Live and Let Love (5 page)

Ada laughed. Willow followed her to the back of the store where the deli counter and
café was located.

Ada grabbed a coffeepot from behind the counter and poured her a cup. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black’s fine. I’ve had my quota of sugar today. All of those tiny tastes add up.
I’ve probably had my quota of coffee, too, but who’s counting?”

Ada handed her the cup of coffee and pulled up a chair at a small, round table nearby.
“Shane was in earlier.”

Willow sat down across from her. “Making a delivery?”

“Yeah. He stopped by with a few crates of apples.” Ada paused, looking as if she was
debating with herself. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. I’ll ruin the surprise,
but I think you should be forewarned.…”

Willow leaned forward like a conspirator. “Okay, that’s way too ominous and intriguing.
You can’t leave me hanging after making a statement like that.”

Ada laughed and immediately frowned, looking perplexed. “He bought you flowers, saying
he wanted to perk you up today. Which seems natural enough and very sweet. It’s just
that he made such an odd choice.”

Willow’s heart thumped. “Not red roses? Please tell me he didn’t. I’m definitely not
ready for that.”

“Relax,” Ada reassured her. “I would have steered him away from something so inappropriate,
especially given the day.” She immediately looked as if she’d said something wrong.

Willow gave her a smile meant to reassure her.

“He bought you cockscomb. A large vase full of bright, beautiful magenta blooms. They’re
gorgeous, but, really, who gives them to a date?”

Willow sat back in her chair. “Cockscomb?”

“Yeah, odd, huh?”

“Well, it definitely doesn’t send too strong a message or look like he’s pushing too
fast for a relationship. That’s good. On the other hand,
You remind me of barnyard fowl
? Is that really a good message to send to your date?” She wrinkled her nose and noticed
Ada wasn’t laughing. “What’s really bothering you?”

“He just seemed so pleased with himself for picking them out. Almost as if they were
an inside joke. It was odd. They don’t mean anything to you, do they?”

Willow shook her head and shrugged. “No.”

“Well, okay, then. Just my imagination. I arranged them with a spray of greens. You’ll
like them. Try to act surprised when he gives them to you.”

“You got it.” She studied Ada. “Is something about Shane’s flower-buying proclivities
still bothering you?”

“It’s probably nothing.” Ada took a sip of her coffee. “I just think you should be
careful around him.”

Willow studied her suddenly serious friend. “You mean because of my delicate emotional
state?”

Ada shook her head. “No, I know you’re strong and can handle yourself. But there’s
just something about Shane that’s a little off to me.”

Willow sometimes had the same feeling about him, but she kept it to herself. “You
must be the only one in town. He’s charmed everyone else. What are you thinking?”

Ada waved her hand, making a dismissive gesture. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Oh, come on. Spill it.”

Ada shrugged. “He doesn’t seem like a genuine apple man to me. I know he’s just here
for a few months to run Grant Cooper’s orchard and bring the harvest in for Grant
while he’s in Phoenix taking care of his dying dad. But it seems as if Grant would
have picked someone with more of a feel for the business.”

Willow trusted Ada’s intuition, but she didn’t see the problem. “Why shouldn’t Grant
trust a college buddy from agriculture school? As suddenly as his dad got sick and
Grant bolted out of here, he was lucky Shane’s family could spare him from their orchards
in the Northeast to come help out on a moment’s notice.”

“You’re right.” But Ada didn’t look convinced.

“I just wish he’d pay more attention to his dogs. Buddy and Duke are such sweeties.”
Willow loved dogs. Shane treated his more like machines to serve him than companions.
“They deserve some loving and kindness.”

Ada laughed. “You’re the only one who thinks so. Everyone else is scared to death
of them. Those brutes are vicious.”

“Not if you know how to handle them.”

“You and your passion for dogs.” Ada smiled and changed the topic of conversation.
“Hey, have you heard? Aldo’s cousin Con has finally arrived. Lettie saw him when she
stopped by the Villa to drop off a punch bowl for tonight.

“She says Con is drop-dead, to-die-for gorgeous and if she were in her thirties, heck,
if she were in her forties, she’d chase that man until he surrendered to her passion.”

“I know. I met him.” Willow blurted it out without thinking.

“You met him?” Ada’s eyes lit up. “Then you have the scoop. Is Lettie exaggerating?”

“No. She may even be underexaggerating, if you can believe that.” Willow winked at
her.

Ada started laughing and clapped her hands. “Then the ladies are
really
going to have fun tonight. No wonder Lettie was so delighted he’d be at the dinner.”

Willow gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

“You know we have a special charity fund-raiser every year at the dinner and it alternates
between ladies’ choice and gentlemen’s? This year it’s ladies’ choice.”

“Yeah?” Willow had only been once, last year. Her grief had still been too fresh for
her to really enjoy herself. But everyone else had.

Last year the men designed the ladies’ challenge—a competition to see how fast three
lady contestants could assemble a precut wooden bench using only a hammer and screwdriver.
No instructions.

The process for selecting the contestants was simple—people paid for votes and cast
them for the attendees they wanted to see participate in the challenge. At the same
time, possible participants could pay to have votes removed from their name. At the
appointed hour, those with the most votes competed. It was all in good fun and for
a good cause.

Everyone had had a good laugh at the bench-building process—the ladies really hammed
it up. Of course the men had all voted for the women who were least handy with a set
of tools. And the results were hilarious. Several of the benches were deemed un-sit-worthy.
But they were all still auctioned off for charity. The winner, the one whose bench
went for the most money, won a day at the spa and the privilege of presenting the
check to the charity.

“As elected Town Grump, Lettie designed this year’s challenge,” Ada said. “I’m sworn
to secrecy, but I’ll give you a hint—Lettie loves dancing.”

*   *   *

Orchard Bluff was basically two large loops of roads dotted with orchards. The “town”
center, and
town
was a loose term, sat at the junction of the loops. Cooper Orchards, the orchards
the Rooster was purportedly babysitting, sat off the east loop on an offshoot dirt
road.

Of course it did,
Jack thought. All the better to stay out of sight and away from prying eyes.

What a perfect setup for an explosives-smuggling operation. Just a hundred miles from
the Canadian border. People coming and going at the orchard all of the time. No questions
asked if strangers stopped by and left with loads of boxes. Genius, really.

It would have been even better if the Rooster weren’t pretending to be an organic
farmer. But, as Jack knew full well, no cover was perfect. Especially those set on
the fly.

Jack didn’t believe the story about Kennett coming to town to help out an old friend
in need. Kennett was here to pump Willow for information and draw Jack out while he
planned his attack on the summit, pure and simple. Grant Cooper, organic apple farmer,
was probably dead and buried somewhere on the property. RIOT assassins like the Rooster
didn’t leave loose ends and they didn’t have friends.

Like all the farms of Orchard Bluff, Cooper Orchards sold fruit out of a metal, barnlike
building next to the house. The Agency had heard rumors there was an old bomb shelter
somewhere on the property. Jack was on the lookout for it. What an ironic and perfect
place to build bombs. And hide out. If the bomb shelter existed, it was heavily shielded.
The Agency hadn’t picked up any transmissions from it.

Some of the homes on the bluff were large and fantastic. Others modest. Kennett had
taken up residence in Cooper’s, an old farmhouse on the modest side, with a steep,
pitched roof.

As Jack pulled to a stop in the hard-pack dirt parking lot, he felt his adrenaline
spike.
Showtime.

He was here to rattle the Rooster’s coop. Get him to mess up and spill intel. Make
him wonder—was Con Russo Sariel or not? Had he drawn out his prey? Or would he have
to try harder?

Jack was prepared to play head games with him. And enjoy it.

Only one other car sat in the lot next to the barn.

Good.
Jack didn’t need any extraneous eyes watching him scope the place.

He’d already stopped by Aldo’s, reunited with the “cousin” ten years his senior who—he
hadn’t “seen since he was a baby”—a piece of pure fiction—and settled in. Funny what
people will “remember” and believe when you prompt them hard enough. Jack had never
met Aldo before in his life. Aldo had no idea of Jack’s true identity. And Jack intended
to keep it that way.

Then he’d been ogled by the officially elected Town Grump as she delivered a punch
bowl and tried to micromanage Becky and Aldo as they set up for the growers’ dinner,
which raised money for a local charity. And finally escaped by volunteering to run
to Cooper’s to pick up the apples the Rooster was donating for the party this evening.
Aldo, who was running around in a panic, was only too happy to take Jack up on his
offer.

Jack jumped out of the car and went into the barn for a box. He was going to insist
on picking as Aldo had requested. Aldo wanted the very crispest, freshest apples at
his soiree. And it suited Jack’s plan perfectly.

Jack would have preferred to roam the orchard at will, but U-pick apple farmers were
peculiar about people free-ranging in their orchards and he didn’t want to draw the
wrong kind of attention. Farmers liked to point you to particular rows of trees they
wanted picked first.

Jack stood in the doorway, observing the Rooster. It took every ounce of strength
Jack had not to kill him on the spot. Jack flashed back to holding Kyle in his arms
as he bled out after being hit by one of the Rooster’s sniper shots.

A good sniper kills instantly. The Rooster had wanted Kyle to suffer and Jack to see
it.

“Welcome to Cooper Orchards.” The Rooster looked up from measuring apples into boxes
in the back of the barn.

Jack was a master at reading body language. He watched the Rooster study him. He knew
the instant Kennett sensed something familiar about him. Jack saw Kennett’s confusion
and kept his hand in his pocket on his weapon in case he needed to use it.

Jack strolled in, trying to keep his hatred from showing. “I’m looking for Shane Kennett.
My cousin Aldo sent me over to pick apples for the big dinner tonight at his place.
He said Kennett offered to donate as many as Aldo needs.”

Kennett wiped his hand on a towel and came forward. “I’m Kennett.” He extended his
hand.

“Con Russo.” Though his skin crawled, Jack accepted Kennett’s hand and shook.

Kennett’s handshake was crushing, a little too firm to be polite. More of a show of
power and threat.

“So you finally arrived. Aldo’s been talking about you.” Kennett’s gaze swept over
Jack, leaving the impression the Rooster didn’t approve of Jack and was assessing
him.

No doubt the Rooster measured every new arrival in town against the possibility he
was Sariel returned from the grave. That’s why Kennett was here, wasn’t it? To draw
Sariel out.

“Good things, I hope.” Jack kept his tone casual, though he guessed it would be evident
to anyone watching that the two men disliked each other on sight.

Kennett laughed. “He forgot to mention what a sharp dresser you were.” It wasn’t a
compliment.

Jack smiled back, making a note to scold Malene when he got back to Langley for making
him wear these non–alpha male outfits. They put him in the weak position and he damn
well didn’t like it. He didn’t care what James Bond did; real men on missions dressed
to intimidate their opponents, not give them ammo to poke fun at.

Jack held Kennett’s gaze. They were definitely two adversaries sizing each other up.
He saw the indecision in Kennett’s eyes—was Jack the one, Sariel or not?

Good, let him sweat it.
Uncertainty was Jack’s friend.

Kennett nodded. “Take your pick from any of the bins.”

Jack shook his head. “Aldo says I should pick. He wants fruit right off the tree.
Nothing else will do.”

Kennett stared at him, shaking his head in the patronizing way bullies use. He was
the kind of rugged, good-looking man women drooled over, before they realized he was
a cold-blooded killer. And the type of guy other men had the natural inclination to
punch out. Jack more than most men. Or so he imagined.

The Rooster laughed. “Sounds like Aldo. He’s a perfectionist.” He left off the word
prick,
but Jack heard it in the Rooster’s voice. “Are you sure you want to go out in the
orchards in those shoes? You’re taking a chance with those fine leather loafers.”

Jack looked down at his Italian leather shoes and back up at Kennett. “They’re hardier
than they look. I’ll take my chances.”

Kennett shrugged. “I grow a dozen varieties. Does Aldo have a preference? What do
you want?”

A quick way to kill you and get the hell out of here,
Jack thought. He could do it. No problem. It was the
making it look like an accident
part and the sudden appearance of an elderly couple also looking to pick that tripped
him up.

“Aldo said Goldens,” Jack said as the older couple strolled into the metal barn. He’d
already studied a map of the orchard and knew rows of Golden Delicious apple trees
provided him with the best area to scope out the place. Conveniently, his desires
and Aldo’s coincided.