The message cut off.
Rory was threatening to tell Grandpop on all of them. Hell, he almost felt young again. Rory was always telling Grandpop on them when he thought they were getting his ass in trouble.
What Rory had never known was that Grandpop had usually already guessed. But having the kid trust him, love him enough, always made the old man proud as hell. Unfortunately, this time, telling Grandpop wasn’t an option.
Jordan leaned back in his chair, stared at his nephew, and he almost smiled. Almost. Because Noah chose that moment to stare back at him, as though he knew something was up, and Jordan knew exactly what that something was.
Damn, he loved that boy. A part of him had died when he’d thought his nephew had, and he swore his soul had lightened when he found out Nathan was alive.
And he’d worried. Worried like hell, especially when Nathan refused to let them call Belle.
But this might be working out better. He rose from his seat and strode into the briefing room. Yeah, things just might be coming together for his nephew. And when they did . . . He nodded to himself. When they did, then all the conniving and manipulation he’d used against his nephew would have been worth it. Every second of it.
If Noah didn’t kill him first.
“Okay, boys, here’s your files.” He tossed the files to the table. “We have DNA verification. Order will go out to the sheriff and the state police first thing in the morning to haul Delbert Ransome’s ass in. Let’s be prepared.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Micah had photos. Late-night recon had observed several midnight hunting parties in the past week that had thankfully not resulted in prey being located. But they had the pictures, taken at long range, one of which showed Delbert Ransome’s pickup.
“We have Kira and Tehya running matches on the other vehicles but we haven’t identified them yet.” Jordan was still outlining the files an hour later.
Noah’s head lifted from the pictures to stare at his uncle.
“Everyone, Tehya will be working communications and logistics for us.” He nodded to the door and the small redhead who stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed over a snug T-shirt, her jeans-clad legs crossed at the ankles.
“What happened?” Noah asked then. “The orphan turned heiress has decided to stay”
Teyha’s lips lifted with an edge of amusement. “I never claimed the Fitzhugh estate. My name was wiped from the reports of the mission that Joseph Fitzhugh was killed in. His estate went to cover debts and to secure the future of the young woman he was still holding on his estate.”
Who would want the world to know she was the daughter of a terrorist and white slaver so vile that a cartel drug lord had been promised protection to secure the terrorist’s identity and capture.
Her long red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, her green eyes stared cynically into the meeting room.
“We also have reports of a newborn showing up with the housekeeper of Gaylen Patrick.” Jordan turned back to the file. “One of the kidnapped legal aliens had a child. An infant, mere months old. The baby’s body was never found. The DNA found beneath Ransome’s truck matched that of the father, but not the mother.”
“The feds can get him on both deaths though, correct?” Micah spoke up, his eyes gleaming like black ice in his hard features.
“That’s what they’re working on.” Jordan nodded. “Federal, state, and county law enforcement will converge on the Patrick ranch in the morning. Sheriff Grayson, not Alpine’s small police force, will be aware of the arrest warrant before the FBI arrives with it. There will be agents ready to catch Ransome if he tries to run, or ditch the truck. They’re going for complete secrecy, and there’s a good chance they can contain any calls outgoing to the Patrick ranch with the plan they have in place.”
“What basis are they using for suspicion?” Noah asked.
“Anonymous tip.” Jordan smiled mockingly. “Seems someone thinks they saw Ransome’s truck possibly chasing someone through the valley that night. A lone hiker.”
Noah nodded. It was imperative that they keep suspicion off the garage.
“We’ve had John on the daughter of Coalton James, the owner of the bank Mike Conrad is manager of. Katy James works in accounts there. It seems some of Conrad’s accounts appear a little off to her.” He nodded to the Australian then.
John Vincent flicked Jordan a rather sarcastic look before he spoke.
“Katy seems to think there are a few too many inconsistencies in some of the larger accounts. Namely the fact that several of the corporate accounts he manages have signs of being used to launder large amounts of money.”
“And she told you this why?” Noah asked him. “I know Katy, she doesn’t run her mouth about bank accounts.”
John’s lips twisted mockingly. “No, she doesn’t. But she does keep a rather detailed journal. She’s looking at getting her very delectable little rear in quite a bit of trouble if she isn’t careful.”
Noah shook his head. Didn’t it just figure. He wondered if Sabella kept a journal. Hell. He realized he had no idea if she did or not.
“The evidence found in Conrad’s library along with the suspected laundering and Ransome’s involvement puts Gaylen Patrick right in the thick of it,” John continued. “One of those very lucrative accounts that Katy has found suspicious ties into Patrick. His ranch borders the park, and it would be easy for him to offset any suspicion.”
“Patrick employs legal aliens,” Noah pointed out. “What about the program we got into Conrad’s laptop? Have we found anything through it?”
“Nothing yet,” Tehya answered. “We’re still working on the encryption on some of the files, but other than that, we’ve not been able to track any information through it.”
“John, I want you and Micah in town tomorrow.” Jordan cut through the comment hovering on Noah’s tongue. “John, stay on Miss James. See if you can get her to talk. Micah, make certain you report to your job at the local police station a bit early. See what you can hear.” He turned to Travis Caine. “Set up in the hills above the Patrick ranch. See what you can see. Make certain to stay out of sight.”
Travis nodded sharply, his aristocratic features cool and composed.
“Nik, you’re with Noah at the garage. We know the gossip that flows through there. You two keep your ears open, and be ready for any fallout.”
Nik nodded while Noah watched his uncle carefully.
“Are you expecting fallout?” Noah asked then.
“I always expect fallout,” Jordan informed him. “Go through your file. Gossip attained throughout the county points to the BCM’s interest in acquiring that garage. Belle was considered an easy mark to take out, but they couldn’t kill her. That would have roused too much interest from me personally. I would have investigated the murder of my nephew’s wife and they knew it. After her little venture into the night life tonight, I’d expect to see a few interested parties coming around though. Let’s see who takes up that interest.”
Noah froze. He stared at his uncle, feeling a tight ball of carefully controlled fury beginning to slip its leash.
“Now, let’s move on to the rest of our suspected hunting parties. If you’ll turn to page—”
“What did you just say?” Noah asked carefully, aware of the edge to his voice and the tension that filled the room as Jordan paused and looked back at him in surprise.
“I said, turn to page—”
“What venture into what night life?” His teeth clenched, he swore he felt something explode in his head.
Jordan arched his brow coolly. “Does it matter? Our only interest in her at this point is the location of her business and the militia’s interest in it.”
Noah rose slowly to his feet, his fingertips pressing into the wood with enough force to turn the tips white.
“What venture? What night life?”
“Agent Blake, are you forgetting something? The mission is our objective here, not the bar whe
re one lone citizen is having a girls’ night out. Agreed?”
Something exploded. Detonated. Noah felt the implosion in his brain.
Friday night. In Alpine. In a bar.
Girls’ night out, his ass. Sabella had known better than that shit even six years before. She knew what the weekends were like in those bars. She knew being a single woman out on the town on a Friday night was like throwing fresh meat to wolves.
“Like fucking hell.” The guttural force of the curse cut through the room before he jerked back from the table, slamming his chair and the wall and striding from the meeting room.
He ignored the sharp command in Jordan’s voice as he called him back.
He’d signed on for the mission. He’d accepted his death and let his wife go. That was what he had told himself since walking back into her life. He was doing her a favor. He was teaching her to live again, not to love again. He was going to walk out of her life the same way he had walked into it. With no fanfare, no heartbreak. Simple. To the point.
God. Loving her was killing him. Destroying him. And the thought, the knowledge, that she had taken him at his word, no strings, no commitment, was burning inside his head like a supernova as he tore down the metal steps leading to the cement parking area. He hit the security button, releasing the lock on the heavy doors, and listened to them slide open as he straddled the Harley and twisted the key in the ignition.
With no more than an inch to spare on the door, he was speeding out, lights off, his gaze narrowed against the darkness as he shot through the canyon and hit the dirt road beyond.
As he hit the main road, he flipped the lights on and laid the gas to the Harley.
A venture into the night life on a Friday night in Alpine? Like hell.
He jerked his cell phone from his belt as he rode out of the blackout surrounding the bunker. The message indicator was flashing. Hitting the button, he held it to his ear and listened to Rory’s threats.
Tell Grandpop, would he? He was going to strangle that little bastard. What the hell was he thinking, letting Sabella go out like that? Dammit to hell, all shit was about to hit the fan and Sabella was out partying? A girls’ night out with Kira Richards and Sienna Grayson.
God help them all.
God help him. Because he knew what he was doing. What he was going to do. He was going to drag her ass out of that bar, stake his ownership on her, and destroy them both when he was forced to leave.
Because he couldn’t stay. And if he tried, then sooner or later he’d trip himself up. He wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from her forever and he knew it. And once she knew, once she understood what had become of her husband, how could she forgive him? She wouldn’t forgive him. He’d left her alone for over four years after he’d been rescued. He hadn’t let her come to him, he’d given his life to the Elite Ops rather than her. How could she forgive him for that? A contract he couldn’t break, missions he couldn’t refuse, and the chances would increase with each one that he wouldn’t return.
She was attached to Noah Blake. A rebound lover. She’d realized that in time, he had told himself. Tried to convince himself of it. Convince her of it.
But as he hit town, possessiveness, arousal, and sheer male fury burned through his mind, and he knew better. There was no convincing him, because he knew the truth.
No matter who or what he was, Sabella owned him. She always had, and she always would. And that left a decision he had to make soon. If he walked away, he’d have to walk away forever. If he stayed, eventually, he’d have to tell her the truth and he knew it. Because he knew his Sabella. Eventually, she would figure it out.
Friday night at the Borderline was no place for a woman to be without her husband or significant other, Sabella thought with an edge of mockery as she sipped at her wine and watched the cowboys eyeing their table.
A half dozen had already asked her, Kira, and Sienna to dance. Sienna danced. She loved to dance and she wasn’t particular about who she danced with.
Ian had joined Kira not long after they arrived. He sat in a chair behind his wife, his expression amused, his chin propped on his wife’s shoulder as she talked to him during the louder portions of the live band belting out a facsimile of country music’s current hits.
“You’re not dancing, Sabella.” Kira watched the dance floor with a gleam of laughter in her gray eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy it as much as Sienna does.”
Sabella looked out to where Sienna was dancing with two cowboys.
She used to enjoy dancing, but not with a bunch of cowboys. A smile tugged at her lips. Nathan had always made dancing fun rather than making her feel she was being interviewed as a possible one-night stand.
Her lips thinned at the thought. No, she was his one-night stand now.
“Come on, Belle. Dance with me.”
Her head lifted and she had to laugh. Martin Sloes was a friend of Rory’s. Young. His hazel eyes were filled with laughter and he was just a little bit tipsy. He held a bottle of beer in one hand.
He was swinging his hips, his snug Wranglers a little too tight in the crotch and his western shirt unbuttoned halfway down his smooth chest. His dark brown hair was close-cut, a little goatee tried to grow at his chin.
She shook her head as his gaze roved over her bare legs and he gave her a lecherous waggle of his brows.
They were the same age, but she felt years older.
“Not tonight, Martin. Maybe next time.”
“You’re a coldhearted woman,” he said, pouting, but he moved off to the next table and the little coeds sitting there.
Sabella laughed at the pout. Martin was a charmer, or wanted to be. An overgrown kid with more money in his pocket than good sense in his head. And she knew on his pay he wasn’t overrun with money.
“This is a friendly little town.” Kira leaned forward, her expression filled with laughter over the exchange.
Sabella glanced back at Ian. His gaze, for just a second, was hard, cold as he looked out over the dance floor. He was working. She just wondered what the hell Kira was doing.
“It has its moments,” she agreed as Sienna plopped into her chair and waved her hand over her flushed face.
“Damn, those cowboys are wearing me out,” she said, laughing.
For a moment, Sabella wondered at the changes she saw in her friend. Not that Sienna hadn’t always loved to dance, but she did it more vigorously now, and flirted a hell of a lot more than she used to.
As the music slid into a slower tune, Sienna was back on her feet, this time with Martin, and Kira and Ian moved from the table to the dance floor as well.
Sabella shook her head at the three offers she was given and turned her attention to the crowd filling the Borderline Bar instead.
She pretended she didn’t see Rory and Toby sitting in the back, along the side of the room she was on. Rory was nursing a beer and glowering, while Toby had what looked like a soda and was glowering at Rory. Evidently, Rory wasn’t letting him have the beer.
What the hell were they doing following her? Babysitting her?
She let her nail tap against the table as she considered that. No doubt Noah would be worrying that whatever he was up to would slap back at her, as it nearly had Toby. Which didn’t make sense, because as far as she could tell, Noah wasn’t actually doing anything. He worked on cars. Spent his evenings torturing her, and other than a few nights a week that he disappeared with Nik, she couldn’t find a single clue that he was anything other than what he pretended to be. A mechanic. One that liked to get into knife fights, obviously.
She lifted her beer and sipped at it, almost grimacing at the bitter taste. Maybe tomorrow, she’d crack open another of those vintage heirloom wines Nathan had once been so fond of. Not that he had ever drunk the damned things. He’d just collected them.
Like he had collected his truck and his wife.
“Hey, Belle. Dance with me.” Jason Dugall, one of the Malone cowboys, stepped up to her as the music picked up its beat
again. “Come on. You don’t wanna just sit here all night.”
His brown eyes sparkled with fun, his blond hair was sweat dampened and falling over his brow.
“One dance.” She picked up her beer, took a large drink, then rose to her feet and let him take her hand and lead her out to the dance floor.
She hadn’t danced in years, but the steps came back to her naturally. Within minutes she was laughing, twisting. Jason was a good dancer. A fun dancer. He didn’t touch below the waist, they laughed when she screwed up the steps and he would swing her around to get her back in step.
They finished the song and moved into another, then another. She let her mind drift, remembering the nights she and Nathan had spent dancing here when they went out with friends. And it was fun. It was something she hadn’t done since she and Nathan had been married, for one reason or another.
Finally, her legs weak and her mouth dry, she waved off another dance and headed for the table. From the corner of her eye she saw movement and turned.
A path opened to the door and Noah Blake came striding in like the biker bad boy from hell. Leather chaps over snug jeans. Kick-ass boots on his feet. A leather jacket over a black T-shirt. His blue eyes blazed like hell on fire in his dark face and his black hair was windblown, mussed, and lying to his shoulders in erotic disarray. As though the wind had loved his hair as he rode. Combed invisible fingers through it and left it lying in just the right way to reveal the rugged savagery of the re-formed bones and angles of his face.
And he was heading straight for her.
The music drifted away, a slow sensual tune heated up the dance floor, and she felt her breathing become harder, deeper.
Two days. She had been without him for two days. And it had been hell. How was she going to make it without him when he left to sort-things-out?
He strode to her, that loose-hipped dangerous swagger that made her mouth dry and her pulse pound. And before she realized his intention, his arms went around her and he pulled her into the softly swaying crowd.