shook his head. “A payoff?”

“That’s what I think.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Come take a look.” Tate led the way to the small marked area. The yellow tape was visible in the grass as they got closer. “I don’t know how she even saw it.”

“Because it’s her job.”

More truth. Raw and unsettling, but the truth all the same. Even more unsettling, Tate knew what it had cost her. What it had cost both of them. Belle took her job seriously, both the work she did and her reputation. Yet she’d still shared her initial impressions, even if she should have saved them for her colleagues.

Ace dropped into a hunch once more, his attention fully focused on the marked area. Tate moved closer, the bright, mid-morning sun seeming to throw a spotlight on the small area. With the additional light, it was easier to see the outline—easier to envision the heavy duffel bag that would have made the mark.

“One of our own.” Ace added a string of curses that matched Tate’s thoughts from the past two hours before their attention was pulled toward the bump of tires about five hundred yards away.

“Belle’s back.” Tate could see Julio Bautista in the passenger seat, his grizzled features a contrast to Belle’s smooth skin and eager visage.

Ace shaded his eyes before his hard stare swung toward Tate. “Looks like she is.”

* * *

Julio Bautista was one of the best trackers in south Texas and had worked as a field expert for the county for what had to be forty years. The man could tell you everything from the shoe size on a partial footprint to the age of animal scat to what types of scrub grass grew in the region. His senses were so refined the man predicted the weather better than any ten TV meteorologists.

While she admired it all, Belle loved him because he was the gentlest of teachers, more than willing to impart his knowledge and understanding of how living beings left their impressions on the earth.

“That the place you marked?” Julio pointed through the windshield to the area where she’d laid yellow police tape earlier that morning, his wizened face scrunched up against the glare of the morning sun.

“That’s the one. Tate Reynolds found the cut fence early this morning and called it in. I almost missed the small depression but saw it at the last minute.”

“Reynolds being cooperative?”

“Of course he is.”

The words spilled out too quickly and Belle winced inwardly as Julio’s solemn gaze shifted from his view through the windshield to her. “You sure?”

“Yes. Oh, he was a bit surprised to see it was me who arrived to take his statement, but he got over it. He understands the force is stretched thin. Understands I’m a member of that force.”

He understands the implications, too, she mused, considering what a possible payoff on his land would mean in regards to his staff.

Julio snorted at the “stretched thin” comment but said nothing, opening his door and hopping out of the SUV. The man’s services had been stretched thin of late, too. And although he worked for the county, he’d spent more than a disproportionate time in Midnight Pass over the past few years. He waved to Tate and Ace Reynolds before crossing to the two men and shaking their hands.

“Bella says you had a problem last night.”

Tate shot her the slightest raised eyebrow at Julio’s affectionate name for her before pointing toward the fence. “Not the first one we’ve had.”

“Likely won’t be the last.” Julio puttered toward the fence line, careful to steer clear of the area she’d marked off with tape. His gaze never left the ground, his steps careful in the event she’d missed other key clues depressed into the earth. Belle left him to his work, well aware he needed to get a sense of place before he’d be ready to speak with them again.

“Julio’s the best.”

“Word around town is that you’re his protégée.” Ace’s smile was warm and encouraging, a decisive counterpoint to the scowl that painted Tate’s face.

The two men might be brothers—might love each other fiercely—but they rarely saw eye to eye on anything. Her career choice was likely another item on that very long list of disagreements.

Which only served to rub salt in the wound. How could the man’s brother see her as a competent professional and Tate couldn’t? Since that line of thought only served to add to her simmering frustration, she offered up a smile instead.

“Julio’s been kind enough to take me on and train me. He’s plenty busy so I’m grateful for the help.”

Tate let out a loud snort. “The way I hear it, you more than pull your own weight.”

The comment was as surprising as the idea that Tate kept up with her career. Annabelle wanted to press him on his comment, but Julio had already begun working his way back to them, his shout and hand wave effectively ending anything else she might have said.

“Come see this.” Her mentor stopped near the taped off area and dropped to his knees. Belle was careful to watch her footsteps before dropping to her haunches beside Julio, Ace and Tate following suit. Once they were all in place, Julio traced an outline into the air. “You see here? This part Bella marked.”

“Of course.”

“I do think she’s right. It has the weight and shape of a heavy duffel. It also matches a light depression I found on the other side of the fence.”

“I missed it?”

Julio’s smile was broad. “I’m not quite ready for you to put me out of business, Bella. And the mark was faint and easy to miss. I saw it because I knew what I was looking for.”

Belle appreciated the encouragement but couldn’t hide the sting to her pride. She’d been careful this morning, but she was well aware her focus had been divided between the work and Tate. If Ace or Hoyt had greeted her, she suspected she’d not have missed the second depression Julio discovered.

But Ace and Hoyt hadn’t made the call to the precinct.

Tate had.

She risked a glance in his direction, only to be greeted by a quick flash of humor. The wholly unprofessional urge to stick her tongue out at him rippled through her before she tamped it down.

How did he do this to her?

They weren’t on the school playground and she’d given up the pigtails he’d loved to pull as kids. Yet even now, after all this time, she couldn’t help seeking him out. Was it for approval? Or worse, was she seeking the agreement she knew she’d never get? Because they didn’t agree. And they hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything except the sexual awareness and attraction that always flared sky-high when they were within fifty feet of each other.

Tate Reynolds had claimed he wanted her. He’d claimed a lot of things during the time they’d spent together, freely giving of themselves to one another.

But he hadn’t held up his side of the bargain.

Worse, he’d asked her to choose between the one thing in her life—except for him—that gave her purpose. Fulfillment. Joy.

And every time they looked at each other, she saw the reality of that choice reflecting back at her.

* * *

Tate didn’t want to be impressed. He didn’t want to be fascinated. He didn’t want to be awed. But despite every attempt to squelch those impressions, he was all those things and more. The girl who’d intrigued him in ways he hadn’t understood had grown into a woman who still had the ability to trip him up.

He was a simple guy. He liked ranching and a good night out at the rodeo, cold beer and a rousing evening of pool. And he liked women. Tall women, short women, curvy and slender—he appreciated them all. Enjoyed them all. But he didn’t love any of them.

Because none of them were Annabelle Granger.

The damned truth of his life lived in that lone, miserable fact.

“Come see what I marked over here.” Julio’s command penetrated the unsettling rush of thoughts and Tate followed, pleased to get out of his head for a few minutes. They followed the old tracker from the initial area Belle roped off and on over to the impressions he’d discovered by the fence. Belle kept up a steady line of questions as they walked, from size of the imprint to the relatively few marks in the dirt, sharing her theories with Julio.

“Do you think it’s the work of a coyote? They’re paid to help people cross the border. This would be as good a spot as any and it could be their payment or a payment the coyote made to whomever helped him cross.”

“It’s a good theory, but this is the work of few, especially since there aren’t a lot of footprints. A coyote would take more people, Bella.”

Tate saw her subtle frown and suspected the question was for his and Ace’s benefit. It was a long shot question, designed to stave off the inevitable, and there was no way Belle really thought a late-night crossing on his land was the work of illegal immigrants. While they did have border crossings through Midnight Pass, the town’s core problem was drugs. The trade had flourished over the past decade, a stark reminder of what troubles lurked beneath the quiet facade of the Pass.

Businesses on Main Street prospered right alongside the marijuana, cocaine and heroin trafficking that followed in the dark of night. She and her fellow officers worked tirelessly to keep up with it, along with the increasing cadre of federal agents who’d set up shop in town, but they’d had relatively little success in stopping it.

Other than his time on the town council, Tate had diligently avoided the politics of life in the Pass, but he wasn’t blind or deaf. Hell, he’d had a conversation three days ago at the feed store about the same thing, and a few days before, Tabasco Burns had been bitching about a low-level dealer he’d tossed out of his pool hall.

Drugs and all their associated evils were a blight on their town and, like a greasy oil slick, they continued to spread. Two overdoses the year before and twenty across the county. And that was just what had hit close to home. He knew damn well what crossed through the Pass fanned out across the state and farther.

“So you do think it’s a drug run?” The words were sour on his tongue, but Tate had never been afraid of a fight. Nor would he tolerate the abuse of his land—of his home—like that.

Julio’s dark gaze ran over the fence line once more before he rewarded them with his full attention. “How much do you trust your team?”

“Up until a few minutes ago, I’d have said implicitly.” Ace’s comment matched his thoughts and Tate’s mind already whirled with the possibilities. Who could it be?

Ranger McBride was fairly new. The incidents hadn’t started until after he’d been hired on. Or maybe Tris Bradshaw? He had smelled whiskey on the guy’s breath a few weeks ago and sent him back to the house to get some coffee. Even as his mind whirled through reasons both men should be suspects, something in his gut didn’t sit right.

A few impressions in the dirt and he was ready to go on a witch hunt of his men? Was that how it was going to be now?

If Ace sensed Tate’s rising frustration, he said nothing, instead focusing on the physical ravages. “You good with us doing our repairs?”

“Sí, sí.” Julio nodded. “I’ve got my camera in the car. Let Bella and I take a few pictures and then you can fix things.”

“I’ll alert Trey Vasquez and Harrison Crown in the meantime. See if they’ve had any incidents.”

“We can do that, Ace.” Belle was quick to jump in. “You don’t have to spend your time warning everyone.”

“Somehow I think his conversation will be a bit different than yours.” Although the comment was meant to get under Belle’s skin, Tate knew his point remained true. If there was a problem with the hands at Reynolds Station, the two other ranches that dominated the county needed to know. They all had a silent agreement not to poach off each other, but a man had a right to move around and make his own living and the Vasquez and Crown families fished in the same employment pool as Tate, Ace and Hoyt did.

Belle’s gaze swung to his, challenge sparking in that pretty blue color. “Oh?”

“You’ll focus on the problem. Tell him how hard the police are working to manage the situation. You’ll likely even offer to drive out and visit their ranches, do a quick swing around the fences that line their properties.”

Belle stared at him, confusion crinkling soft lines into her forehead. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“So why does it sound like a mocking indictment of the Midnight Pass police force?”

“I’d never mock such a superior institution.”

The words hit their mark, just as he’d intended. Parry, thrust, jab, jab, jab. The strategy had worked for twenty years; why should he stop now?

“Yet somehow you are.”

“Don’t be so sensitive.”

That jab was harder than the others and Tate was surprised to feel the kickback in his own stomach. Why did he always manage to take it a bit too far?

“Then what’s your point?”

“You’re waving at the problem with your badge. We’re a bit more subtle than that.”

Belle’s hands flew to her hips, the fingers on her right hand resting comfortably against her service weapon. Too comfortably, he realized with a hard, solid punch to his stomach. Belle Granger was all cop as she stared at him. “Subtle?”

“Sure. You think the badge is the deterrent.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not at all.”

Of anything he could have said, it was that statement that proved just how far apart the two of them truly were.

“If you think the police are ineffective, then what do you propose, Tate? Vigilante justice? You angling to become the law and order of the land?”

“Bella—” Julio’s voice was quiet yet firm as he returned from the SUV, camera in hand, and Tate innately sensed the older man knew far more about Belle and Tate’s long-standing feud than he let on.

For reasons he couldn’t name—even to himself—it bothered him that Belle might have confided their personal business to Julio and his voice became sharper than the roll of barbed wire he’d just cut. “All I want is to fix this. Crime’s at an all-time high in the Pass and now innocent people have drug runners roaming their land.”

Tate had no interest in becoming a vigilante, but he did want the problems to stop. He and his brothers had struggled to bring the ranch back from the brink from their father’s illegal business practices that nearly shut them down. It had taken considerable hard work and a ton of sweat equity but they’d done it. Because he recognized the value of hard work, it burned him to think there were those whose “work” consisted of transporting a truck full of drugs that went on to ruin thousands of lives.

“And we don’t want to fix it?” Belle’s retort shot back at him without a moment’s hesitation.

Whether it was the stubborn pride that had fueled him his entire life or the small shot of pity he saw in Julio’s eyes, Tate had no idea. Or maybe he was beyond caring.

“I don’t think you can fix it. Unless you’d prefer the more commonly accepted explanation.”

“Which is?”

“Most law-abiding people in town think the Midnight Pass police force couldn’t find justice with both hands and a flashlight.”

* * *

Belle held her tongue, even as her jaw nearly cramped with the effort. How dare he?

The idea of the Reynolds brothers taking the law into their own hands was a stark reminder of just how far apart she and Tate remained on the subject of law enforcement. But it was Tate’s sheer disdain of the police force that had claws. Brutally sharp and far more lethal than she’d have expected, especially after all these years.

He’d made no secret of the fact he found her ambition misguided, but she’d believed he would come around, especially once they’d given in to the feelings both had fought for so long. She’d traipsed right past the warning bells that clanged in her head, convinced if she could only make him understand how important being a cop was to her—how essential—they could find their way.

Oh, how she’d believed that once.

Until her world had come crashing down when Tate abruptly walked away.

Even in the nearly ten years since, she’d not been able to fully understand his decision. She’d made no secret of her interest and intent to join the force. The law was her passion—anyone who’d known her for any length of time understood that.

And Tate had known her better than most.

Yet he’d still walked away.

Even after all this time, that simple little fact hurt like a gaping wound. Would it ever heal?

That question might linger, but she knew the answer in all its stark reality. So long as the two of them still called Midnight Pass home, there was little chance of fully putting Tate Reynolds out of her mind.

Or her heart.

And since it didn’t appear as if either of them were leaving anytime soon, there was nothing to be done for it. Fastening her emotional armor, Belle stood at her full height. Her heart might continue to do battle with her mind, but in this her mind would win.

She would not back down.

“Obviously you and your family are welcome to handle employment matters as you see fit. I will, however, be setting up this afternoon at the bunkhouse and I expect that every member of your staff will be available to talk to me. This is now an open investigation.”

Before Tate could argue, Ace stepped in. “We will cooperate fully with the Midnight Pass police force. The staff will be there at the assigned time.”

Julio had already drifted away to take his photos—probably afraid of stray bullets, Belle thought—and she turned to follow the older man. “Thank you, Ace.”

Tate remained stubborn and stoic, his gaze flashing fire in the early morning sun.

Since there wasn’t anything else to say, Belle headed over to join Julio. She diligently avoided looking back at the two men she’d known most of her life and instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other. And if her hands shook, well, they were clenched so hard at her sides there was no way anyone could see it.

Damn that fool man and his vigilante justice and his piss-poor attitude about the police and his conjecture their town was no longer safe.

Damn him.

Belle unfisted her hand before she reached her mentor. Julio already saw too much and she refused to let her personal life—or lack thereof—cloud her ability to do her job. She was determined to be a brilliant cop. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted, a feeling that had only built as she watched her mother succumb to a lifetime of addiction.

Which was the stubborn lie she’d told herself for years. If given the choice, there were actually two things she wanted. But Tate had taken that choice away from her.

Julio had started with the first area she’d found, inside the fence line. He waved her over. “Bella. Come here.” The sudden urgency in his voice banished thoughts of her relationship with Tate.

“What is it?”

“Look at this. Walk over there, please.” She was careful to follow the way Julio pointed out to her, a curving path instead of a direct walk to his side.

“What is it?”

“Here. Crouch down and look.”

The man was nearly seventy, but he had a quick mind and a small, spry form. He duckwalked back a few steps so she could take his place. “What am I looking for? Did you find another depression? Another bag?”

“Just look and tell me what you see.”

Belle scanned the area, taking it in like he’d taught her. A broad look to see if anything was out of place, then careful quadrants as she mentally cataloged everything she saw.

Blades of grass, intermittently broken up by rocky scrub.

A small patch of Indian paintbrush doing its best to bloom in the early April weather that had been unusually cold.

A dry, patchy area of dirt where even the scrub wasn’t growing, spattered with—

“Julio?” She whirled, coming to her feet in an instant. “Is that blood?”

“It looks like it.” He got to his feet.

“There’s a lot of it. Not just someone who might have gotten cut on the wire fence. And it looks like it continues into the brush beside it.”

“I know, Bella.” She nearly moved toward it when Julio laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get a few more things from the car.”

Their field kits.

As Belle trudged behind Julio, a heavy pit cratered her stomach. That sinking feeling only grew harsher when she looked up to see Ace and Tate watching from a distance. Whatever frustration rode them, it was nothing compared to the news she and Julio needed to share.

If her instincts—and Julio’s somber gaze—were any indication, Reynolds Station had been home to a murder.