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Eagle's Last Stand
Aimee Thurlo






“We’ve lost our brakes. Hold on.”

He glanced at Kim. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Ahead was a sharp curve and a steep drop. At this speed they’d fly over the edge. Rick had no choice. He rammed into a scrub oak thicket. They fishtailed, then finally slid to a stop, dust enveloping them in a cloud.

“This was no accident,” she said.

He crawled beneath the SUV and studied the damage. “You're right. Someone cut the brake line.” When he came back out, his jaw was set. “I let my guard down, Kim. I'm sorry.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm on the job. I should know better than to get so distracted by you.”

“I wouldn't trade a second of what happened between us,” she said, holding his gaze. “It drew us closer, and if you allow it, it'll make us even stronger.”

It could also get them killed …


Dear Reader (#ulink_791dec84-3ed3-5369-bd41-003e2f677f5f),

Aimée always believed in the power of love, and the forty-three year romance we shared kept us together from the moment we met. I was with her when she died in February, just a few weeks after completing Eagle’s Last Stand. We spent those days side by side—I had her back, and she had my heart. Those hours were precious because we were together, doing what we loved most. There were no regrets. Aimée was at peace, in our own home with her beloved pets, friends and family.

I’m proud to have been the husband, lover, best friend and writing partner of one of the most talented individuals I’ve ever known. We worked as a team, but it was Aimée who led the way, creating these stories of love, family, loyalty and honor that will live well beyond her life here on earth.

As you read Eagle’s Last Stand, open your mind to the words, thoughts and feelings that flow from Aimée’s heart into your own, and never forget that friendship, love and romance can last longer than a lifetime.

In Aimée’s own words—“With love we can soar and accomplish anything.”

David Thurlo


Eagle’sLast Stand

Aimée Thurlo






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


IN MEMORIAM (#ulink_946264fd-5e93-579c-82f2-2cb3e1a07514)

Aimée Thurlo was an internationally known bestselling author of mystery and romantic suspense novels. She was the winner of a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews, a New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction and a Willa Cather Award in the same category.

Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lived with her husband and writing partner, David, in Corrales, New Mexico, in a rural neighborhood filled with horses, alpacas, camels and other assorted livestock. David was raised on the Navajo Indian Nation. His background and cultural knowledge inspired many of the Aimée Thurlo stories for Mills & Boon Intrigue.

We at Mills & Boon are saddened by the loss of Aimée and collectively send our deepest condolences to David. Aimée was a genuine and lovely woman who we, along with her many fans, will miss greatly.


Contents

Cover (#u1f41a2ab-e1cf-5c33-afde-74a671ea459c)

Excerpt (#u75db68ec-51fb-5ab2-9cf4-2628307ee2aa)

Dear Reader (#ulink_27972831-c4fe-5020-b843-b99d69625daf)

Title Page (#u40210661-a52e-55c9-99da-5fb238053d19)

IN MEMORIAM (#ulink_032aa3a5-401c-5f35-83cf-e346554af967)

Chapter One (#ulink_d3357d0b-7199-5492-bffe-28428e1fd26b)

Chapter Two (#ulink_8bb30327-85c6-559b-87ba-21d36c5c4881)

Chapter Three (#ulink_d46adaf7-8536-58c4-b96c-3984022892f5)

Chapter Four (#ulink_436e332b-b1cc-58d3-806a-10a4aca224fa)

Chapter Five (#ulink_916e6639-8aa9-5492-8ff2-b54c6c9df795)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_7c7dfcbd-7fe9-5c2a-ad55-b21b80ff65e0)

He’d wondered what this night would be like, and now he knew. Rick Cloud smiled as he looked around the private dining room his foster brothers and their wives had reserved for his homecoming. For years the Brickhouse Tavern had been one of their favorite watering holes, so it had been the perfect place for the celebration.

Gene Redhouse, the only rancher among the six Navajo men, came up and patted him on the back. “Welcome home,” he said, then laughed as he saw their brothers Kyle Goodluck and Daniel Hawk clear away part of the heavy trestle table so they could arm wrestle. “They’re at it again.”

“Some things never change.” Rick’s eyes strayed to the pretty hostess as she moved around the room, making sure everyone’s glasses were filled and watching over them like a beautiful guardian angel. She was tall and slender, with shoulder-length honey-colored blond hair and beautiful green eyes that didn’t seem to miss even the tiniest of details. As he watched, she took away an empty dish of guacamole and replaced it with spicy salsa and blue corn tortilla chips.

“That’s Kim Nelson. Do you remember her from high school?”

“I never met her. If I had, I would have remembered,” Rick said without hesitation.

“She was a freshman when you were a senior,” Gene said. “To hear her talk when we were discussing the plans for tonight, I think she used to have a thing for you. Kyle says it’s because you were quarterback, but I fail to see the reasoning. You hand off or throw the ball, take some hits and run the option once in a while. Barely got your jersey dirty most games.”

“Jealous, bro?” Rick said, and laughed.

“Nah. I’m the one who ended up with the prize,” he said, looking across the room at the pretty brunette watching the match. “Lori’s the perfect wife for a cowboy like me.”

“You were born to be a rancher,” Rick said. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

As Gene went back to join his wife, Rick found he couldn’t take his eyes off Kim. Even the way she moved caught his attention. The woman possessed a presence; a dynamic combo of grace and confidence that kept him searching the dining room for her.

Finally he forced himself to look away. He didn’t need this now. Though he’d never been the ladies’ man his brothers thought him to be, he’d never had trouble finding company. Now that his face was marked by a scar that ran across his nose and cheek, a leftover from a deadly knife fight, things would undoubtedly be different.

As Kim worked the room, smiling but definitely staying in the background, he noted the way she’d sometimes glance in his direction. He was about to seek her out when she came over.

“You’re the guest of honor tonight, Mr. Cloud. Is there anything special I can get for you?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” he said. She had spectacular green eyes that stayed on his, never shifting for a quick look at his scar. Kim couldn’t have missed it, yet she still focused on him.

“I’m Kim, the events coordinator here at the Brickhouse.”

He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. And call me Rick.”

“Your brothers wanted to make sure every detail of your homecoming was perfect, Rick. That’s one of the reasons I stayed to handle things personally. The other, I’ve got to admit, is because I was curious to see you again. I knew who you were back in high school, but I don’t think you ever noticed me,” she said with a little smile.

“Definitely my loss.”

She smiled. “When Preston Bowman came to book the restaurant for the private event, my uncle and I knew we had to make this evening super special.”

His brother Preston, the lead detective on the Hartley, New Mexico, police department, had a way about him that intimidated most people. “Preston carries that much weight?”

“Actually he does, with me and my uncle, that is.”

Something in her tone of voice caught his attention, but before she could say anything more, they heard a loud thump in the kitchen and the rattle of a pot or pan bouncing on the floor.

Kim jumped. “I better go see what happened,” she said, excusing herself.

“Wait,” he said, reaching for her hand. Something felt off. He took a shallow breath and caught the familiar scent of rotten eggs. It seemed to be growing stronger with each passing second.

“That’s a gas leak,” he told Kim, then called out to his brothers. “Everyone outside! Quickly.”

“It’s getting stronger,” Daniel said. “Let’s go, people!” He pulled his wife, Holly, toward the front door.

Rick’s other brother, Paul Grayhorse, got there first but the door refused to budge. “It’s locked!” He turned the knob and shoved, but the door didn’t open. “No, it’s stuck or jammed.”

“Force it,” Gene shouted. “Kick it open if you have to!”

“I’ll check the back,” Rick said, turning toward the kitchen.

“I’ve got to check on my uncle!” Kim rushed past him. She started coughing as she pushed through the double doors to the kitchen. “Uncle Frank? Where are you?”

As Rick caught up to her, they found Frank Nelson lying on the floor beside a long counter, blood oozing from the back of his head.

Kim knelt beside her uncle. “He’s unconscious. We have to get him out of here,” she cried out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rick noticed movement. It was a flexible metal gas line against the wall behind the stove. Cut in two, it was fluttering slightly from the outflow of methane. Nearby lay a pair of heavy-duty, red-handled bolt cutters.

“We’ve got to get out of here before a spark sets off an explosion,” Rick yelled. “Help me pull him out the back.”

Her eyes narrowed as the foul stink of gas flooded the kitchen, but she didn’t panic. Kim took her uncle’s arm and Rick the other, and together they dragged Frank toward the rear exit.

Rick then pushed the left half of the double doors hard with his shoulder. It creaked, but only opened a few inches before it stopped with a rattle.

He looked down into the gap between the doors. “They’re chained from the outside,” he said, nearly gagging from the strong outflow of methane.

Putting his back into it, Rick pushed even harder. The doors squealed, but held tight.

“We’re trapped! Maybe the front door?” Kim looked toward the dining area.

Following her gaze, Rick could see his brothers all leaning into the door. Slowly they forced it open enough to give Erin, Kyle’s wife and the smallest of the women, room to slip through the gap.

“We can’t wait. I’ve got to break the doors down.” Rick pulled the unconscious man aside, lowered him to the floor and then took a step back. Bracing his arm against his body, he rushed the left door with a yell.

Rick’s two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle crashed against the doors. The brass handles broke with a loud snap and the doors flew open. Rick stumbled halfway across the loading dock and crashed into the guard rail before he could stop himself.

Racing back into the kitchen, he reached Frank and Kim, who was down on her knees beside her uncle. Glancing through the kitchen toward his brothers, Rick saw Daniel, the last of the party, just ducking out.

“Time to leave,” Rick yelled. He put Frank Nelson over his shoulder and strode quickly down the steps of the loading dock. “Hurry,” he added, looking back at Kim.

Kim slipped under the guard rail, jumped off the edge of the platform and met Rick at the bottom of the steps. Just then, Kyle and Preston came around the corner of the Brickhouse, running toward them.

“Get back!” Rick yelled, jogging toward the street with the injured man over his shoulder. “The place can blow any second!”

With Kim beside him, Rick angled left, heading for the corner of the next building over, a former theater turned furniture store. He wanted a solid structure between them and the upcoming blast.

As he reached the sidewalk, he saw his family, en masse, racing across the street in a loose cluster. They had no time to find cover. “On the ground!” he yelled.

Rick dropped to his knees and lowered Frank to the sidewalk. Pulling Kim down and against the wall of the building, he covered her with his body.

Suddenly the earth shook, shaking him back and forth as a massive concussive wave and flash of light swept out into the street. A blinding ball of hot air and flames followed, shooting out of the alley to his left and reaching halfway across the avenue.

The windows on the real-estate office a hundred feet away shattered, raining glass onto the sidewalk. Turning his head slightly, he could see the people he loved, facedown on the far side of the street beside the curb, arms over their heads.

A cascade of falling debris became an ear-shattering hailstorm of bricks and building materials. This went on for several seconds, then began to subside, overwhelmed by the roar and crackle of the resulting fire.

Rick rose to his feet, his mind racing. “You okay?” he asked Kim.

“My uncle... Where is his pulse?” She searched the area around his neck with a trembling hand.

“He’s breathing...he’s alive. Put pressure on the head wound and I’ll call an ambulance,” Rick said, turning his back to the wave of heat from the burning building less than twenty-five feet away.

“I called 9-1-1,” Preston said, coming up to him. He nodded at the older man on the sidewalk. “Let’s get him farther away from the fire in case there’s a secondary explosion.”

Together he and Rick carried Frank into the recessed doorway of the furniture store. “Did you get a good look around the kitchen?” Preston asked. “What happened in there?”

“It was no accident. The gas line was cut,” Rick answered. “I saw bolt cutters nearby. Somebody must have decked Frank, then cut the gas line and slipped out into the alley.”

Preston’s gaze swept over his brothers, their wives and the two waiters from the Brickhouse. They’d walked down the street several feet away from the fallen glass and stepped up onto the sidewalk as the first fire truck arrived. “Looks like we’re all okay, and that’s nothing short of a miracle,” he said.

“I’m used to being targeted,” Rick said, his voice reflecting the darkness inside him, “but the cartel I dealt with liked keeping things up close and personal. Cutting a gas line and hoping I’d be caught in an explosion just doesn’t fit their M.O. My enemies are a lot more direct and efficient.”

“Whoever it was didn’t just come after you. They came after all of us brothers, and that was a big mistake,” Daniel said, coming up beside them.

“Not necessarily,” Rick said. Years of undercover work for the FBI, fighting human trafficking, had taught him that control and clear thinking spelled the difference between life and death. Emotions only got in the way. “Others were there, too.”

“You mean they were after our wives?” Paul asked incredulously.

“More likely the restaurant staff,” Rick said. “If the doors hadn’t been blocked, another motive would have been to burn down the business so the owner could collect the insurance.”

His gaze drifted back to Kim, who was crouched by her uncle. The bleeding had slowed from what he could see.

“Kim, who’s the owner of the Brickhouse?” he asked, going over and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“My uncle Frank is half owner,” she said, never taking her eyes off her uncle. “His business partner is Arthur Johnson, but Art would never think of burning down the place or hurting anyone, especially Frank. Those two have been good friends for years, and the Brickhouse has always made money for both of them. You guys are off base on this.”

“I’d have to agree with Kim. There’s no way this place is losing money. It’s always packed,” Preston said.

“Gene’s grabbed a big wrench from the toolbox in his pickup and he’s going to shut off the gas at the meter. That’ll help the firemen,” Daniel said.

“Meanwhile,” Preston suggested, “let’s focus on what we know. Because of the timing, the firebug must have blocked the front first before entering the kitchen from the alley.”

“If it was an inside job, it wasn’t done by anyone who escaped with us,” Rick concluded.

They heard the wail of an ambulance followed by the sirens of several police cruisers racing up Main Street. “Time for me to get to work,” Preston said. “If any of you come up with a motive or a suspect, let me know. Right now, I’ve got to help secure the scene.”

The big white rescue unit came up the street from the opposite direction, just ahead of a second fire truck. Preston stepped out into the street and motioned to the approaching vehicles.

Less than a minute later the firemen were working to suppress the fire. Two EMTs, having gathered their equipment, approached Frank, then crouched next to him.

Rick stood back with Daniel. “Frank’s probably our best witness and may have some of the answers. There’s a chance he saw the arsonist before he got clocked.”

“Preston will follow up,” Daniel said, “but there’s something I need to talk to you about. Is it possible that the man responsible for the scar on your face came back to try to finish the job?”

“No, he’s dead,” Rick said, “but some of the ones he worked for in the Mexican cartel avoided arrest. They’re still at large and fighting for control of what’s left of their criminal operation. You never really defeat that kind of evil.”

“Any chance you were followed home?”

Rick expelled his breath in a slow hiss. “To the U.S., then all the way to Hartley? My gut says no. They know I can’t work undercover anymore. I’ve been marked in a way that makes it impossible for me to hide my identity. More importantly, I’m no longer a threat to them, so there’s no profit in taking me out. I doubt they’d waste their resources.”

“All right then.” Daniel glanced at the debris strewed in every direction. “Taking on one of Hosteen Silver’s boys is a bad idea, but taking all of us on is nothing short of a death wish. Whoever he is, he’s going down.”

“No doubt about it,” Rick said. He looked over to where Kim stood watching the paramedics work. “I’m going to follow her to the hospital. I’d like to talk to her uncle as soon as he’s conscious.”

“Better wait for Preston. He’s the only one of us who still carries a badge, and this is his turf, not ours,” Daniel warned. “You know how he is about going by the book.”

Rick gave his brother a mirthless smile. “Good for him. I started out that way, but undercover—”

“I know, but there are rules here,” Daniel reminded him. “You’re home now.”

Daniel was right; he had to stand back. It wasn’t his case.

Seeing Kim arguing with the paramedics, who wouldn’t let her ride in the ambulance, he jogged over. “Come on, Kim, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Thanks, my car’s at home.”

As they strode to his rental SUV, Preston intercepted them. “Gene’s going to take the women over to Level One Security, just in case it’s a family threat. The kids will be brought over by the babysitters, too. Until we get a better handle on things, Daniel’s office is like a fortress.”

“What about Kim and the other two members of the tavern staff?” Rick asked.

“The servers have been told to stick around until I have the chance to ask them a few questions. Kim, you’ll need to come back here after you check on your uncle’s status,” Preston said, looking directly at her. “Or you can meet me later tonight at the station. Your choice.”

“I’ll be sticking around at the hospital. If you need to speak to me before tomorrow, it’ll have to be there.”

“Fair enough. Under the circumstances, I don’t blame you for wanting to stay close to your family, but it might be late before I make it to the hospital,” Preston advised.

“As for you, Rick,” Preston continued, “I’d like you to stick around. In your work I’m sure you’ve grown familiar with makeshift bombs, and I’d like you to go inside the building with me to help search for evidence.”

Rick turned to Kim and held out his keys. “Take my SUV. It’s the dark blue one toward the end of the block.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know Uncle Frank keeps a spare set of car keys. They’re in a magnetic holder by the right front tire. It’s okay if I take his car, isn’t it?” she asked Preston.

“Yes. It’ll have to be moved anyway once heavy equipment is brought in to clear the rubble off the street,” Preston answered.

“Good,” Kim said. “I’ll be at the hospital, probably all night, if anyone else needs me.”

“I’ll catch up to you later,” Rick said, watching her hurry down the sidewalk to a parked car. Kim was great-looking, and had guts. He’d only just met her but he sure liked what he’d seen.

* * *

AS RICK STRODE toward what was left of the building, he saw it was now illuminated by floodlights placed strategically along the street and inside the dining room. Going into agent mode, he stilled his thoughts and allowed a familiar coldness to envelop him.

He stopped by the front door and studied it without touching anything. “What kept this from opening?” he asked Preston, who’d jogged over to meet him after speaking to the Hartley Fire Department station chief.

“A pipe was wedged into the wrought-iron security grillwork on both sides of the door, barring it from the outside. I bagged and tagged it before anyone else besides Erin touched it. It’ll need to be processed for prints.”

“The chains on the outside kitchen doors...those being processed, too?” Rick asked.

“Yes, including the lock and the metal door hardware. It’s all been tagged for the lab.”

“All right, then, let’s go into the kitchen. I only got a quick glance before we got out, so I’m still not sure what actually set off the explosion—an open flame, some kind of timer, or something else.”

Preston led the way through the front entrance where a metal door dangled by the upper hinge. Broken chairs, table lamps, dishes, utensils and other items were scattered all around them.

As they started to pick their way across the interior, a tall man carrying a camera and wearing an H.F.D. jacket stepped out of the shadows.

“Stop. The kitchen area is off-limits to everyone except fire department personnel right now.” He identified himself to Rick as the fire marshal. “There’s no surveillance footage here, so it’ll probably take me until tomorrow to compile my report on what caused the explosion. For now, you guys have to get out of here.” Without another word, he strode into the kitchen.

“That’s Arnie Medina,” Preston said. “He has jurisdiction here at the scene, so let’s leave the kitchen to him and we’ll concentrate on evidence that might help us determine who the suspect was, or how long he was inside the building. That would give us a time line when tracking people who were in the area.”

Rick glanced around at the wreckage. Over the past four years, deep undercover, he’d worked alongside people who would have slit his throat just for practice. He’d looked forward to coming home and no longer having to sleep with his weapon at arm’s reach.

Now his much needed R & R would have to wait. His family was in the line of fire. The first attempt had failed, but experience taught him that killers seldom gave up until they succeeded—or were put down.

As they entered an employee area adjacent to the kitchen, Rick noticed a canvas tote next to the wall and lifted it out from behind a fallen roof tile. He looked inside and saw several textbooks. There was also a small purse along with a set of keys. He held up the purse so his brother could see. “Still dry. Somebody got lucky.”

Preston took the wallet and located the driver’s license. “It’s Kim’s. I hope she doesn’t get stopped. I’ll make sure to take it with me when I go to the hospital later tonight.”

Rick nodded absently, then taking a closer look at the books, realized that one of the volumes was a textbook on police procedures, another on criminal law and a third one on evidence collection. “What’s this all about?” he asked, surprised.

“Kim’s working on an associate’s degree in criminology. Her dad was one of ours, and she wants to follow in his footsteps. Jimmy Nelson was a good man.”

“‘Was’?”

“He was killed in the line of duty,” Preston said, noticing a crime scene investigator waving him over. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Rick hung the bag from a wall bracket that was still intact, minus a shelf, and continued to search. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay alert this time of night. He’d spent most of the day on the road and was physically beat. He was running on pure adrenaline.

Preston motioned him outside. “I think you should consider staying with everyone else at Daniel’s tonight. I’ve got a late night ahead of me.”

“Do what you have to,” Rick said. “I was thinking of stopping by the hospital and talking to Kim.”

“No. Not until I question her.” Preston took a breath and let it out slowly. “I won’t bother telling you not to get involved in this case, Rick, because you already are, but you need to remember you’re not FBI anymore. Most important of all, you have no concealed carry permit.”

“Actually, I do. The Bureau made sure of that before I left.”

“Okay, one less problem. Where’s Kim’s purse?”

“Inside,” Rick answered, telling him the location.

“Okay,” Preston said with a nod. “Considering this might yet track back to your past, let me know if you’ll feel safer carrying a badge just in case you have to mix it up with someone. I’m pretty sure the chief would deputize you, considering you’re a highly trained former special agent with a distinguished record.”

“Good. Do that as soon as you can. It’ll be good backup.”

“Consider it done. So, will you be going to Daniel’s?” Preston asked.

He shook his head. “If someone’s after me...” He let the sentence hang.

“There’s no safer place on this earth than Daniel’s compound,” Preston told him, as if the issue was settled. He looked toward the brother in question, who was coming up the sidewalk.

For the first time since the blast, Rick smiled. Out of all his Navajo foster brothers, Daniel, the owner of a major security company, was the one he understood best. “I hear your place is as secure as Fort Knox.”

“Did you expect anything less?” Daniel said as he stopped in front of them. “Speaking of safety, Rick, you’re driving a rental SUV, but considering what happened tonight, you’d be better off with something from my company’s motor pool. Tomorrow I’ll match you up with a more suitable ride.”

Preston excused himself and went to interview the two waiting employees, while Daniel walked with Rick back to the rental.

“Death follows me,” Rick said as he climbed into the SUV. “Undercover, that’s a given, but I never expected to find it here.” His lips straightened into a thin hard line. “I guess they don’t realize it yet.”

“What?”

“Hosteen Silver’s boys are damned hard to kill.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_79917aa1-1e7d-5484-aaab-a57804d4a1d2)

After spending a restless night, Rick headed to the kitchen for coffee, desperate for a shot of caffeine.

Paul and Preston’s adopted sons, Jason and Bobby, were playing a loud video game in the next room, and as he poured himself a mug of the dark steamy brew, Daniel intercepted him.

“Come on, time to work. This way.”

Rick followed his brother into the main room, the office’s planning and computer center. A huge horizontal computer screen the size of a table rested adjacent to four large monitors on the wall.

“I have access to intelligence chatter, courtesy of my Department of Homeland Security and National Security Agency contacts. There’s been nothing at all to indicate you were specifically targeted last night. I contacted the Bureau, as well, and their sources agree with the other agencies. No flags were raised,” Daniel said.

“So they might have been hoping to kill everyone, or maybe only one or two of us, while the rest of the family became collateral damage,” Rick said. “That’s pretty cold.”

“There’s no way to be certain, but my instincts are telling me that if they wanted one of us specifically, they would have taken their shot before now,” Daniel said. “Their real target could have also been Frank, Kim, one of the two servers or the Brickhouse Tavern itself.”

“The timing was linked to my homecoming, though,” Rick said. “Besides that, was there anything special about last night?”

“Not that we know of,” Daniel said, “but if your theory is right and this has nothing to do with your undercover work, then we should be looking for an enemy you made here, maybe during one of your infrequent visits.”

“I can’t think of anyone,” Rick said, shaking his head, “but I’ll give it some thought.”

Preston came in just then. “Frank Nelson still can’t be questioned. He’s out of danger, according to the doctors, but they want to keep him sedated and are monitoring him closely for swelling of the brain. Kim gave us a preliminary statement late last night, but she was too shaken to remember anything we don’t already know.”

“It was close to home for her, but if she’s going to be a cop, she’ll have to toughen up fast,” Rick said, his voice heavy.

Preston looked at his brother. “She will, but she’s barely out of the starting gate. Her dad’s gone and right now her uncle’s her only living relative. The incident last night turned her world upside down.”

For a moment Rick found himself indulging in an emotion he seldom experienced—sympathy. He knew what it was like to suddenly find yourself all alone.

“I’d still like to talk to her. Kim may know something useful. I’m not a cop, at least not anymore, so that might set her at ease and help her remember some details,” Rick said.

Preston nodded. “Go for it.”

“Before anyone leaves, we need to decide if our families need extra protection,” Daniel said.

“I spoke to Gene this morning, and he agrees with me,” Preston said. “The best solution is to get them out of town. Fortunately, Kendra has her U.S. Marshals training, so she’ll keep them safe,” Preston added, referring to Paul’s wife. “We can also send two of your top security people along with them, Daniel, just to make sure.”

“Where are you planning to send them?” Rick asked.

“To Gene’s ranch,” Preston replied. “You’ve never been there, Rick, but it’s in Colorado, a few hours from here, out in open country where intruders are easily spotted.”

“Since the trouble his wife, Lori, had a few years back, Gene’s place now has surveillance cameras that feed to our computers here,” Daniel explained. “With some handpicked men, and Gene and Kendra on the job, they’ll be safe.”

“Good plan,” Rick said.

Paul came in just then. He still favored his shoulder when he moved, the result of the gunshot that had forced him to retire from the U.S. Marshals Service. “I’ll be monitoring things from here.”

“I’ll handle the details,” Daniel said, then looked at Rick. “You’re going to need one of our special SUVs. Just leave the rental here and one of my men will take care of it. I’ve got a black one outside that’ll be perfect for you. It’s got extra Kevlar armor, a GPS tracker and run-flat tires.”

“Good. I’d like to get going,” Rick admitted.

“They wouldn’t let Kim in to be with her uncle after I spoke with her last night, so she went home,” Preston said. “If Kim isn’t at the hospital this morning, you’ll find her at Silver Heritage Jewelry and Gifts. The shop is owned by a member of our tribe, a Navajo woman, Angelina Curley.”

“So Kim has two jobs, one at the Brickhouse and one at a jewelry store?” he asked.

“She’s paying her way through college with gigs that let her keep flexible hours,” Preston answered.

“I know she thinks highly of you. What’s the story there?” Rick asked Preston.

“I put the man who shot her dad behind bars. Her uncle Frank really stepped up for her after that, but the P.D. kept an eye on her, as well. We wanted Kim to know that officers take care of our own, and if she needed anything, she had help. After she enlisted in the army out of high school, we kept in touch. She was deployed for a few years and then came home determined to follow in her dad’s footsteps.”

“So I should treat her with kid gloves, is that it?” Rick asked. It was a fair question, and there was no rancor in his voice.

“No, not at all. Just be aware that she’s got a lot of officers watching out for her.”

Daniel tossed Rick a set of keys. “Check in when you can. As soon as I get the family squared away, I’m going to dig into the backgrounds of each of the players, including Kim and her uncle. I have the contacts and clearance to get into databases the PD can’t access without a truckload of paperwork.”

Rick walked out and found the black SUV. It had a lot of extras and must have cost his brother’s company a lot of money, but he was glad to have it. Something was telling him the case would be getting even messier soon.

As he drove down Hartley’s Main Street, one thought continued to nag at him. He had to know if he’d somehow been responsible—if his arrival in Hartley had set off the attack. Maybe his instincts were still on overdrive, but he’d learned not to ignore them. They’d kept him alive.

* * *

KIM WAS CLEANING the glass-topped display case when she heard the bell over the door jingle. Glancing up, she saw Rick stride in and nod to Fred, the security guard, who was standing nearby.

She smiled. Rick had that elusive “it” quality that commanded attention without even trying. He’d been her secret crush back in high school. Rick had been the larger-than-life high school quarterback, and she’d been the nerdy freshman buried in homework. Back then, between her thick glasses and her braces, she’d barely got a glance from the popular guys. Of course, it also could have been because her father was a cop.

The boy she’d watched from a distance was gone now, and in his place stood a sexy, earthy, dangerous-looking man. The scar made him look tough, seasoned by a hard life and infinitely masculine.

As he walked around the counter in her direction, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He moved without wasted motion, sure of himself, aware of his surroundings.

When he saw her he smiled and for a moment his face gentled, but the emotion was gone in a flash.

“Good morning, Rick. What can I do for you?” she asked, going up to him.

“I know the police have already interviewed you, Kim, but I’d like to discuss last night again. When do you take your next break?” he asked in a voice so low only she could hear.

She glanced at the clock. Angelina wasn’t in yet, so it wouldn’t hurt to take her fifteen minutes a little early, particularly since they had no customers at the moment.

“Now would be fine.”

She went to the coffeepot in the corner and offered him a cup. When he shook his head, she poured herself one. “I’ve been thinking of nothing else but the explosion. I barely slept last night, but I still haven’t been able to remember anything that might help the police.”

“Then shift your focus. Don’t think about the explosion. Concentrate on what happened earlier that evening.”

“Okay.” As she looked into his eyes she saw something there that made her hold her breath. The angry scar across his face spoke of life-and-death struggles, but his steady gaze shone with strength, courage and determination.

“Your brother Preston asked the hospital staff for permission to speak to Uncle Frank last night, but the doctors refused. They had to sedate him. He was so scared, waking up in the emergency room.”

“Did you get to talk to him at all?”

“For a bit. Uncle Frank told me he caught a glimpse of a big man wearing overalls, a blue ball cap and mirrored sunglasses right before he was hit on the back of the head. I should have asked him more, but all I could think of was how lucky we were. We’d all nearly died.” She stopped and looked up at him. “Does that make me sound like a coward?”

“It makes you sound human. When it counted, you stepped up. Your first thought was to find your uncle, then you did everything you could to get him out of danger. You worked to save a life, and did a lot more than was expected of you. In my book, that’s the definition of a hero.”

She shook her head and gave him a quick half smile. “Thanks, but no. There were no heroes there. We were all just people doing what we had to do.”

“It was a crazy time,” he said quietly.

“The person who did this took a huge risk. If my uncle hadn’t had the Cowboys game going full blast, he probably would have heard the guy sneak up behind him.”

Hearing the jingle at the front door, they both glanced in that direction and saw the security guard hold the door open for Angelina. “That’s my boss,” she said quietly. “She’s got a bad temper, so I better get back to work. We can meet later for lunch at the Desert Rose Café and talk some more if you want.”

Rick looked at Angelina and suddenly remembered meeting her before. Smiling, he went up to her. “Angelina Tso! I’m not sure if you remember me,” he said. “You got stuck in Copper Canyon after a hard rain several years ago after working with my father, and I towed you out to the highway.”

“I’m Angelina Curley now,” she said curtly.

“Weren’t you studying with Hosteen Silver to become a medicine woman?” Rick asked, using the Navajo equivalent of Mister that most of their tribe preferred. “Did you find another mentor after my foster father’s death?”

Her expression darkened, and Kim, who’d been watching the exchange, recognized the signs instantly.

“Kim, I’m paying you to work, so find something to do!” Angelina snapped. “And you,” she added, looking at Rick. “I’m warning you right now to stay out of my store. Neither you nor your family is welcome here. Hosteen Silver cheated me. He took my money and then wouldn’t let me come back for more instruction. He robbed me of my chance to become a Navajo healer, then tried to ruin my reputation.”

“There’s got to be more to the story. Integrity was more than a word to Hosteen Silver,” he said, biting back his anger. “Why don’t we talk about this in private?”

“I’m not saying another word to you. Fred, show Mr. Cloud out,” Angelina said, looking at the security guard.

“I know my foster father, and what you’re telling me isn’t something he’d do. Let’s talk and figure things out,” Rick insisted, taking a step closer to her and gesturing to the empty office behind them. “We can talk in private in there.”

“Keep your hands off me,” Angelina shouted at him.

“He didn’t—” Kim started, but in an instant everything went crazy.

As Fred rushed forward, squaring off in front of Rick, fists clenched, Kim squeezed in between them, facing the security guard.

“Fred, he didn’t touch her. Just calm down,” Kim urged, anxious to avoid a stupid confrontation.

“Do something, you fool,” Angelina yelled at Fred.

“Out of my way, Kim,” the security guard ordered.

“No. Just chill out, Fred, okay?”

“Throw him out, damn you!” Angelina screamed.

The guard grabbed Kim by the shoulders and pushed her aside. Kim stumbled and slammed her ribs against the edge of the counter. Groaning, she reached out with both hands and, getting a grip on the display case, managed not to fall.

Rick instantly grabbed the man by the belt and collar and hurled him facedown across the tiled floor.

Fred careened into a freestanding metal display filled with souvenirs and cheap Mexican pottery. The display rocked, sending a cascade of key chains, postcards and clay pots tumbling to the floor.

Angelina reached for the low shelf behind the front counter, brought out a revolver and pointed it directly at Rick. She was breathing hard, shaking and clearly out of control.

“No!” Kim lunged toward her boss, but Rick beat her to it.

In a blur he yanked the weapon from Angelina’s hand and looked over at the guard, who’d grabbed the display and managed to keep it from tipping over.

“Everyone, calm down!” he ordered, opening the cylinder and dumping the bullets onto the floor before placing the revolver on the counter.

Kim froze in place. Even without a weapon, he still commanded the room. “I’m leaving now,” he said, holding out his hand, palm up, as a signal for Fred to stay put. “See you at lunch, Miss Nelson?” he asked softly. Assessing the situation with a steely gaze, he never turned his back until he was out of the shop.

As the door swung shut, Angelina, still shaking, turned to Fred, who was down on one knee picking up the scattered merchandise. “You’re my brother’s son so I gave you a chance, but you stink as a security guard. Turn in your gear and get out. You’re fired.” Then she turned to Kim. “And you—”

“Angelina, I didn’t do anything wrong this morning, and you know it.” She wasn’t going to take any abuse from the woman, but she couldn’t afford to lose her job. If she could only manage to calm her down....

“He came to see you.”

“All he wanted to do was follow up on last night,” Kim said, struggling to keep her voice low and controlled. “That explosion at the Brickhouse could have killed fifteen people. Most of us got lucky, but my uncle is in the hospital with a fractured skull. You must have seen the burned-out building and street barricades. We were lucky to get out alive.”

“You were hosting a dinner for the sons of Hosteen Silver. What did you expect? That bunch brings nothing but bad luck. Look what just happened here,” Angelina said, then shook her head. “Forget it. Get out. You’re fired.”

“I doubt Mr. Cloud will ever be coming back, so why let me go?” she insisted. If she ended up jobless, how would she be able to stay in school?

“I’m not interested in an employee who’s friends with my enemies. I know you’re having lunch with him,” she snapped. “I’ll mail your last paycheck. Now get out.”

Kim picked up her purse, jacket and lunch bag and walked out while Angelina searched for the bullets still scattered on the floor.

* * *

“I’M GLAD YOU called to tell me what happened, Rick,” Preston said, looking around the interior of the Desert Rose Café, studying the smattering of diners there.

“I had to. That woman lost it completely. When she screamed at me to take my hands off her, her guard moved in, but I never touched Angelina Curley. Kim can verify what happened,” Rick said, reaching for his spicy breakfast burrito.

“Angelina’s well known around town and has friends in high places despite her erratic behavior. Stay away from her. It’s unlikely that she’s involved in what happened at the Brickhouse, so tread carefully. You don’t want to turn her into an enemy.”

“We already are enemies.” His gaze snapped to the shop across the street as an old saying played in his mind. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” One way or another, he was going to find out what had happened between Angelina and Hosteen Silver.


Chapter Three (#ulink_93f3aec5-8f50-5788-b1df-c6eeddc305c7)

Though it was only ten-thirty and way too early for lunch, with nowhere else to go at the moment, Kim decided to stop by the Desert Rose Café for a cup of tea. As she walked in, she was surprised to see Preston and Rick sitting at a table near the window.

Kim approached them slowly, wondering if she was making a mistake. Maybe Rick was bad luck. Look at everything that had happened so far, and he’d only been in town since yesterday afternoon.

She discarded the thought immediately. There was no such thing as luck. She remembered the quote by Louis Pasteur her father had hung in his office at home. “Chance favors the prepared mind.” People made their own luck.

Rick and Preston stood as she came over, and Rick gestured to the chair beside him. “What brings you by so early, Kim? If you’re hungry, I can recommend the breakfast burrito. It’s terrific. The coffee...not so much.”

She smiled. “I know. I usually order tea.”

The waitress came over and smiled. “Hey, Kim. What’ll you have?”

“How about a job, Sally? Only kidding. I just got fired,” she said, “so a cup of honey tea will do.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” the young waitress answered.

“So am I,” Rick added. “Order what you want and consider it part of my apology. I owe you that, at least.”

Kim shook her head. “Tea will be enough.” As the waitress left, she touched Rick’s arm briefly. “I appreciate the offer, but all you really did was speed up the inevitable. I’ve never liked the way Angelina treated her employees and, frankly, I only stuck around because the work fit my schedule.”

Preston spoke up. “If you need some financial help—”

She shook her head and held up a hand, interrupting him. “I’ve got skills and experience working retail, so I’ll find a new job soon. However, if you hear of a part-time position with flexible hours, let me know.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Preston said, removing a few dollars from his wallet and placing them on the table. “Kim, keep thinking hard about last night. Sometimes the answers don’t come all at once.”

“I will.”

As the waitress brought over her cup of tea, Kim eyed the piece of Rick’s burrito that remained but said nothing. Pride always stopped her from asking for favors or help.

“We changed our minds. How about a breakfast burrito for the lady, too,” he said.

“Be back in a jiff,” the waitress said.

Kim smiled at Rick. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks. The aromas in here always make me hungry.”

“No problem. Now I feel a little less guilty.”

A lengthy silence ensued until Sally returned with her food and, wanting to know more about Rick, Kim decided to start the conversation. “So tell me, Rick. Are you really home for good?” she asked, taking a bite of burrito.

“Yes.”

“Are you glad to be back among family or do you miss your old job?”

“Both.”

He obviously wasn’t much for small talk. She took several more bites, enjoying the flavorful explosion of green chili. Remembering how procedural books said that people often opened up just to fill the lapse in conversation, she let the silence stretch.

It didn’t work. Rick had probably read the same book years ago.

“I appreciate that you bought me something to eat and are letting me enjoy the burrito in peace, but I get the feeling there’s something on your mind,” she said, taking the last bite. “So how can I help you?”

“I know Angelina Curley had dealings with my foster father, then one day she stopped coming around,” he said. “I don’t believe her accusations at all. Any idea what really happened between them?”

“I’ve heard pieces of the story here and there, but because they originated from Angelina I’m not sure how accurate they are,” she warned.

“Go on.”

“Hosteen Silver accepted cash and jewelry in payment for her instruction and apprenticeship, but then, according to Angelina, he made sexual advances. When she rejected him, he got angry and refused to continue her training.”

“My foster father would never have done anything like that. The woman’s lying.”

“Uncle Frank knew your foster father. I met him once at the Brickhouse, too. He didn’t strike me as that type of person, either,” she admitted. “But in my experience, Angelina isn’t above lying if it suits her. I’ve seen how she twists things around when she’s dealing with customers and vendors. She keeps things legal, but she’s completely unethical,” Kim said. “Maybe she was the one who made a pass and got shot down. She doesn’t take rejection well, I can tell you that. Or maybe she just didn’t have what it takes to be a medicine woman and needed someone to blame. Considering Angelina doesn’t remember details, I’m surprised she’s as successful in business as she is. She’ll often ask us the same question two or three times.”

“That might explain her failure as my father’s apprentice. The Sings have to be memorized perfectly and some last for days,” Rick answered. “One mistake and the gods won’t answer, or they might make things worse for a person out of anger. Getting it right shows respect.”

“It took days for her to remember the combination of the new safe.” She paused for a moment. “Angelina’s not stupid, far from it, but she’s easily distracted.”

“My foster father could be very exacting. If Angelina wasn’t measuring up, he would have told her that in no uncertain terms.”

“Angelina would have blamed him, not herself,” she answered.

“I was surprised to see her pull a gun this morning. Was that all a bluff, or is she capable of violence?” he asked.

“I don’t think she would have fired at you. She’s a bully and wanted you afraid. If you’d started pleading with her to set it down, that would have made her feel in control, and you would have made her day.”

“I get it.”

“For what it’s worth, that’s my amateur attempt at profiling. Although I’ve worked at Silver Heritage for the past ten months, she and I aren’t friends, or even friendly. I don’t even recall having a conversation with her that wasn’t business-related.”

“Fair enough,” Rick said.

Kim watched him for a moment. He knew a lot about her, but she’d yet to learn much about him. Mystery clung to Rick like dust from a hot summer’s whirlwind.

“I think my brother said something about Angelina owning another business as well as Silver Heritage,” he said.

“That’s true. She has a high-end Southwest design jewelry business across from the regional hospital. If you want, we can go over there after I finish class. The manager’s a friend of mine. Although Angelina goes over there every day just after lunch, she usually comes back to the downtown shop after an hour or so. If you let me come along, I can watch out for her.”

She checked her watch. “Right now I’ve got to walk over to campus. I’ve got class at noon.”

“Mind if I tag along? It’s a nice day to be outside.”

“Glad for the company.”

After they left the café, he fell into step beside her. It was a beautiful October day and the air was brisk but not cold. “So tell me, what makes you so determined to become a cop?”

“I want a career doing work that matters.”

He nodded. “And you think you can make a difference as a cop.”

It hadn’t been a question, but she answered him anyway. “Good people are needed to keep the bad ones in check.”

He smiled. “That’s what Hosteen Silver used to say. It’s part of the Navajo belief that says balance is necessary for happiness.”

Rick’s entire face softened when he smiled. The edginess that was so much a part of him disappeared and gave place to calmness. It even made his scar look less daunting. “You should smile more often, Rick.”

He grew serious again. “I don’t usually have many reasons to do that.”

“Then find them,” she answered with a smile of her own.

Seeing a homeless man she recognized sitting on the sidewalk against the wall of a laundry, soaking up the sunshine, she quickened her pace. “That’s Mike. I brought him leftover food every night at the end of my shift at the Brickhouse. He’s going to have to find other help now.”

As they neared, the man looked over then jumped to his feet. “Mike, don’t go. I need to talk to you,” she called out.

The homeless man stood around six feet tall, with a red beard and brown hair. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, jeans, lace-up boots and was carrying a backpack.

Mike glanced at her, then Rick. A second later he stepped off the sidewalk into the alley and disappeared.

As they reached the alley, they saw his back just for an instant before he slipped around the far corner of the building.

“Rats!” she grumbled. “The weather’s going to be turning cold pretty soon. Mike’s going to need food and shelter. We have a food pantry over on 4th Street that feeds the homeless, but they already have to turn people away. One of the churches plans to take up the slack, though, and I wanted to make sure he knew.”

“Mike is behind the Brickhouse every night?” Rick asked quickly.

“Yeah. He always sits on the steps of the furniture store’s loading dock, waiting for me to come out into the alley.”

“If he was there last night, he may have seen something important,” Rick said. “Maybe even the guy who clobbered Frank and sabotaged the gas line. We have to find him again.”

“That’s going to be tough. You saw how he can disappear in a flash,” she said. “I know I mentioned talking to him, but except for a few rare times, it was mostly a one-way conversation. My guess is that even if he saw something, he won’t talk about it.”

“He may be emotionally disturbed. Whatever the situation, I want to talk to him,” Rick said. “Even if all he does is nod or shake his head, it might be enough to give us a lead.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER they arrived at the small community college campus and walked up the wide sidewalk toward a large, white, concrete-and-stone building. “This is my stop.” Kim met his gaze. “If you find Mike, be kind but careful around him. Some things can’t be forced. He’s been living on the street for years now, and he’s wary of everyone.”

“It never hurts to try. Did you ever learn his last name?”

“I don’t even know what his real first name is. I’ve always admired the football player Michael Oher, particularly after seeing The Blind Side, so I asked him if I could call him Mike. He nodded.”

“All right. Let’s see what I can do.”

She checked her watch. “I’ve got to go. Class lasts an hour. Should we meet afterward and go to Turquoise Dreams, Angelina’s other shop?”

“Okay, sounds good.”

“See you later, then,” she said.

* * *

AFTER LEAVING CAMPUS, Rick headed back to the center of town, deliberately choosing the side streets and alleys along Main, watching carefully as he approached restaurants and fast-food establishments. Mike undoubtedly already knew about the explosion at the Brickhouse Tavern and would be searching for a new place to score a meal.

At first Rick had no luck, but eventually he spotted Mike standing on a wooden pallet as he searched through the big green trash bin behind Hamburger Haven.

Instead of approaching him, Rick circled the block and came up the alley, looking down at the pavement and never making eye contact. About twenty feet away, he sat on a flattened cardboard box, his back to the wall. He was wearing a turtlenecked sweater and jeans, not his usual jacket, which often served to hide a handgun at his waist. Instead he had it in his boot for emergencies, but he knew what he was dealing with here and doubted there’d be a problem. Unless cornered, with no escape possible, Mike was unlikely to turn violent. He’d run. Though Rick pretended to be looking toward the street, he could see Mike in his peripheral vision. He knew that Mike, aware of him from the moment he’d entered the alley, had been watching him.

As Mike stepped down off the pallet, Rick saw the tattoo on the man’s left forearm. It was the outline of a horse head with a diagonal line beneath it—the insignia of the Army’s First Cavalry division.

“Ooorah, soldier,” Rick said in a barely audible voice.

Mike looked at him, his gaze focusing on Rick’s scar.

“Some scars are easier to see than others,” Rick said, still avoiding direct eye contact. “You like cheeseburgers? I’m hungry. I’m going to get myself one. I’ll pick one up for you, too, if you want.”

Rick glanced at Mike and noted the vacant expression on his face. For a moment he wondered if the man was beyond the ability to answer questions.

Then it happened. A spark of intelligence lit up Mike’s face for an instant. Rick realized that what he’d seen before was the thousand-yard stare: the blank look of someone who’d seen too much suffering and death.

“Cheeseburger. And fries,” Mike said.

“Coming right up.”

Rick went inside the small fast-food place, eager to return but afraid to look as though he was in a hurry. He’d just found his first asset and, with luck, he’d also be able to help the man.

One thing he knew about was adversity. It either broke or remade you, but sometimes finding your strength again required retreating to a place so deep inside yourself, the world couldn’t reach you. He understood that. He’d done it himself.

When Rick returned to the alley, Mike was gone, but Rick could sense he was being watched. Mike was nearby, probably trying to make up his mind about him. Rick placed the sandwich bag filled with food on a cardboard box next to the wall where he’d been sitting. Mike would find it there.

“I’m after the man who nearly killed Kim, her uncle and my family,” Rick called out as clearly as possible without shouting. “You see things most of us miss, Mike. Whatever you tell me will stay between us, but I could really use your help. Whoever it is may not be through yet.”

Rick left the alley and crossed the street. As an undercover operative he’d lived engulfed by a darkness most sane people would do anything to avoid. Yet it was there, in that world of senseless violence, that the true measure of a man was often found...and sometimes lost.


Chapter Four (#ulink_f1b0e92d-8d15-51ff-b3c4-e766ad35c115)

Rick picked up a soft drink inside the fast food place, then walked back to where he’d left Daniel’s loaner SUV. He’d drive rather than walk back to campus. With time to spare, he took the long way, reacquainting himself with Hartley. Eventually he pulled into campus.

When he’d taken classes here right out of high school, the community college had been nothing more than a multi-classroom structure and administration building. Now the campus comprised about three acres, with a grassy commons area and central fountain.

Rick took the road leading to the visitors’ parking area and pulled into the first slot he found. After a short walk, he found Kim standing just down the hall talking to a man who looked vaguely familiar. It hit him a moment later when the guy turned and Rick saw his face clearly for the first time.

“Karl Edmonds. It’s been a lifetime,” Rick said.

“You know my professor?” Kim asked.

“Professor? That’s one career I never would have expected you to choose,” Rick said, looking at Karl.

“I’m technically an instructor, Cloud. I teach part-time, and work full-time for the Hartley P.D. I run the bomb squad,” he said.

“Now that fits the kid I knew,” Rick said.

Karl looked at the scar that ran across Rick’s face, then glanced away quickly. “Looks like you came in second in a knife fight, dude. Hope you’ve brushed up on your hand-to-hand since then.”

Rick remembered why Karl had always annoyed him. They’d always been competitors, never really friends. Karl’s biggest problem, which had obviously followed him into manhood, was that he never knew when to shut up.

“We’d better get going. Kim and I need to meet with Preston,” Rick said.

“It was good seeing you, buddy,” Karl said.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Rick held Karl’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Instinct was telling him to be careful around the man. Was it that old competition between them or something more? He couldn’t tell, but until he figured it out, he wouldn’t lower his guard.

* * *

KIM FOLLOWED HIM to his SUV. “You and Karl... You weren’t ever really friends, were you?”

“No, but we attended school together and played on the same football team. We were friendly—at times.”

“I can’t believe how rude he was to you,” Kim said. “Do you really need to meet your brother or was that an excuse to walk away?”

“Both. It’s a bad idea to make enemies with someone Preston may have to depend on someday,” he said. “Right now, I’d also like to get clearance to take a look around the Brickhouse again in daylight,” he said. “Afterward we’ll head to Turquoise Dreams. Angelina certainly got my attention today.”

“Are you sure your brother’s going to be okay with you investigating on your own?”

“Under ordinary circumstances, no, but the Hartley P.D. is badly understaffed. I can be an asset to them because I’ve got the best law-enforcement training in the world.”

“Will I need clearance, too?”

“Yes. I need you there because you’re familiar with the place and can help me reconstruct the scene. If something’s off or doesn’t belong there, it might stick out to you but slip right past me.”

* * *

AS THEY RODE to the station, she remained quiet. Although she never looked directly at him, Kim was aware of the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how he seemed to completely focus on whatever he was doing at the time. She wondered what he would be like in bed—all that intensity, all that drive.... Everything about him spoke of endurance and masculinity.

She shifted in her seat. This was not the time for thoughts such as these. Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub the bottom tip of the scar near his cheek.

“Does it ever ache?”

“What?” he asked, focusing on her.

“The scar.”

“Not generally. The skin around it feels tight sometimes, but that’s about it.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “When we first met, you never looked directly at it. Most people stare when they see me for the first time, then try to pretend they weren’t.”

“Your eyes drew me more,” she said.

“My...what?”

“You have a way of looking through people, not at them.”

“I observe. It’s how I stay alive.”

“Is the scar one of the reasons you left the Bureau?”

“Yeah, it ruined me for undercover work. I became too easily identifiable.”

“You could have still been involved in routine investigative work,” she said. “Why leave?”

“I preferred undercover assignments.” He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. I knew it was time for me to come home and try to reconnect.”

“With your brothers?”

“With myself.”

* * *

THEY ARRIVED AT the police station a short while later and Rick led her down the hall to his brother’s office. Preston waved them inside.

“Anything new?” Rick asked.

“No, but it’s too soon. The lab’s backlogged.”

“I’d like clearance to search the crime scene,” Rick said. “I know the arson investigator and your crime scene team has already been through there, but maybe Kim and I will see something that’ll trigger a memory. It can’t hurt.”

“You’re right. In fact, I’ve already asked my captain about getting you officially involved. He’s agreed.”

Preston reached into the drawer and brought out a shield. “I’m deputizing you. Raise your right hand.” Preston swore him in with a short phrase.

“At the end of this case, if you want to join the force officially, your application will go to the top of the pile.”

“Thanks.”

Preston looked over at Kim. “Stay with Rick and follow his orders to the letter. You are not a police officer, you’re just an observer.”

“Understood,” she said.

“All right.” Preston looked at his brother. “Remember to wear gloves,” he added, handing him and Kim a pair each.

After they left the station, Rick asked, “What were the names of the servers last night?”

“Bobby Crawford and Kate Masters.”

“How do we find them?”

“Kate’s probably in class right now. She carries a heavier load than I do and is just a few credit hours away from her business degree. She probably won’t be much help. Kate’s a hard worker, but her mind’s always on some test or paper. She rarely even goes into the kitchen.”

“What about Crawford?”

“Bobby comes in on time and does his job, but never has much to say. We don’t talk about anything other than job-related things.”

As they neared what remained of the Brickhouse, Rick slowed down to study the heavily damaged structure before parking across the street.

“Look down the alley. The back wall was pretty much blown out last night, but it looks even worse this morning. More bricks and roof beams must have come down since then. The loading dock and half the alley are blocked.”

“At least all that flying debris didn’t penetrate the side wall of the furniture store. These old downtown buildings were built to last,” Kim noted.

“Well, whoever cut the gas line and blocked the door counted on the initial blast and resulting fire to do their work,” he said. “If we hadn’t escaped and lived to tell the real story, it might have been written off as an accident caused by faulty connections.”

Kim peered ahead at a young man ducking beneath the tape and walking into the alley. “I think that’s Bobby Crawford. See him over there? He’s wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt and ball cap,” she said, pointing.

Rick caught a glimpse of the man just as he climbed over a pile of rubble and headed toward the loading dock. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”

By the time they’d crossed the street and reached the crime scene barrier, Bobby was nowhere in sight. Rick slipped beneath the crime scene tape and climbed up the rubble-filled stairs of the loading dock to look inside.

“Stay here,” Rick said, then slipped though the gaping hole where the blown-out kitchen doors had once stood.

Rick moved slowly and carefully, picking his way through the mess. Only a few wall studs and pieces of wallboard remained between the kitchen and the dining room. The left wall of the kitchen facing the street had also lost most of its roof structure. From where he stood, Rick could see blue sky and part of the parapet. As he turned to look back out into the alley, Rick noticed that the remaining outside brick wall on both sides of the gap was bowed, ready to crumble.

At the far end of the dining area was a set of brick-littered stairs leading down into the basement. Except for a few inches of water, it was probably the least damaged room in the tavern.

He stood still for a moment, listening. Someone was going through the rubble in the north end of the dining area, the side farthest from the street and hidden by the remaining walls. He turned toward the sound. Despite his size, Rick could move silently when he hunted man or beast. He had a tattoo over his heart with the word chaha’oh. It meant shadow.

“Federal agent. Don’t move.” As he stepped through what remained of the doorway, he realized he’d spoken out of habit. He was now working with the Hartley Police. “Turn around slowly.”

“Just don’t shoot, okay? I work here,” he said. “Remember me from last night? I’m Bobby. Bobby Crawford.”

Hearing footsteps behind him, Rick turned his head for a second and saw Kim. She’d come in the same way he had, through the door cavity, and was wearing a white hard hat and holding another.

“Dude, just chill, okay?” Bobby said, his hands up. “In the rush to get out last night, I lost something important. I was hoping to find it before they brought in the bulldozers. It was a gift from my mom.”

Rick sized Bobby up in a glance. He was around eighteen or nineteen, stood five foot six and had dark hair and brown eyes.

“Did you mention this to the police when they took your statement?”

“No, I didn’t realize it was gone until this morning. It’s a gold crucifix I wear around my neck on a chain.”

“You shouldn’t be here. That’s why the yellow tape’s there,” Rick snapped. “It’s not safe for the public to be rummaging around, moving things around.”

“Dude, are you listening? It’s not evidence. It’s a family heirloom.”

“Forensic experts and the fire marshal will continue to sort through the debris and recover items. If your crucifix is found, you’ll get it back,” Rick told him. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

When Bobby handed it over, Rick took a quick look, then returned it. “All right. Get going. If anything belonging to you turns up, I know how to find you.”

Bobby backed out through the kitchen and quickly disappeared down the steps.

“I ran into the fire marshal out on the sidewalk,” Kim said, and handed Rick the hard hat. “Preston had called to tell him we’d be here, so Medina came over to make sure we followed safety protocols. He said no one’s allowed inside the Brickhouse without hard hats and he intends to stand by until we’re ready to leave.”

Rick gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Medina give you hard time?”

“No, not really,” she replied softly, gesturing to the street to indicate the man was close by. “He told me not to lean on anything or to move any structural elements. Then he gave me these and insisted we wear them.”

“All right,” he said, putting the hard hat on. “Let’s take a look around, then we’ll go into the kitchen, where all this started.”

She stood in one spot and turned around in a circle, slowly surveying the wreckage. “I can’t believe what this place has become. You could always hear laughter here.”

“Everyone’s okay and we have another chance at life. That’s a reason for laughter. You ready to go into the kitchen?”

She nodded. They picked their way back, stepping over and around the remnants of the shattered interior.

They were barely in the kitchen when Arnie Medina poked his head in through the front door and yelled. “This place is coming down! Get out. Now!”

Rick grabbed Kim’s hand and moved toward the gap in the wall facing the alley. Before they could reach the opening, a cloud of dust descended and bricks began to tumble from overhead, raining down on their escape route.

Rick turned back toward the dining area when a roof beam sagged, then cracked as the ceiling gave way.


Chapter Five (#ulink_472ea506-6e35-53eb-8735-01fac6b97116)

Rick spun Kim around and pushed her toward the basement stairs. “Down! Jump!”

Because the wooden steps were littered with chunks of bricks and debris, Rick and Kim ended up sliding into the basement, flat on their backs. As dust and ash billowed down the steps with them, Rick rolled on top of Kim, his body protecting her from the building materials that bounced down the steps. One brick struck his hard hat like a stone fist.

Within seconds the earthshaking cascade was replaced by a loud rattle, then a dozen or more solid thumps from somewhere above. When it was quiet again, Rick rose and looked down at Kim, who still had her eyes tightly shut. It was a good thing, considering her face was covered with dust.

“Keep your eyes shut and I’ll blow away some of the dust.”

He tried, but they both started coughing. He helped her sit up.

For a moment she kept her head down. Finally she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “We’re alive, I take it?”

Rick smiled. “Pretty much. You okay?”

“I feel like I just went down a rock slide, but all I’ve got are bumps and bruises, I guess,” she said, looking down at herself.

Shaken, she turned to look at the stairs. They were piled high with bricks and rubble, but light was coming in as the dust began to disperse.

“At least we’re not totally trapped,” Rick commented. “But we’re going to need help digging out of here.”

“Can you hear me?” came a man’s voice from up above.

“I hear you, Medina, and we’re both fine. There’s a lot of debris in the way, but once we clear a path we’ll have enough room to crawl out,” Rick called back.

“No! Don’t start moving things around. Something else could come down. Wait until my people have a chance to check the situation up here. Stay away from the stairs, hang tight and we’ll get you out.”

* * *

TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES later Rick and Kim were standing in the alley at the rear of the Brickhouse. The firemen had braced the remaining walls as well as the sagging roof beams, then cleared a path for them.

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate closed-in spaces? I felt like I was smothering down there,” she said, coughing.

“That was poor air quality, not claustrophobia,” he said, clearing his throat. “At least you did all the right things, including the most important of all—keeping your head.”

Arnie Medina came to meet them. “Speaking of keeping your heads, good thing I handed you the hard hats, huh?”

“Yeah, but I still don’t get it. I made sure we stayed in sections that looked stable,” Rick said.

“You had someone working against you. A guy with mirrored sunglasses, dressed in sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, gave it a push with a two-by-six. He stopped the second I saw him and yelled, but I have no idea how long he was out there.”

“Wait. Sweatpants or jeans?” Rick asked, instantly thinking of Bobby.

“No way,” Kim said, reading Rick’s thoughts.

“You know who it was?” Medina asked.

“Maybe,” Rick answered. “What color hair? Height? Give me anything you’ve got.”

The fire marshal shook his head. “He was wearing a hoodie, and his face was turned away from me when I saw him leaning into the wall. I went to confront him, but he dropped the board and took off like a jackrabbit. Practically knocked a homeless man to the ground, too.”

“The homeless man—six feet tall, red beard and brown hair?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, that fits. He was over by the furniture store’s loading dock for a moment and then he disappeared down the far end of the alley,” Medina said.

“Thanks for everything,” Rick answered.

“You’re through here, I assume?” Medina asked.

“For now,” Rick said, then added, “Would you and your men keep an eye out for a gold crucifix on a chain? The male server who worked here last night—Crawford—was hanging around when we first arrived. He claimed he lost it last night and came back to look around.”

“We can do that.”

Rick hurried with Kim back to his SUV. “I’m going to drive around to see if I can spot Mike.”

“I’ll help you look.”

After twenty minutes of Rick circling downtown and driving down alleys, he glanced over at her, shaking his head. “It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.”

“Mike’s like that,” she said. “I’ve tried to help him, get him connected with people who’ll give him food and shelter, but he didn’t want any part of it. He sets his own rules and comes and goes as he pleases.”

“There’s something to be said for that, I suppose.”

“There’s one thing I’m sure about. If he knew someone was out to hurt me, Mike would find a way to let me know. He’s not a bad guy. He’s hiding—from the world, from himself, I just don’t know—but there’s a lot of good inside him.”

“And you know this how?” Maybe Kim was still an innocent, a woman determined to see the best in everyone.

“I’m not just another idealistic do-gooder, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said. “One time after I handed him a sack of food, I reached into my purse and my wallet fell out. It was late, I was in a rush and I didn’t discover it missing until I was finally home.”

“Did you have cash in it?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. My salary, my tips and my one credit card. I canceled the card, but my driver’s license was also gone. Replacing it and buying groceries for the week was going to be difficult without any cash.”

“Couldn’t you have asked your uncle for help?” he asked. “Or at least for an advance on your salary?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have done that until I’d exhausted every other option.”

He bit back a grin. He was the same way.

“The next afternoon when I went back to the Brickhouse to start my shift, Mike met me by the back door and handed me my wallet. He’d kept it safe for me. I tried to give him some money as a reward, but he wouldn’t take it. He just asked that I bring him a sopaipilla with green chili for dinner—but only if I wouldn’t get into trouble. That’s the only time he ever spoke to me in full sentences.”

Rick smiled, glad to see she’d made a logical decision, not one based on pity, an emotion that often conspired against a man, destroying him from the inside out.

To this day, he still remembered the pity he’d seen in almost everyone’s eyes after his mother had abandoned him at six years old at the trading post. Those looks had completely sapped his confidence, continually reminding him that no matter how sorry they felt, few would ever open their doors to him. They had their own lives, and he wasn’t included.

Last year, after surviving the knife fight, he’d wondered if the scar on his face would arouse a similar reaction. He’d made it a point to carry himself ramrod-straight, determined not to give anyone an occasion to feel sorry for him.

As it turned out, the agents he’d been working with had looked at the scar as a badge of honor and respected it. Outside the Bureau he’d held his head high, went about his business without hesitation, and in the end his efforts paid off. He’d seen fear in some and shock in others, but pity had been absent.

“I know we were supposed to go to Turquoise Dreams, but do you mind if we stop by my place first? I live in a duplex that’s on the way and I’d like to drop off my books and notes. I also want to make sure that the mail carrier picked up a job application I left in the PO box.”

“What kind of job are you applying for?” he asked as he followed directions to her home.

“One that’s connected to law enforcement,” she said, crossing her fingers. “There’s a security company in town that hires and trains, and it would give me the kind of experience that could come in handy when I apply for the police academy.”

He glanced at her quickly. “Exactly what position are you applying for?”

“The only part-time they’ve got at Complete Security right now—monitoring cameras at night. There’s more to it, but they’re very tight-lipped and don’t give out job details until after they do a background check.”

“How’s the pay?” he asked, knowing they were talking about his brother Daniel’s firm. Level One Security was the parent company of Complete Security, a new venture for his brother. CS was an electronic service Daniel had started up for small businesses in the area.

“The pay’s just average, but they could really teach me a lot—if I get the job.” She pointed. “Here we are, up ahead on the right, 1916 Pine Street.”

Seeing the For Rent sign, he tensed. “The other side of the duplex is empty?” he asked, not liking the tactical complications that presented.

“Not for long. The rent’s reasonable and the owner advertises on campus.”

He quickly parked. As he got out of the SUV, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

Rick looked around, but everything appeared peaceful.




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