Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (22 page)

“Was he shot?” Maddy asked.

Her knotted fingers were white-knuckled with tension
in her lap. This time Holt enfolded her hand. She cast him a wisp of a smile.

“I think the sheriff’s aiming to shield you,” Bonnyman
said to Maddy. “Considering your profession, I reckon you’re tougher than you
look.” The agent’s stern expression softened. “The man’s abdomen was sliced
open from sternum to pelvis. Whoever killed him was making a definite point.”

Color drained from Maddy’s cheeks as if imagining
herself the victim. “Because he might tell who hired him?” She gripped Holt’s
hand.

Foley cleared his throat. “That’s one viable theory.
I’d prefer not to speculate until we have more information. My concern now is
stopping the second man before he makes another attempt on Mrs. Dono—Maddy’s
life.”

Holt rotated his jaw. “We’re thinking alike, Sheriff.”
He had more faith in the DEA agents, however. Even if they hadn’t included him
in their information loop. The toughest cases Foley was used to handling
consisted of the occasional cattle rustler and Saturday-night rowdies at the
Ski and Saddle.

“Maddy, you’re photographing the shooting matches on
Saturday,” Luke said, his gaze keen with speculation.

Holt bolted to his feet. “She’s not going, Rafferty.
You’re
not
setting her up as bait. In a crowd like that? Too risky.”

Maddy placed her hand firmly on his forearm. “There
may be no other choice. How else can we trap this guy?” Her voice was calm, her
chin tilted with bravado.

“No way, not an option.” He sat down and curved his
arm around her.

“Mr. Donovan,” Bonnyman began, “we can have a team of
agents undercover in the crowd. I’ll look pretty good as Annie Oakley.” She
patted her auburn waves.

The discussion grew more heated as plans bounced
around the table. Holt dug in his heels awhile longer but knew he’d lost as
soon as Maddy’d declared her willingness. He might be her husband, but he’d
squandered what little influence he’d had on her by ignoring her these past two
days. Hell, Maddy McCoy—Donovan—was her own person anyway.

But what she was planning was damned dangerous.

How the hell could he keep her safe in a mob of more
than a hundred people armed with six-shooters and shotguns?

Chapter 22

“Take one of these,
jefe
. You will feel
mejor
.”
The man handed his employer a glass and a large yellow capsule.

“Better? No, it is too late for that...and other
things.” The gray-faced man reclining on the chaise swallowed the capsule.
“Eliminating the woman is taking too long. Exacting vengeance is taking too
long. There is not enough time.”

“Then perhaps it is wise to let the quest end.”

A muscle in his jaw leapt. “Let it end? No,
I
shall end it. Holt Donovan took from me. I shall take from him. Myself.”

The fierce brow and cold glint in the hooded eyes
reminded his employee why he was the Eagle. “What do you want me to do,
jefe
?”

The one called El Águila smiled. “Pack a suitcase.”

*****

Maddy leaned her cheek against the gelding’s silken
one and breathed in the earthy scents of horse and hay. She stroked his muzzle,
soothing her spirit as much as that of the animal. Holt didn’t think she should
act as bait. He’d made that point forcefully at least twenty times since they’d
left Fort Adams yesterday afternoon, yet she remained resolved to go through
with the plan. She had to.

Before El Águila became impatient for vengeance and
decided to move on to a new target—Holt. Or, God forbid, Bobby.

“You keep pettin’ Bandito like that, and he’ll think
he’s a lap dog,” Bronc said from the rear of the makeshift stall in the corral.
“He’s doin’ fine. Aren’t you, big fella?”

As if he understood, the horse whickered softly.

Somehow during the day, Bandito had skinned his left
rear cannon bone, and the injury had swollen. Maddy turned to glance at Bronc
as he doctored the leg.

“Horses panic easy.” The cowboy applied an antibiotic
ointment to the wound. “A noise, even a mouse could have spooked him, made him
kick up his heels in his jug. Or maybe he done it out in the corral.” He
grumbled on about the dangers of splinters and sharp edges in horse stalls.

She listened half-heartedly. Sleepless, she’d seen the
barn light at midnight and come out to help.

That afternoon, she and Holt had delivered Bobby to
the Pattersons’ house. Rangewood seemed a safer location for him for the time
being. Convincing Phyllis they needed honeymoon time alone was easy. She sure
missed the little guy, though.

And leave him? A fissure opened in her chest at the
thought. His inquisitive blue eyes, his satiny skin, the bow mouth that more
often widened in a happy smile. Now that his digestive problems had ended, his
sunny personality shone through. How could she go?

Earlier that evening after one last harangue, Holt had
stormed down the road for a last-minute meeting with the DEA agents. His
absence gave her a chance to gather her courage.

Once again, he had withdrawn from her. Except for
nagging her about being a sitting duck, he was avoiding her. Was he afraid of
his feelings? Sometimes she glimpsed a deeper emotion in his eyes, but then his
damn control kicked in and rendered his expression opaque.

If there were a chance he might return the love she
felt for him, she’d find a way to stick around. The open road no longer had the
same appeal. Leaving would tear her away from the ones she loved. Staying would
mean heartache if Holt couldn’t believe in her loyalty and love. Anticipating
either deepened the rift in her to a mineshaft.

Was his problem his damn pride, or did he still not
trust her?

When he returned, she would try to reach him, to
convince him of her steadfastness. Would he believe her if she confessed the
depth of her feelings for him? Probably not.

“All done here. Bandito’ll be fine.” Bronc smoothed a
gnarled brown hand over the horse’s flank and followed Maddy out of the stall.
“You missin’ Holt? He’ll be back soon.”

Can the man read my mind?
“Um, just
daydreaming.”

Bronc grinned, clearly aware he’d nailed it. “The boy
needs you to keep him from bein’ so goldarned serious all the time.” He cast
her a sly look as he walked her to the porch. “And if an old man ain’t
mistaken, you need him just as bad.”

Before she could counter that perceptive comment, the
Silverado pulled into the drive.

*****

As Holt braked to a stop, he spotted Maddy and Bronc
outside. His pulse soared skyward. What the hell was going on? Why were they
out here so late?

He jumped out and strode over, concern lowering his
brow. “Everything all right out here?”

Bronc winked at Maddy for some reason. “Doctorin’
Bandito’s leg is all.”

The tightness in Holt’s gut eased. Nodding, he tossed
Maddy a brown envelope. “Pictures you might want to take a look at.”

He knew her well enough to see the tangled emotions in
her eyes, the worry at the edges of her mouth. He wanted to pull her into his
arms, to reassure her he’d look out for her even if he’d prefer she’d stay here
and not go to the Cowboy Action Shooting.

She wore the denim jacket she’d arrived in. The
reminder she’d be leaving soon racked his chest with a stony ache. Better to
worry about Bobby.

A wry smile quirked her solemn mouth when she slid out
the eight-by-ten sheets. “Is this a picture of El Águila?”

Bronc ambled closer. He studied the sunken eyes,
scarred cheeks and cruel mouth. “Kinda puny, ain’t he? Don’t look strong enough
to cause all the trouble you say he’s done.”

Holt snorted his disgust. “A man like that wields his
power through other people. He rarely gets his hands dirty.”

“It’s a telephoto lens. But nice and clear.” Maddy
slid the second sheet to the top. It was a long-range shot of a city street
with scattered pedestrians. “What’s this?”

“A police surveillance photo. The man in the middle is
our first shooter, K.C. Riggs, or whatever he was calling himself in L.A. The
next one’s a blow-up.”

She blinked at him. “Why do you have these?”

He shrugged. “They had extras.” He’d bulled his way
into the team with pseudo-DEA status and requested the copies. In case the trap
fizzled, he wanted a starting point.

Bronc peered over Maddy’s shoulder at the enlargement.
Wearing a tan jogging suit and a Padres cap, the professional killer strolled
unconcerned down a city street. Bronc jabbed a gnarled finger at the man’s
prominent ears and blade-like nose. “I seen this man arguin’ with Rob.”

Holt’s pulse jumped. “Are you sure? When?”

The wrangler nodded emphatically. “Sure as spring
rains. Was a day or two before Rob was killed. In Rangewood. Him and this
feller had a shoutin’ match outside the Ski and Saddle.”

“Whoa,” Maddy said. “Why didn’t we know this before?”

“Nobody never asked me. That’s why. I didn’t know who
the feller was ‘til now.” Bronc folded his arms.

“What did they argue about?” Holt asked. The reason
might shed light on the killer’s actions.

“Dunno. I was across the street at the feed store.”
Bronc shook his head sadly. “Rob almost threw a punch at him. Then this feller
just smiled and walked away. Why do you reckon he did that?”

“That’s a puzzle, all right. What did Rob say about
it?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it. Said it was nothin’.”
Bronc yawned. “Big day tomorrow. I’m hittin’ the sack.”

He headed to the bunkhouse, a sickle moon above the
high hills dimly lighting his way.

“What do you think Rob and that man could have been
arguing about?” Maddy asked as she and Holt entered the house.

“That’s an answer we may never know.” He hung his
jacket on the coat hook beside hers. “Given Rob’s temper, it could have been
anything. Doesn’t seem very cool of a hired killer to mix it up with a target.”

Her violet eyes widened and she rubbed her nose in her
familiar thoughtful gesture. “Better to keep a low profile?”

“Right.” He preferred not to speculate more with her.
She’d be no safer if she left, but he’d wrap her in a cocoon for the next few
days if he could.

“What’s that?” She jerked a nod toward a florist’s
paper sleeve on the kitchen counter.

“A peace offering.” Holt rubbed his nape. “I’ve been
too hard on you about photographing the shooting matches. I understand why you
have to go through with it.” Still didn’t like it. Every muscle in his body
seized up at the prospect of her vulnerability in the middle of the action.

He ought to plant himself on the other side of the
room. Instead he leaned on the counter beside her—close enough to reach out and
touch her.

Too close. He hooked one thumb in a belt loop.

“Flowers! Irises. They’re beautiful.” She buried her
nose in the bouquet.

“The Mountain Market in Fort Adams had them.” Mingled
with the flower scent, her unique springtime fragrance eddied to him. A pang of
longing rocked him, longing to have his mouth replace the flowers, to sample
every inch of her skin. He managed a casual shrug. “They’re the color of your
eyes.”

Her smile lit the room and heated his insides.
Pleasure heightened the color in her cheeks. “I love Siberian irises. Not as
showy as the bearded ones, but elegant and with this rich, bold color.”

Like you.
The slim blooms suited her better
than pansies. With her creamy, pale skin that flushed rosy with emotion, with
her eyes the color of amethyst, and hair the color of honey, she was elegant
even in jeans and a cotton shirt. And bold at whatever she did.

She set to arranging the flowers in a tall vase she
pulled from a cabinet. Burying her nose in them, she made little purrs of
ecstasy in her throat.

Nonchalance was a tough order with her nearly coming
over flowers he didn’t think had a scent. Every sensual sound reminded him of
her uninhibited responses in bed. Blood roared through his veins, firing lust
he might not be able to hide.

Lashes lowered, she slipped her arms around his neck
and pressed her lips to his. “Thank you for the flowers. It was very sweet.”
She nibbled at his lower lip and teased the corners with her tongue.

He sweated, but made himself drag her hands down.
“Maddy, we were right. Sex complicates things too much. I have to focus on the
dangers tomorrow. On catching the shooter. On protecting you.”

She stepped back, sparks of anger flashing in her
eyes. She folded her arms under her breasts. “Well, that’s dandy. And just why
do you have to protect me?”

He blinked at her. “You’re not stupid. The killer
could be anyone in the crowd. All it takes is one loaded gun when they’re
supposed to be empty.”

“Not what I mean. Why are
you
my designated
protector?”

“Because you’re my responsibility.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been responsible for myself
for a long time, but never mind that. Okay, Mr. Loyal-to-a-Fault, why am I
your
responsibility?”

He gritted his teeth against her grilling. She was
doing it to him again, backing him into a corner. “Dammit, because,
well...because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

She tilted her head and smiled, a seductive, pouting
smile that rushed every corpuscle to his groin. “Your wife. Exactly.” She
stepped close and slithered against him, her eyes daring him to accept her
offer.

When he didn’t, she continued. “We talked before about
my leaving Rob—
before
the wedding. I didn’t love Rob the way he wanted
me to. I told you that. I didn’t tell you the whole reason—you. And not only
because of that kiss in the moonlight. There was more.”

He remembered her that summer, so full of vitality,
she gleamed like Midas’s daughter with a fresh beauty that nearly blinded him.
He’d tried not to act on his attraction to her. Until that last night. “I came
home for the wedding. That’s all I did. I never meant—”

“Yes, you came home. And you rode with me and you
talked with me.” He watched her expression turn dreamy.

“And Rob.” They hadn’t been alone. Except that once.
He didn’t trust himself with her. Not then. Not now. He took advantage of his
brother’s girl and the guilt ate at him ever since.

“You were grown up and strong and in charge of your
life. You were a man, to Rob’s boy. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. He was the
volatile good-time Charlie. You were the steady, responsible man.”

He loved seeing her blush, the glow tinting her high
cheekbones. “Sounds boring.”

“I suppose, but I found your quiet strength incredibly
sexy and moving. That and the way you take responsibility for everything and
everyone.”

“I never meant to seduce you.”

She waved off his rebuttal. “Do you remember the
rehearsal dinner, our dance together?”

“Before Rob crashed and we went outside. I remember.
Rob pushed you at me while he went to play drums with the band for a set.” He
hitched his thumbs in his belt loops.

She gave him an enigmatic smile, the kind that said
she knew what he was thinking. “You held me in your arms for one dance. I don’t
know how I stayed on my feet. Your nearness reduced me to a puddle of lust.
When the music stopped, you could have spooned me off the floor. Later when you
kissed me, I knew I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I couldn’t marry
Rob.”

That dance had done him in too. Set him up for what
happened later. And for what almost happened. As if branded, he’d felt the imprint
of her breasts on his torso, her hips and thighs against him, and her soft hand
on his shoulder.

He burned just remembering. And from the amused curve
of her lips, she knew.

Her expression softened and her eyes turned misty. “I
told you I was having doubts about the marriage being what I really wanted, but
that dance and the kiss later cinched it. How could I tell Rob I couldn’t marry
him because I had the hots for his brother? I couldn’t look him in the face and
explain without divulging the truth.”