Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (20 page)

“How did this gangster find you?” Espie asked.

“What happened to that Mexican feller’s body?” Bronc
demanded.

A barrage of questions ensued that made Maddy feel
like a politician on
Meet the Press
. She and Holt answered the ones they
could and said they hoped for answers soon for the rest. Finally the older
couple seemed satisfied.

“If you can nail this gangster, it will shut down his
dirty business,” Espie declared.

Maddy jiggled Bobby. He happily gummed his fist.

Holt shook his head. “Until the next petty drug
emperor takes over. The drug and arms smuggling trade is like the mythical
Hydra. Every time we lop off a head, a new one grows.”

Bronc gestured toward the corral, where the three
horses were peacefully soaking up the sunshine. “Horses don’t look too stove up
from the fire.”

“Holt got them out quickly.” Maddy regarded Holt’s
harsh expression, the way his jaw worked. He stared toward the meadow beyond
the corral, but from his expression, he didn’t see the green.

Espie clucked at the baby’s yawns and whisked him
inside for a nap. Bronc headed to the barn to begin his day’s chores.

Maddy remained beside Holt at the corral. “Something
else is eating at you. That note, does it mean El Águila is here?”

He hooked a boot heel on the lower fence rail. “The
way it was folded, it looks like he could’ve mailed it to his man here.”

“So we still don’t know who we’re up against.”

He removed his hat and turned it around a few times in
his hands. “Here’s how I think it went down. That drifter Riggs was the shooter
who killed Rob and Sara. His disappearance the day after the crash can’t be
coincidence. Nobody new has signed on at any of the valley ranches. Strangers
would stand out like saguaro cactus. Whoever is in El Águila’s pay now has to
be local.”

Their stalker might be a man they knew? She shivered.
“But that’s not what’s bothering you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and resettled his hat.
His hard features turned cool and analytical. “This sort of revenge intrigue is
unusual. Damned strange.”

“Because El Águila involved himself personally by
sending that note?”

“That and why a powerful Mexican cartel lord would go
to the trouble to concoct such an intricate plot.”

“I see what you mean. It’s more subtle than you’d
expect from guys who blow up judges and whole police departments for no reason
at all.” The freshening breeze sneaked down her collar, and she tugged it
tighter.

His gaze, hard and assessing, narrowed. “It’s as if
he’s lost his edge and doesn’t command his usual army of thugs.”

Chapter 20

Later while the men worked clearing away the barn
rubble, Maddy and Espie straightened the house under Bobby’s alert gaze.
Insisting that the first room they complete be the master bedroom, Espie carted
Holt’s clothing from his old room and stowed it in the highboy. Later they
dragged in the dark green plaid sofa and chairs Sara had replaced. A few worn
spots marred the wood-frame furniture but the older set was more suitable to
the ranch house than the ruined ones.

The check Maddy’d awaited arrived in the morning mail
along with a check from the sale of her dead Rover, and she saw no reason to
wait to spend some money. As she stood staring at the check, she speculated on
Holt’s attitude. Would he return to his hands-off stance? Or would his eyes
smolder with desire, and would he take her in his arms? The mere thought of the
heat between them last night had the power to melt her insides.

He had given her his body and some small measure of
affection and comfort, but she couldn’t expect to win his love or trust. He
held himself separate from everyone but Bobby, retaining his wariness and
distrust as armor.

No matter the outcome, whatever the DEA accomplished,
she had to leave for her calendar gig at the beginning of June. In the
meantime, she meant to squeeze out every moment of happiness she could. The
footloose life was what she knew best, what she wanted. Wasn’t it? Was June
coming too soon...or not soon enough? She huffed a bitter laugh.

She sought Holt outside the barn, where he was filling
the back of the truck with debris. The stench of wet soot accented the breeze.

He nodded toward stacks of black asphalt shingles on
the ground beside a tool shed. “If the barn hadn’t burned to the ground,
yesterday’s rain would’ve soaked the horses through the leaky roof,” he said,
his expression rueful. “Now I can use these shingles on a new roof.”

The barn roof was another example of Rob’s neglect.
Wiser not to comment. “Could I use the Silverado to drive to Fort Adams? Now
that I have funds, I need to buy wheels. And I’m supposed to pick up the
enlarged crime-scene shots.”

Slowly he raised his head, his eyes a wintry blue. He
pinned her with a narrowed gaze so full of cold fury that she retreated a step.

She wasn’t afraid of him, but she should have known what
he’d think. She straightened her shoulders and glared right back. “I’m not
going to steal your truck and hit the road, Holt Donovan. I promised to stay,
didn’t I?”

“That’s reassuring. Thank you very much.” He rubbed
the back of his neck and drew a deep breath, control on his temper clearly
tenuous. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “El Águila’s hired killer would be
grateful for such a nice fat target.”

Maddy blinked at him, nonplussed. He was worried not
that she might flee but for her safety. For years she’d looked out for herself.
The awareness that Holt would shield her fluttered her stomach. Knowing his
sense of loyalty and honor, she shouldn’t wonder that he’d include her in his
protective circle. If not in his heart.

He hesitated, hope and apprehension chasing across his
taut features. “The DEA team of special agents won’t set up shop here today, so
you’re stuck with me. I can’t go. This mess has to be cleared and ready to
start the new framing.”

“I’ll stay on the main roads. I’ll be careful.”

“No, you’ll be escorted.” Shaking his head, he marched
to the shed door. “Bronc, you finished stowing the grain?”

The hired man appeared in the opening. “All set. Want
some help hauling the debris?” His weathered face wreathed in wrinkles, he
looked dubious.

“I can handle it. How’d you like to ride shotgun for
Maddy? You can order the lumber we need for the new barn.”

Bronc’s eyes twinkled at the prospect, and it was
settled. They made the drive to Ponderosa Photo Lab in Bronc’s red Dodge truck,
with Maddy sitting on the floor until they put several miles between them and
the ranch.

After a stop at a bank, she found a second-hand black
Range Rover one year newer than the other. While the dealer prepared the
paperwork, she picked up the eight-by-ten enlargements of the crime scene.
Holt’s friend at the lab blushed from his neck to his hair line when she gushed
about the quality of his work. She and Bronc returned in time for her to feed
Bobby and tuck him in for a nap before Espie left in the late afternoon.

At suppertime, when she spied Holt striding toward the
house, she scrubbed clammy palms on her jeans and geared up for which man came
through the door—protective Holt or lover Holt.

*****

Holt rolled his shoulders after a long afternoon of
physical labor. Clouds roiled in a gigantic pillow fight over the surrounding
peaks, but forecasters predicted no more rain. Temperatures rising into the
sixties had alleviated some of the discomfort inherent in the demolition job,
but he’d rather climb on a horse any day.

Or on Maddy.

For the forty-seventh time that day, the image of her
naked and warm and soft in his bed branded his brain and sizzled his loins.
He’d been an idiot for believing one passionate night could satisfy his craving
for her. His desire for her smoothed the pretense that their marriage was real,
but it confused the issues. It jammed up his concentration. It distracted him
from his real objectives.

He was right to begin with. Sex complicated the
situation too much.

He’d do better to rein in his libido and back off from
her—at least in private. His priorities ought to be catching El Águila and his
hired killers and keeping his nephew and the ranch, not sating himself on a
female who was leaving soon. Now that she had her own transportation, he trusted
her even less to stay.

Even if she did need his protection at present. Even
if kissing her was the tart sweetness of an apple, and holding her was the
first warmth of summer. Even if making love to her was soul-deep, mind-blowing
sorcery—

Damn! Sex had never before made him poetic. That
wasn’t him. Another reason to keep his hands off her.

He cleaned up before entering, and once inside the
kitchen, sensed her presence in the room. He hung his jacket on a hook and
turned to find her at the stove. She wore jeans and her customary souvenir
shirt, without a bra like last night. His loins tightened at the faint shadow
of her nipples through the cotton fabric. He dragged his gaze up to her amused
face.

She was stirring something in a big pot on the stove.
Maybe the scent that teased his nose wasn’t pheromones after all. “What
delicacy has Espie left for us tonight?”

“
I
’m your chef for this evening, I’ll have you
know.” She cocked a hip and winked as she tasted broth from a teaspoon. She
licked away the dab of sauce remaining on her lower lip. “Thought it might make
me appear more wifely.”

The sight of her moist tongue seized him by the
crotch. He nearly bolted over and grabbed her, but he forced himself to remain
rooted by the door. The stiffness in his jaw radiated downward. He rubbed his
nape. “Wifely. Maddy, don’t—”

“Donovan, don’t you even say it.” She shook her wooden
stirring spoon at him like a mother shaking her finger. “I’m not presuming
anything. I know good and well this is for show. Oh, it’s fine for you to wave
the marriage license when it suits you—like last night.”

“Ouch.” She was right. He’d sure as hell used the
marriage bit to lure her into bed. Before he got himself in deep enough to need
a shovel, he’d better change the subject. “So Maddy McCoy cooks. Did you buy
Hamburger Helper with the grocery money I gave you?”

She snorted her disdain. “That’s Maddy
Donovan
to you,
Mister
Donovan.” The spoon plunged into the Dutch oven. “I don’t
cook much, but I do have a few specialties. This is a Turkish lamb stew my
friend Karen makes. I found the lamb in your freezer, and Bronc picked up the
rest of the ingredients while he waited for me.” She gave him a sassy smile and
held out a brimming teaspoon. “Want a taste?”

The aromas wafting to him, redolent with garlic and
oregano, had him salivating. It was Maddy’s tempting mouth he wanted to taste
at the moment, but stew was safer. He stepped closer and started to take the
spoon. The broth might not be too hot for his mouth, but the brush of her
finger singed him.

“Ah, ah, ah, might spill.” Not relinquishing the
spoon, she grinned wickedly.

First cooking for him, now feeding him. The woman was
trying to seduce him. That insight only intensified his desire. He slurped up
the smidgeon of stew fast enough to nick a tooth. He shied away like a Pinto
pony from a cougar.

“Too hot?” Her voice was sweet and smoky, sliding down
his spine smooth as honey and whiskey.

He ran his tongue over his teeth to check for chips.
All whole. “Delicious.” It was, hearty and flavorful with lamb and onions.

Still grinning, she wagged her head. “Look around.
Espie and I made a few changes.” She spread her arms in demonstration. “I hope
you don’t mind.”

Some trained investigator. Until now he hadn’t noticed
the china cabinet had been moved to the wall backing on the living room. And in
its former location was the old wood cook stove that had ruled there for as
long as he could remember. Until Sara redecorated.

Maddy darted to the old stove. “When Espie and I moved
in the original living room furniture, I thought this ought to come back in the
house too.” She gazed at him, her smile faltering. Unease crimped the corners
of her violet eyes.

Shaking his head, he crossed to her. “How could you
think I wouldn’t approve?” He ran a palm over the cool iron surface of the old
griddle top. “The kitchen didn’t seem right without it. Now the stove is home
again.”

“It’s not ready to use, of course,” she rattled on.
“It needs new stove pipe, and the flue has to be cleaned, and—”

He pressed two fingers to her mouth and left them
there, enjoying the soft resilience of her lips, the perfume of her breath.
“All in good time. Relax.”

He couldn’t help but glide his fingers over her
glowing cheeks, across the impossible softness of her temple. Of their own
volition, his fingers trailed upward to soothe the worry lines from her brow.
Wisps of  hair curled around her face. The scent of shampoo mingled with
her own to cloud his senses and make him forget everything but silken skin and
her sigh as her eyelashes drifted lower.

Damn, he had to stop or he’d thrust into her right
now. He plucked back his hand and edged around the stove.

Straining for control, he peered closely at the
stove’s rear opening. “Easy enough to attach new stove pipe and clean the flue.
This baby’ll come in handy when a winter storm knocks out the power.
Generator’s had it.”

Eyeing him with cool appraisal and a trace of hurt at
his withdrawal, she folded her arms. “Rob again?”

He shrugged. “The old stove hasn’t gotten much use in
many years. Dad kept it blacked and polished. Used it to make griddle cakes on
Sundays.”

“Your dad did the maintenance, not Bonnie,” she
observed. “I remember Espie did most of the cleaning then too. Seems like Rob
inherited the neglect gene from your mother.”

He began to see just how much alike Rob and their
mother were. “Got his temper from her too. I recall some shouting matches.
Miracle she stuck around long as she did.”

“And you keep beating yourself up for not reconciling
with her.” Maddy returned to the electric range. After covering the pot, she
set the burner on simmer.

“I never once heard her apologize. Dad was always the
peacemaker, the one to make up.” He parked a hip on the old woodstove and
worked his jaw.

“And when she left the family behind, you were a boy.
She was the adult. It’s her loss, not your fault.”

Hot damn, she was beautiful with her dander up. Full
of fire and quivering with passion, defending
him
, of all things. “I
didn’t tell you before. I telephoned her. About Rob.”

“Ha. So you did make the first move. And?”

“She came to the funeral. We talked for a few
minutes.” He didn’t know if he wanted to see her again or not. It had been so
long. They were strangers.

“So it’s up to her to keep communication open.” Cheeks
pink with indignation, she stalked closer, brandishing the spoon.

“If that was a sword, I shudder to think what you’d do
if one of our bad guys walked through that door. Thanks.”

Flushing even deeper, she bowed. “You’re entirely
welcome, sir.” Then she planted her feet in the classic fencing stance and
circled her spoon cum rapier. “Just let that El Águila walk in here.
En
garde
, you scum of the earth.”

Giving up his fight, Holt captured the spoon and
yanked her between his thighs. “Come here, warrior princess.”

The pressure of Maddy’s flat belly against the
straining bulge in Holt’s jeans assuaged his pain only momentarily. The hell
with it. He had to hold her, to feel her against him, to sheathe himself in
her. “Maddy.”

He slid his hand around to cup the back of her head
and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her flush against him. He felt
her trembling with the same urgency that shafted through him. “Wanting you has
tormented me all day. Tell me now if I should stop.” Every muscle tensed, rigid
and edgy.

“No, don’t,” she whispered.

“
Don’t?
” He was so hard he might explode if he
didn’t get inside her, and she wanted him to stop?

“Don’t stop. I want you too.” She clung to him,
nipping his neck, laving it with her hot little tongue.

He stood up and turned them around. Lifting her curvy
backside onto the stove top, he shuddered. She wanted him, as much as he wanted
her. Feverishly, he kissed her with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, savored
her textures, her taste.