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  Blaine wrote down, computer illiterate.

  “You have your PI license?” he asked.

  “Sure do. Thought of starting up my own company, but then there would be office space to find, and the secretary to hire and all that stuff, and start-up money. I thought I’d work for a while for somebody who already knew what they were doing.”

  Blaine wrote down, lazy, disorganized.

  “You’re thinking of this job as temporary?” asked Blaine. “Is that it?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Not if I like it.”

  Blaine wrote down, dependable???

  “What was your last job, Logan?” Blaine held his breath.

  “Homicide. After five years on the force, I made detective on Houston PD and things were going great, then… got a call out to a domestic—asshole had beat his sweet wife to death.” He hung his head. “Two tiny babies in their little beds—twin boys—and their momma lying dead on the floor between the cribs. “Excessive force,” he whispered, “I lost my job.”

  Blaine nodded and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “We’ll give you a shot, Logan. Three-month probation period, then we’ll talk it over.”

  ANNIE AND RACE sat on the porch having a cold beer while they waited for the kids to come home from school on the bus.

  Race cocked his head to one side as if he was thinking.

  “What?” asked Annie.

  “I got a flash of what I was thinking yesterday before I passed out.”

  “Oh, yeah? What was it?”

  “We were in the desert. It was hot, and we were shooting at Coke cans lined up in rows on sawhorses. And I was laughing because you were so much better than me.” He grinned. “Do you know when that was?”

  Annie’s heart thumped in her chest. “I do know. That was when Jackson and I lived in Vegas. He had to go to Toronto for club business and you were guarding me as a favor to him.”

  “That’s all I remembered, but a strong feeling came with the memory, girl.”

  He called me ‘girl.’

  “And what was the feeling?”

  The smile vanished from his face. “I loved you.”

  BLAINE WALKED LOGAN to his truck and joined Annie on the porch. “Didn’t Jesse come back?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, not yet. I’ll try his cell.”

  “Hmm… no answer. I hope he’s not working all day with the horses on his first day back.” She let out a breath. “I’m texting Tyler.”

  ‘Jesse didn’t come home. Know where he is?’

  ‘Rode out to the trailer to pack his stuff. I’ll check on him.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  TYLER JUMPED IN his pickup, bounced through the cattle guard and headed across the back five hundred acres to

  Jesse’s trailer. Corky was tied under his shade shelter that

  Jesse had built by hand, and the dogs were lying in the sun on the deck. Things looked normal. If they were, why did he feel panic in his chest?

  He parked the truck, bolted across the deck and blasted

  into the small kitchen. “Jesse, where are you?” He hollered as he ran first into the office, and then into the bedroom. Jesse was sprawled on the bed and he looked dead. He grabbed

  Jesse’s arm and shook it. “Wake up, Jesse. Wake up. Don’t be dead.”

  Jesse opened his eyes and stared at him. “Why are you yelling?”

  “Thought you were dead. Fuck, I need a beer.” He stomped into the kitchen and took a couple of cold ones out of the fridge.

  “Dead tired,” said Jesse, as he trudged out of the bedroom and eased onto one of the kitchen chairs, “but that’s about it. Have no energy. Nada. Need to talk to Brian about that.” He pointed a finger at Tyler, “and don’t tell Ace how fuckin tired I am. She’ll put some kind of surveillance on me.”

  “I won’t tell her anything. You can trust me.”

  I hate lying to him. I promised Annie I’d watch him.

  Jesse glanced at his Rolex. “It’s a wonder she ain’t looking for me.” He tipped up his Lone Star and chugged half.

  “Oh, she’s looking all right. She texted me.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Gear down a little, Jesse. Don’t worry about every little thing like you’re doing. Give yourself some time to heal.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try. I feel a little wound up.”

  Tyler finished his beer. “I’ve got to get to the barn for chores. You better get your ass home for supper.”

  Jesse cast his eyes lovingly around his trailer. “I am home.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Jesus H., Jesse, get it together.”

  DINNER WAS OVER by the time Jesse made it back to Coulter-Ross with more of his clothes and his dogs.

  Annie was busy cleaning up the kitchen with Rosalie when he came in. She smiled, walked around the island and hugged him. “I was worried, cowboy. Did you eat?”

  “Not yet. Guess I tired myself out in the ring on my first day back and I slept a couple of hours at the trailer.”

  “Okay, good. You should be resting after you work. I’ll warm you up some dinner.”

  “Thanks, Ace. Have a beer with me?”

  “Sure will, sweetheart. Sit yourself down at the table.”

  Jesse sat down, Annie passed him a beer and Race strode into the kitchen. “Hey, Jesse, how are you?”

  Weird. He hardly ever talks to me.

  “Good day with my horses. Tired me out though.”

  “Doc thinks a bit of my memory might come back.”

  Jesse raised a dark brow at the thought.

  Jesus, you don’t want that to happen, Race. You’ll throw yourself off a fuckin cliff.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, can’t wait.”

  I can fuckin wait.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Friday, March 3rd.

  AFTER THE COWBOYS left the kitchen for morning chores, Blaine poured himself a second cup of coffee and sat at the harvest table with Jesse, Annie and Race.

  “Hired a new guy, Jesse,” said Blaine, “Stick around and meet him before you go to Quantrall.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jesse. “He got a license?”

  “Uh huh. Used to be a homicide cop in Houston.”

  “I hate cops,” said Race as he spread jam on another slice of toast.

  “Well, you’re living in a houseful of them now, man,” said Blaine, “Maybe you better rethink it.”

  Annie jumped in, “I’m sure Race wasn’t thinking of you guys, were you, sugar?”

  “Cops in general,” he said. “They’ve all got the same fuckin attitude.”

  Blaine rolled his black eyes and pushed his chair back, “I’ve got work to do in the office before the new guy comes. See you a minute, Jesse?”

  “Sure. Right behind you.”

  Blaine could hear Annie in the kitchen trying to talk sense into Race as he closed the office door. What a wasted effort that was. He pointed to the club chair in front of his desk and said, “How do you like living in the loony bin?”

  “Jesus H., Blacky, I told myself I could do it. I’d get used to it and all the rest. But day two and I’m freaking out. Got to spend more time at Quantrall.”

  “Period of adjustment. It’ll get easier.” Blaine booted up his laptop. “The boys will be here soon, and we’ll have a short

  meeting.”

  “What did Scott say yesterday?” Asked Jesse. “He got

  anything hot for y’all?”

  “Giving us a few to get organized, then he’ll peel

  something major off Chief Calhoun’s desk.”

  “They giving you Ranger status?”

  Blaine shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “Not sure what direction I want to take us. It’s gonna take some thought.”

  Blaine’s cell rang, and he checked the screen. Unknown.

  “Hello. Hello. Who’s calling?”

  “You got a heavy breather?”

  “Un
known.” He pressed star sixty-nine.

  ‘Hola.’

  “Mrs. Flores?”

  ‘Si, si, Fabiana… she began talking in Spanish so quickly Blaine couldn’t catch it.

  “I’m coming over, Mrs. Flores. To your casa.”

  “Si.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Jesse.

  “No clue,” said Blaine, “my Spanish isn’t that speedy. I’ll drive up to the city and see if I can figure it out in person.”

  “She must be worried if she called you. How long has Fab been on assignment?”

  “Oh, shit… months. I put it out of my mind because if it’s another case like the Tibando brothers, she’s sleeping with the assholes to get the goods. I can’t…”

  “I couldn’t either,” said Jesse. “I’m way too jealous to put up with that shit.”

  The office door opened, and Travis came in with Logan and Farrell behind him. Farrell had the dogs. He knelt on the floor and gave them hugs. “I missed these guys so much.”

  Blaine paced by the arched windows, looked across the room and nodded. “Logan, this is Jesse Quantrall, my partner. He’ll be your boss, same as I am, if I’m not around. He’s semi-retired for medical reasons, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have a lot to say.”

  Farrell chuckled.

  Jesse shook Logan’s hand. “That’s Quantrall, like in

  Quantrall Oil, n’all that?”

  “Uh huh. That would be me.”

  Blaine crossed the room with his cell in his hand. “You speak Spanish, Logan?”

  “Yes, sir. Houston PD. Comes in handy.” Logan was

  giving him a look.

  “Okay,” said Blaine, “I get what you’re thinking. This guy’s Latino. Why doesn’t he speak Spanish?” He blew out a big breath. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “No problem. I can help y’all out.”

  ANNIE STUCK HER head in the office door. “Your guys ready, sugar pop?”

  Blaine turned to Logan and said, “My mom is going to sharpen you guys up a bit this morning, so go out back with her to the target area.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow. “That’s your mother?”

  “Problem?”

  A wide grin spread across Logan’s face. “Not for me.”

  “The problem’s all mine,” said Jesse. “That’s my wife.”

  “Lucky man,” said Logan as he left.

  Annie set the boys up at the targets with noise mufflers and practice ammo. Jesse and Blaine sat down at one of the picnic tables to watch.

  “What do you think of Logan?” asked Blaine.

  “Hard to tell without seeing him in a pressure situation,” said Jesse. He smiled, “And by then it might be too late.”

  “You’re a bundle of laughs today, partner.”

  “If he was a homicide cop, he’s probably fine,” said Jesse. “Give him a few months to prove himself. Shit, we don’t even have an ongoing case.”

  Jesse lit up a smoke and watched for a few more minutes. Annie was joking and laughing with Logan, and Jesse could feel green venom begin to flow through his veins. Another problem he had to deal with, living here at Coulter-Ross with all these men around. He stood up to take his leave. “I better get to work, or Ty will fire my ass.”

  Blaine grinned. “As if.”

  “Let me know what you find out from Mrs. Flores.”

  WITH THE PRACTICE session over, Blaine left Travis and Farrell with the gun cleaning detail and took Logan to Austin.

  Logan lowered the truck window and lit up a smoke. “Have to say, your beautiful mother knows a lot about

  firearms and shooting.”

  “Uh huh. She does.”

  “Where’d she come by all that expertise?”

  “She hung around with the wrong people.”

  “Oh, I get it. Best not to talk about it.”

  Blaine nodded and took the ramp into the city.

  “This a case or personal?” asked Logan as they drove through East Cesar Chavez.

  “My ex is a DEA agent. She’s on assignment and has been for several months. I don’t know anything about it, but her mother phoned this morning and she seems upset.”

  “You want to find out what’s going on?”

  “Taking into account that her mother doesn’t speak much English and she’s never met me, and never phoned me, I have to wonder what prompted her to call today.”

  “Where did she get your cell number?”

  “That’s just it. Fab must have left my number with her mother or she never would have known it.”

  “Like… call this number if you don’t hear from me?”

  “That’s what came to mind, but I hope to hell and back that’s not it.”

  Blaine pulled into the driveway of the run-down old

  Victorian. The veranda roof sagged over the front door, paint was peeling on the railing and the support posts and the stone foundation was crumbling in spots. With one quick glance, he spotted at least a dozen things that needed attention.

  “This place is a mess.” Blaine bent down and picked up a couple of shingles off the driveway. “Jesus.”

  “Could use a bit of TLC,” said Logan.

  “Fab calls it the ‘money pit.’ Took most of her paycheck and she never would let me help with it.”

  They stood side by side on the porch while Blaine rang the bell. “I’ll ask questions, you translate for Mrs. Flores and see if we can find out why she called me.”

  “Yep, I’m good.”

  Mrs. Flores came to the door wearing a white apron over a purple flowered dress. ‘Senior Powell, buenos dias.’

  ‘Buenos dias, Senora Flores,’ said Blaine.

  She motioned them inside and pointed to a sitting room off the front hall. Spanish words flowed out of her so fast, Blaine’s head began swimming.

  “She’d getting us coffee,” said Logan.

  Blaine nodded and sat down on the sofa.

  Mrs. Flores returned with a tray and placed it on the coffee table. She filled the cups and passed the cream.

  “When was the last time you heard from Fabiana?” asked Blaine.

  Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them with the tail of her apron. ‘largo… demasaido largo.’

  “Too long,” said Logan. “It’s been too long.”

  “Has Mrs. Flores tried Fab’s boss?”

  Logan translated.

  ‘Si, jefe.’ She shook her head. ‘No sabe.’

  “Her boss at the DEA doesn’t know?” Blaine was on his feet and pacing. “Deep cover—she’s always deep. They must know where she is. She has to have a handler.”

  ‘Encontrarla.’

  Logan set his cup down. “She wants you to find her.”

  “She could be anywhere,” said Blaine. To Mrs. Flores: “Let me speak to her boss first, find out when she’s supposed to be finished, then we’ll talk again.”

  Logan translated, and Mrs. Flores nodded. ‘Si. Ondele.’

  “She wants you to hurry.”

  “I got that part.” Blaine pointed to his cell. “Where did you get my number?”

  Mrs. Flores left the room and returned with a folded note in her hand. She handed it to him.

  “It’s written in Spanish.” He handed it to Logan who read it aloud. ‘If I’m not back by my birthday, phone Blaine.’

  “When was her birthday? When was that?” hollered Blaine, searching frantically on his phone. “Oh, Jesus, no.”

  “When?” asked Logan.

  “February seventh.”

  “Almost a month late. The DEA must know something.”

  “They have to.” Blaine headed for the door. “Tell her we’ll call later.”

  Logan was in the doorway explaining to Mrs. Flores as Blaine’s Harley boot crashed through the second step. “Fuck, this place is a fuckin disaster. Tell her I’m sending workmen over.” He picked up more shingles out of the front flower bed. “And a roofer.”

  THERE WAS NO SIGN advertising the DEA field offi
ce in Austin. Blaine made a call to Chief Calhoun, the man heading up the Texas Rangers and he provided the information.

  “Heard you talking to Chief Calhoun, boss. He’s head of the Rangers, ain’t he?”

  Blaine nodded as he followed the GPS. “Yep, you’ll be working closely with his office through this agency. We work directly for the Governor, but our reports go through Calhoun’s office.”

  “You fuckin with me?”

  “Nope. Gospel.”

  Blaine pulled in behind an old brick building in a lesser

  area of downtown Austin. Two black SUV’s were parked side by side and the rest of the lot was empty.

  Logan glance up at the four storeys and said, “Don’t look like much.”

  “Probably the reason they picked it,” said Blaine. “Anonymity.”

  Logan grinned. “Yeah, that.”

  The front door had a closed sign hung inside the glass. Blaine looked up and located the security cam, hidden in a corner of an upper window. “They’re looking at us.”

  “Should we knock?”

  Blaine gave the door a push and it wasn’t locked. The moment they stepped inside, they faced a tall man in a dark suit with a bulge under his jacket.

  “Can I help y’all?”

  “Blaine Blackmore-Powell to see Special Agent Dean Jankovich.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’ll only take a minute of his time.”

  “Sorry. He’s busy.”

  “Yeah, well I’m busy too.” Blaine pushed past the man in the hall and kept walking.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop and turn around.”

  “What if I don’t know what’s good for me?” Blaine spun around to face tall guy. “Then what?”

  “I’ll have to place you under arrest.”

  “Do it.”

  Another suit came down the dark hallway and stepped into the abandoned reception area, “Ah, Deputy Powell, nice to see you sir. I’m Special Agent Rambocas, in charge of the Austin field office. The Chief called to say you might pop over. Come on into my office.”

  Logan followed silently behind and the tall suit

  disappeared.

  Rambocas appeared to be fit, in his late forties, silver-haired and clean shaven. His blue eyes darted from Blaine to Logan and back again.