BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game (6 page)

She tottered a few steps after leaving the truck, unaccustomed to high heels of any sort, then forced herself to walk slowly, smoothly to the door of the Halfway House Tavern. Loud music and raucous voices burst into the still night air as two cowboys staggered outside, one guy’s arm looped around his buddy’s shoulders. Both looked too drunk to walk.

She drew back in the shadows, watching to see if either of them got behind the wheel of one of the dozens of pickups nosed up to the outside of the building, ready to alert Ewan if either started to drive away. But they stumbled out into the darkness and sat on the open tailgate of one of the pickups, lighting up cigarettes and passing a crumpled brown paper bag between them.

Another battered pickup roared into the parking lot, kicking up a rooster tail of gravel that pinged against the vehicles closest to the highway as the driver turned hard, spun out, then lurched into an empty spot.

Two lanky young cowboys—barely legal and half-drunk, unless she missed her guess—loped to the entrance of the ramshackle tavern and disappeared inside.

Now, through the swinging door, she could see the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd milling about near the bar and caught glimpses of couples doing the Texas two-step or swing. Music blared from a makeshift bandstand in the back, where a trio of balding guys was manhandling a couple of guitars and a drum set with a lot of energy, but not a lot of talent.

Please, God…help me get through this all right. It’s the last place I want to be.

Sure, she’d been in plenty of dives like this one with her badge and uniform on, breaking up fights, arresting drunks or collaring some guy with a warrant in hand, but if she wasn’t careful, her discomfort as a “civilian” would be obvious to every last cowpoke in the place, even if they
were
drunk.

She hesitated at the door and took a deep breath. And realized that potential underage drinkers weren’t the only reason to send Ewan back here. Along with the smell of old grease, probably from a limited bar menu, a haze of cigarette smoke—illegal in public places, per Montana law—drifted out into the night.

Smothering a cough, she stepped into the entryway.

A sun-browned cowboy loomed close, a wide grin revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “Hey, purty lady—where’d
you
come from?”

Another raised a glass in her direction, his eyes glazed. “Buy ya a drink, ma’am?”

Both of them were wiry and weathered to the hue of old leather. Maybe they were stronger than they looked, but neither had the calculating look in his eye that she’d hoped to find, or had the kind of build that could easily drag a body up a half mile of rugged trail.

She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Thanks. But I’m looking for a friend. A real big guy named—” she thought fast “—Bull Carraway. Real jealous guy, if you know what I mean.”

The two aging cowhands melted back into the crowd.

She pressed on, slipping through a trio of grizzled men in well-worn shirts and dusty boots. Past a couple of fresh-faced young cowboys, their faces sunburned, foreheads white as fresh cream, who blushed deeper red and ducked their heads, tongue-tied and shy, as she passed.

A sense that she was being watched crawled up her back.

She eased farther into the crowd, angled toward a corner and glanced back, but saw no one staring at her—just a milling crowd that had closed in behind her, voices raised to be heard over the driving beat of some honky-tonk song she didn’t recognize.

Someone bumped into her and she wobbled on her high heels, tipping precariously before she could grab for a post near the end of the bar.

“Having fun?” A low voice growled against her ear, the man’s big hand settling possessively at the small of her back to steady her. “Fancy lady like you doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

She froze. Then forced herself to relax and smile, remembering her ruse. “I just thought I’d like to get out for a while. I like the band, don’t you?”

She turned partway and found herself looking into the hard eyes of a man dressed better than most of the others. Western-cut blazer. Pressed slacks. Custom boots. A slick, confident smile on his full lips, though his belly bulged over his belt and strained the buttons of his shirt, and his heavy jowls swelled over his collar. His smile stretched faint scar lines over his nose and left cheek.

She pursed her mouth into a pout. “My fiancé is such a drag, sometimes. He’d rather stay home and watch the sports channel than have some fun.”

The man bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. “Sounds boring to me.”

She frowned and rested a hand on her hip. “Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

He pulled a business card from his pocket, his smile morphing into one of self-satisfaction, as if he was already sure she was his for the night. “Milt Powers. Insurance executive, actually. I come through this area several times a year. Want a drink?”

She quelled the urge to roll her eyes.
Executive—my foot.
He’d looked like a possibility at first, but his travels didn’t parallel what she was looking for, and the gold-embossed card was one for a company that did advertise in Montana. The logo matched the TV ads and even bore his smiling face, name and address. Hardly what he’d share if he were trying for anonymity.

She offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t think so. My…um…fiancé said he’d stop by later. Promised me one dance before I have to go home.”

The interest in his eyes evaporated. With a shrug, he turned back to a blowsy redhead at the bar, and Megan moved on, slowly winding her way through the deepening haze of smoke, hiding her careful survey of the patrons with what she hoped was an air of a woman on the prowl.

Again, she felt someone staring at her, the sensation boring through her spine, and she turned slowly. Caught the eye of a few cowboys who grinned drunkenly back and raised their beer bottles at her. But…it wasn’t them.

A beefy rancher-type, mid-forties with a bottle in his hand, gave her a once-over and edged through the crowd in her direction, the set of his jaw giving him the air of a pit bull establishing his territory. A path opened up for him, no one quite meeting his eyes.

Was it his gaze she’d felt? He was the best prospect so far, though she still couldn’t shake her awareness of someone else—someone watching her with an intensity that made her shiver.

“Hey there,” she purred. “Nice shirt.”

He didn’t spare a glance downward at what he wore. “You meeting someone?”

“Well…”

“You came in alone. Want a drink?”

“I came for the music, really. Maybe later.”

He grabbed her arm and steered her toward an empty booth in an even darker corner of the tavern, jerking his jaw at the man behind the bar and lifting his nearly empty beer bottle as they passed. “So what’s a girl like you doing here alone?”

She’d already heard the same line from Mr. Insurance, but from this man it was laden with far more intent. “I just wanted to get out. I don’t come to places like this much at all, and it’s kind of fun. Not something my fiancé likes, though so I have to go alone.”

The barkeeper arrived with a new bottle of Coors and scurried away.

“Not much of a fiancé if he doesn’t mind. Then again, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, eh?” He’d released her arm when they settled opposite each other in the booth. But now, he snagged her left hand again, turned it over and ran his thumb up and down her ring finger. “Too cheap for a diamond, I take it.”

Realizing her mistake, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast, his grip tightening.

“I…we both wanted matching gold bands. Nothing fancy.” She laughed lightly. “That costs too much, anyway, until he finds a better job. By the way—what’s your name?”

“Lane.”

“First or last?” She teased.

He ignored her question. “So…what are you doing the rest of the night? Want to check out The Drover on the other side of Copper Cliff? Better live band, and they serve good steaks.”

He was big. A good two-forty, maybe five foot-eleven, with a potential for being aggressive, if his grip was any clue. She’d taken down bigger men than him in the past, but the thought of a wrestling match outside wasn’t pleasant…and it would sure blow her cover for the future if she had to cuff him in front of any cowboys out there.

“Can’t. Sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’ve got someone stopping in a little later.”

His gaze hardened. “Who?”

She’d mentioned a burly boyfriend when she’d first walked in, then she’d referred to her fiancé. The latter seemed like the better choice now. This guy would probably want to stick around and challenge another rough, tough dude, and maybe go toe to toe. “My fiancé…once his…um…baseball game is over. Maybe.”

“I haven’t met him, but I know you could do better. Way better.”

She tilted her head. “Do you come here often?”

“Now and then.”

There was something about the man that made goose bumps rise on her arms, and it wasn’t because he was attractive. “Then maybe I’ll see you around here again, sometime.”

She started to rise, but he tightened his grip, twisting his wrist so she half fell back into the booth. “You don’t need to leave. I think we should talk awhile.”

“There are a lot of people here, mister. Maybe you’d better let go.”

The place was packed, but no one was looking in their direction. Beyond the booth, a faint incandescent bulb flickered over an exit sign at the end of a short, dark hallway.

Was this man her quarry?

Could he have hustled an intimidated woman out the rear door without being noticed? Had he flirted with Dee Kirby long enough to entice her into slipping out the back door with him?

Lane’s mouth curved into a seductive smile. “I want to get to know you better.”

The shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered man, silhouetted by the distant, faint glow of the neon beer signs over the bar, fell across the table, startling her.

“Let’s go, sugar,” the stranger said at her shoulder, in a deep voice that was oddly familiar. “You’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

“She ain’t going anywhere. She’s with me.”

“Actually, she isn’t.” The stranger’s voice went even lower, his tone laced with lethal promise. “And if you don’t want trouble, you’ll let go of the lady’s wrist and just sit back, nice and easy, while we leave.”

Lane glared up at him. “You have no idea who you’re talking to.”

“And neither do you. You want to lose your pride in front of all these good folks, that’s okay by me. Your choice.”

After a long hesitation, Lane made a sound of disgust and dropped her wrist. “She’s not worth the bother, cowboy. For you
or
me.”

“Go ahead and believe it. It’s in your best interest.” The stranger touched her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t want to go, not yet. But now she’d placed the voice, and knew he might blow her cover if she balked. Some of the other cowboys had turned to look their way, so she played it cool. “Sure. Whatever.”

He gently caught her hand and led her through the crowd, stopping only when they got to the front door. She glanced at the cowboys who were a little too close for comfort, then pulled her hand free and stepped outside.

He followed her to the shadowed side of the building and leaned a shoulder against the wall, as if he was just any cowboy flirting on a Saturday night. “Well, then.” His mouth tipped into a lazy smile. “Howdy, ma’am.”

She scanned the area for anyone within earshot of their conversation, but there was no one in sight. “Don’t ‘howdy’ me, Anders. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You looked like you were in a little trouble back there, and I figured you could use some help.” His gaze drifted up to her hair, and his mouth twitched. “Nice hairdo.”

“You know what I do. You could’ve guessed I was working,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

Her words echoed back to her, setting off alarm bells in her head. What
was
he doing here this late at night—here, of all places? Her stomach tightened at the possibilities—most of which weren’t good.

“Rescuing a damsel in distress?”

“You ought to know it wasn’t necessary.”

“Right. That guy was inviting you to a tea party.” His voice hardened. “So where is your backup?”

“As close as my cell phone.”

“Not good enough. No matter how tough you think you are, that guy was twice your size and twice as strong. Factor in the testosterone and adrenaline rush fueling him, and—”

“A male deputy would’ve been in just as much trouble, if there was a fight. Don’t start with the gender bias stuff. Please.”

Scott held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. My mistake.”

“Do you come here often?”

“First time.”

“
Really
. Sort of far, isn’t it? You’ve got to live over an hour away, maybe more, given these mountain roads.”