Luke (Armed and Dangerous Book 2) (15 page)

“You were meant to be with Zack, Skylar. Everyone’s always known that.” She leaned forward and propped her elbows beside the keyboard, staring at her sister. “My fate’s a little less certain.”

Skylar shook her head, not looking the least bit uncertain. “Somewhere out in the world, there’s a man meant to steal your heart away, Trinity. A man who satisfies you so completely you couldn’t imagine asking for anything more. I’m sure of it.”

Yeah, me, too. Trinity sat back. I’m just damned afraid he’s right here on the ranch, near the town I never wanted to return to, and he wears a black Stetson.

“Something wrong?” Skylar now had a worried expression. “You turned pale on me all of a sudden.”

Trinity forced a smile and shook her head. “Just a little sad, I guess. Race wrote me and I had to sort of break up with him a second time.”

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Skylar scooped up the pile of mail and started flipping through the pieces as she spoke. “I don’t need any help with the chores, and Zack’s been killing you with all that computer mess when you’re supposed to be on vacation. Besides, you already mucked out Satan’s and Dancer’s stalls, not to mention cleaning out the back storage room.”

“Hey, Zack set up that punching bag for me there, so it was the least I could do.” Trinity smiled. “And besides, it was kinda nice to do those things again.”

The corner of Skylar’s mouth quirked. “Then by all means...” Her voice trailed off and her expression looked puzzled as she held up a postcard. She flipped it over, and then her face turned the same shade of white as a new moon. Her fingers crept to her throat in that all-too-familiar movement that told Trinity her sister was upset about something.

“What’s the matter?” Trinity said, even as she moved from her chair to slide onto the couch beside her sister.

“I’ll have to tell Zack.” Skylar shook her head, her lips pursed. “This is a bunch of bullshit.”

Trinity reached for the card and Skylar let it slip from her fingers. As Trinity looked over the note, her sister got up and started pacing the floor.

On one side was a weird design of letters within letters. A capital B in red was a kind of border, and then a capital I in green was a little smaller in the middle, and then a T in blue a tad smaller than that. And to the left side of the T was a yellow C and to the right was an orange H..
.

BITCH.

Trinity’s skin chilled, goose bumps pebbling her skin as she turned the card over.

In a messy black scrawl was written:

It’s not over, you double-crossing whore.

“Shit,” Skylar muttered, snapping Trinity’s attention from the card and to her sister, who was still pacing the floor. “Woods. I bet it’s Woods.”

“Who?” Trinity tossed the card onto the couch like it was contaminated. “And why would he send something like this?”

Skylar stopped pacing and explained to Trinity how the former deputy sheriff had been caught red-handed stealing cattle from her ranch, and Wade Larson’s, and other ranches, too. Then she explained how he’d been fixated on her, and almost taken her out.

“But if he’s in jail, who sent you that piece of garbage?” Trinity pointed to the postcard.

Skylar shook her head. “My gut says Woods did it from behind bars. He probably paid somebody who was being released, or smuggled it out with some other prisoner’s family or friends.”

Trinity thought about the footprints in the photos she’d been working with, and the blood, and the pieces of dead body Zack and his law enforcement friends had been investigating.

“Maybe Woods still has friends on the outside. People Zack and the others didn’t know about.” Then she thought about Francisco Guerrero, and her stomach did a big flip. “Or maybe they do know about the bad guys, but they haven’t been able to stop them. Yet.”

“Whatever.” Skylar glared at the postcard. “I’ll give it to Zack, and then I’m not going to worry about it.”

“Sky—”

“You don’t worry about it.” Skylar cut Trinity off, still shaking her head. “I mean it. Zack will handle this.”

But Trinity could see the truth in Skylar’s eyes.

Her sister had suffered a lot during the cattle rustling. She’d been scared then, and she was scared again now.

Skylar really does need me, Trinity realized with a start and a flood of dread—then the strangest sense of power and relief. She needs her family around her for lots of reasons.

“Come here.” Trinity reached for Skylar, and pulled her sister into a fierce hug.

“You’re supposed to be on vacation,” Skylar whispered into her neck, and then she started to cry.

Trinity held on to her sister, not feeling like a little girl, or the baby of the family, not now. Not anymore. “I’m supposed to be right here, Skylar. This time, you don’t have to do it alone.”

Luke stared into the muzzle of the shotgun and didn’t twitch an eyebrow. Twitching anything would be a bad idea, right about now. He kept both hands raised, and his eyes straight ahead on the man who’d gotten the drop on him.

Brad Taylor stood in the front doorway of Bull Fenning’s big stone ranch house with the shotgun leveled at Luke’s nose. “I’m not asking you again, Rider. Why the hell have you been sniffing around my sister?”

Luke knew Taylor didn’t have a clue he’d drawn a weapon on a DEA agent, and right now, he didn’t think the man would give a shit. Taylor’s short brown hair stuck up in sweaty spikes, and his brown eyes had the look of a grizzly protecting his territory.

But this sister thing—gun or no gun, Luke didn’t know what to say to him other than, “Trinity’s Skylar’s sister, not yours.”

“Trinity? What the hell are you talking about?” Taylor’s gaze narrowed.

“That’s who I’m—ah, sniffing around.” Luke spoke slowly. Carefully. Making sure his lips and chin didn’t move enough to touch the shotgun barrel. “Your words, not mine.”

“Skylar MacKenna’s sister?” Taylor sounded surprised on top of being a horseshoe toss away from crazy. “The one who just came home from England.”

Luke kept his gaze on Taylor’s trigger finger. “That’s her.”

The shotgun barrel moved back a fraction—not a lot, but enough that Luke could glance around and take in the big house’s stone floor and wood paneling. The place smelled faintly of alcohol and cherry tobacco.

“You scared Gina shitless, showing up at her place a few days back.” Brad’s tone stayed hard.

“Gina Garcia.” It was Luke’s turn to sound surprised.

Brad frowned, but he finally lowered the damn shotgun. Luke allowed himself a complete breath of air, which he hadn’t enjoyed since he knocked on the massive wooden door and Brad answered it with his say-hello-to-my-double-barreled-friend routine.

After lunch with Trinity, Luke had gotten the call from Rios. Apparently Taylor had an emergency at the Fenning ranch, and had asked for help, specifically from Luke. He’d thought that Taylor must have made him. Or maybe Bull Fenning’s operation was in deep shit and Taylor actually needed another ranch foreman with some know-how.

He never figured on knocking on Fenning’s door, and getting greeted by a gun in his face.

Taylor leaned the shotgun against the paneled wall beside the door. “Shit, Rider. You might as well come in for a minute.”

“Yeah.” Luke got to lower his arms and rub his elbows for a second. “Why don’t I do that.”

He took off his Stetson and followed Brad inside, trying to add up and sort out everything he’d just heard, but he couldn’t make sense of it just yet.

Fenning’s place was as big inside as it was out—high ceilings, wide, cavernous rooms, and big, heavy furniture. Paintings hung on every wall of women and children, and Luke realized that at one time, Fenning must have had a wife and kids in the home. By the look of it, he still had a boatload of grandkids in the mix.

“She’s dead now.” Brad nodded toward a massive oil painting of a robust woman with bright brown eyes. It was hanging over an equally massive mantelpiece, as if surveying the entire room. “Mrs. Fenning. Nice woman, from what I’ve heard. Now, tell me, what were you doing at Gina’s?”

“Checking on her.” Luke seated himself on the thick leather arm of one of Fenning’s couches. “She seemed like she had a hard time at the Christmas party.”

Taylor took a seat on the stone hearth of the fireplace, and kept his gaze on Luke’s face. “You asked her about Guerrero, though.” Luke’s fist clenched before he could get a handle on himself. “Guerrero’s a bastard. Friend of mine told me he’s been scaring women in Douglas, and I was afraid he’d come on to Gina—to your sister. That she might need a little help.”

This seemed to appease Taylor a bit, but his tone stayed wary. “What she needs is to be left alone.” He shook his head and stared at the stone floor. No dust, no dirt, no lint. Luke wondered if Taylor kept the place this clean, or if he hired help for Fenning. “If we’d known about Guerrero and all this drug bullshit, we never would have moved here.”

Luke shifted on the couch arm. “Do I get to ask where you came from?”

Taylor opened his hands, as if to say fair enough. “I worked on a ranch in Colorado before I came here.”

The man didn’t say a word about Gina, and the way the afternoon light showed the tight line of his jaw, Luke figured he didn’t intend to say anything, either. Fine. He wasn’t about to push it, for now.

He wondered where Fenning was, then figured the old man was probably passed out, tucked into his room by Brad Taylor, who obviously had a history of taking care of people who needed him.

“So, Gina’s had it rough.” Luke didn’t intend to pry. He hoped Taylor could understand that he just meant to be helpful to the woman. “I knew something was wrong. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.”

Taylor stayed way too tense, but Luke could tell the man was working to control himself. “My sister’s known her share of bad guys. Let’s leave it at that.”

Luke shifted his grip on his Stetson. “Understood.”

Taylor made eye contact with him again—no shotgun this time, but no less serious, either. “Don’t ask her any more questions, Rider.”

“Not a problem.” Luke gave Taylor a long look. “But I do have a question for you.”

“Guess I owe you an answer.” Taylor’s nod was slight as he spoke. “As long as it doesn’t cause trouble for Gina.”

Luke fiddled with his hat on purpose, keeping his gaze away from Taylor to make his inquiry as casual as he could. “The day I came to Gina’s house, were you by any chance in the barn?”

“Yeah. When I’m not looking after stuff for Mr. Fenning, I have an apartment there.” Taylor shrugged. “I fix things up for Gina, mend the fences and maintain her appliances—and make sure she and my niece are safe.”

“Good.” Luke thought about Lola on her tire swing. “I’m glad the little girl has an uncle on her side.”

This seemed to put Taylor more at ease. “I try. She’s a great kid.”

Luke didn’t ask about Lola’s father, making a money bet to himself that Lola’s dad might be who Gina was running from. “How’s Fenning?”

Taylor’s frown deepened, and now he looked tired on top of worried. “Rough.”

Luke glanced around the huge living room again, at all the stone and wood and paintings and happy grandchildren—hints of how hard Fenning had worked in his life. “I didn’t know he had a problem with drinking. Couldn’t tell by the looks of this place.”

“He’d been sober for years.” Taylor glanced up at the portrait of the stately woman over the fireplace. “Cleaned up for her, and kept clean, but he fell off the wagon last month, around the anniversary of Mrs. Fenning’s death.”

Taylor glanced toward a room with a set of closed double doors. Fenning’s study? “I’m hoping he’ll get it out of his system soon,” Taylor continued, “and I’m taking him to an AA meeting tomorrow night, if he’s not passed out.”

“Hope it does some good.” Luke stood, intending to see himself out and get back to Trinity—after he made a phone call to Rios, and checked in with Ralston and Wayland.

Taylor got to his feet, too, and now the man looked bothered. A little guilty. “Rider, about the gun—”

“Forgotten.” Luke waved him off. “Look after your sister and your niece—and good luck with Fenning.”

The sound of tires on gravel made both of them look out one of the big front windows.

A silver Jag, an older XJ model, pulled to a hard stop at the edge of the paved driveway, spraying a cloud of rocks and dust as the tires popped off the side of the pavement.

What the hell?

Luke’s pulse kicked up a notch, and he made a mental check. Phone in his left duster pocket. Glock in the holster behind his right hip.

Jags weren’t common in this part of the country. This was truck- and SUV-navigated ranchlands. Was this Guerrero? One of his stooge-assholes?

But Taylor was hanging his head, looking like a dog that had been kicked real hard.

No man could make the guy look like that.

Nope.

Whoever was in that Jag—definitely female.

The minute the door opened, Luke saw an almost pained look of embarrassment claim Brad Taylor’s face, and he understood. He didn’t even have to see the long legs, the big chest, or the gray eyes as the pretty—but compared to Taylor, much older—brunette got out.

Couldn’t be any doubt about who’d come calling.

“Joyce is a friend,” Taylor said, a little too quickly. “With... benefits. As long as I keep her happy, she helps me keep Fenning’s ranch running and in good shape. She’s been out of town for a day or two, and—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Luke had already located the nearest back door. “I parked by the barn, so I don’t think she saw my truck. I’ll let myself out.”

“Thanks.” Taylor was already heading toward the front door to meet his friend.

Luke got out as best he could, and made his way to his truck, feeling like he needed more than a computer program to keep track of all of Douglas’s secrets.

“Rios,” he said into his phone a few minutes later, as he sped down the road toward the Flying M. “Find out who Brad Taylor really is, and follow up on his sister. It’s Gina.”

He waited for Rios to get over being surprised and get the info written down. “I think we need more eyes and radar on Joyce Butler’s place. I know she’s Ralston’s childhood buddy, but something about that woman’s just... not right. If he won’t go for it, get our field office on it.”