Читать книгу The Sheriff Gets His Lady - Dani Sinclair - Страница 9

PROLOGUE

NOAH BEAUFORT CLIMBED into his truck and started the engine while the warden’s warning played in his head.

Francis Hartman was released this morning, Noah. You need to be aware that the last thing he told his cellmate was how much he was looking forward to seeing you again.

Francis Hartman had graduated from armed robbery to paid muscle for a drug distributor in Dallas. Noah’s last undercover assignment with the Dallas P.D. had netted him, along with a number of other people. Unfortunately, Hartman had enough money for a good attorney. Noah wasn’t surprised he was out already.

Threats were something every lawman faced. Noah wasn’t overly concerned, but with his daughter living at home this semester, he couldn’t dismiss the threat completely.

He was thinking about that when he started backing up—right into another car. Braking sharply, Noah cursed his inattention. Putting the truck in park, he stepped out to check the damage. The austere concrete structure of the prison loomed ominously over the parking lot, casting deep shadows despite the afternoon sun.

The man unfolding himself from the sleek, dark-blue Lexus was six-two, maybe two hundred pounds, with jet-black hair worn straight back in a ponytail. He was dressed in a fancy Western-style suit, his expression hidden behind silver-framed glasses with dark-tinted lenses.

A high-priced lawyer type, Noah decided. Just what he needed. “Sorry,” he said, joining the man who stood beside his car’s front bumper. “I never saw you.”

The man regarded his bumper without a trace of expression. The Lexus didn’t appear scratched. There was a small scrape on Noah’s truck but that was all. He took in Noah’s sheriff’s uniform and nodded curtly.

“No harm done.”

“Would you like my insurance information?”

The man gave a quick shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

He turned, ponytail swinging, and returned to his car. Noah frowned. At a guess, the man had a Mexican background that he went to great lengths to hide. Noah wondered if he was effective in front of a jury. There was something cold, almost menacing, about his arrogance.

Noah returned to his truck, fastened his seat belt, and finished backing out. The stranger waited, taking the vacated parking place. In the rearview mirror, Noah watched him step from his car, place a Stetson firmly on his head, and stride purposefully toward the prison entrance.

With a frown, Noah dismissed the man and glanced at the clock. He had several errands to run, but if he hurried he could still make it home in time for his daughter’s phone call. He was anxious to hear how a sheriff’s daughter was making out in the high-society world of her fiancé’s family.

Noah liked Doug Rossiter. The strapping young man with his dark good looks was serious, levelheaded, and unpretentious. More important, he adored Lauren and balanced her enthusiasm for life with a practical side that kept her grounded. Noah was pleased by their engagement, even if his daughter was awfully young.

Maybe he was simply getting old—or feeling a tad overprotective. He dismissed the thought wryly. He didn’t feel old, and if he was overprotective, well, he’d been that way from the moment he and Beth had brought Lauren home. He’d taken one look at that tiny, sweet face staring up at him with large, unfocused eyes and had known he’d move mountains to protect that little baby.

Besides, they’d only had each other since his wife died when Lauren was five years old. Things hadn’t been easy at first, but he hadn’t done so badly. Lauren had grown, becoming a beautiful, intelligent young woman—even if he did say so himself! And he planned to enjoy what was left of their father-daughter time together.

* * *

“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” J. B. Crowe barked.

Luke Silva let his boss’s annoyance bounce off him. If there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was how to handle the notorious gangster.

He flicked a bit of nonexistent lint from the fancy trim on his Western jacket and surveyed the prison’s sterile environment. Guards were positioned strategically around the room. None paid him any more attention than they did the other friends and loved ones sitting in front of the glass wall that separated guests from inmates in the open, narrow room.

“It’s Cooper,” he said softly into the phone. “He’s out of control, J.B. He’s decided with you in here, maybe he should be the one running things. He sure doesn’t intend taking orders.”

And that rankled. How it rankled. With J.B. in prison, keeping things running was Luke’s job. Everyone knew it. Everyone except Sebastian Cooper. Luke didn’t intend to tolerate upstarts in his ranks. He wanted to nip this power play now. Permanently.

He’d tempered his urge until he spoke to J.B. It paid to move carefully. J.B. might have some future role in mind for Cooper Consulting Inc. He would be most unhappy if Luke screwed that up.

Though J.B. was in prison, he was still the titular head of the association of Texas “businessmen” they worked with and through. As long as so many of its members remained loyal, Luke wasn’t about to make big waves. Oh, he intended to change the situation, but he knew how to bide his time. Right now it was wisest to move carefully—with J.B.’s sanction.

Prison hadn’t altered the older man’s glare one bit.

“We may want to use him later. Send him a warning,” he barked.

“A warning?” Luke asked softly.

“One he can’t misinterpret,” J.B. said coldly.

Satisfaction rippled through Luke. “I can do that.”

Luke forced himself to remain still, though he was anxious to be away now that he had what he wanted.

J.B. eyed him for a moment, then inclined his head. He set his phone down and stood abruptly, signaling the end of their session.

Luke rose as well, replacing his dark sunglasses. He was happy to be leaving the uncomfortable confines of the prison. Already, he was mentally planning the sort of warning that would get Sebastian Cooper’s full attention.

Killing Cooper outright would have been preferable, but it was messy and there were certain risks involved. A warning lowered the risks.

Luke’s lips edged upward. Perhaps a lesson would serve his purpose better after all. The message would have to be showy and effective in case there were others having visions of grandeur.

He paused by the bumper of his car and checked again to be certain there was no sign of the earlier, minor collision. An idea began to form. Cooper was a wheeler-dealer. He was very fond of money and things. Among the things he favored most was a customized green Jaguar.

Slowly, Luke began to smile. He wouldn’t use one of the regulars on this. He couldn’t afford anything being traced back to him if the job went wrong. Norman Smith was the answer. The mercenary always gave satisfaction and he was good with explosives. He was also totally anonymous. Smith worked through intermediaries. He wouldn’t know who hired him—or care.

He was expensive, and he demanded cash up front, but that was okay. He never screwed up and he never left witnesses. Luke hoped the man was still working out of New York. Importing the talent made things that much safer.

Luke flipped back his ponytail, set his Stetson on the passenger seat, and settled behind the wheel, planning the message he would send Mr. Sebastian Cooper.