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Not quite suppressing a grin, Quinto glanced at the horse. “This is Charlie Samuels’s mount. I’d say not a chance in hell.” He handed Tico the reins. “It’s about twenty minutes to the station. Good luck.”
Tico stared Diablo in the eye. “No more games, buster. We’ve got a job to do.”
This time, the horse let him mount, then stood there. Tico made sure his feet were secure in the stirrups. He flicked the reins. “Giddyap!”
The horse didn’t move.
Officer Quinto had already climbed back into the patrol car. Tico could see the driver shake his head slowly as Quinto no doubt explained to him what was going on.
Yeah. He looked like a clown to these guys. He didn’t mind, but he needed this damned horse to cooperate.
He kicked the horse’s flanks with both heels, and Diablo took off. “Whooooooaaaaa!”
Tico worked to keep his seat while the horse galloped along the road into town. He’d be one sore son of a gun when this was over, but he had no choice. It was taking Tico years to regain the respect of his New York peers with his hard-nosed, unflinching approach to detective work, but he didn’t have time to prove his worth here. He had to win over the Adobe Creek team. While humor had been his intent, he wanted to make his new colleagues laugh, not make a goddamn fool of himself.
The horse had taken to the pavement from the desert. He’d slowed his pace to a brisk walk but was hogging the center of the road. Tico used the reins as he remembered, but nothing he did convinced the horse to move over. From the way the traffic was being held up behind him, then passing him with dirty looks, it seemed that this freaking horse would sabotage his plans. He was losing to Diablo by the minute. Best he could do was pretend he wanted his mount to be unruly.
Tico let out a breath as he viewed the footprint of the small town nestled in the foothills. The mountains in the distance framed what looked like something out of an old Western mining town. From the elevation in the road, he could see Main Street—the busiest part of town. Not one high-rise dotted the vista. Just low adobe structures and wood-front buildings painted brown and white, or yellow or barn-red, with shutters on windows and signs over the doors.
In the foothills, the whitewashed adobe enclave of the Quarry sprawled like a wedge of Hollywood among the tumbleweeds. He’d read all about this celebrity hot spot in his review of the case. The Quarry, a now defunct silver mine, had been backfilled, landscaped and rebuilt into a spa community that managed to attract the rich and famous who wanted anonymity and seclusion. Celebrities owned private homes there, but vacation haciendas were available for anyone with means to pay the outrageous rent.
Tico used his sleeve to swipe the sweat off his brow. Damn climate roasted around here. He wished he’d thought to bring a canteen of water to round out his outfit. He looked like a goof in his City Slickers cowboy costume.
Softening his tough-guy reputation for the detectives of Adobe Creek had seemed like a good idea while driving across country. Especially for Meg Flores, who was the squad leader and hadn’t asked for Tico’s help. He’d been called in because the task force leader in that area wanted to make sure level heads led this sting. Once Meg Flores discovered who specifically had requested his help, she’d like him even less. That wouldn’t do when he needed everyone’s cooperation to get the job done.
Tico didn’t underestimate the loyalty investigative teams held for each other. He’d learned that fact early on through the gangs he’d once known all too well. He’d also learned that the way into enemy territory was easiest when your adversaries thought you were harmless. From the line of cars—including the police cruiser—following him now, he’d say he was achieving the desired effect. The derogatory comments flying from drivers’ windows were proof enough.
The procession on the two-lane road grew longer and agitated the horse even more. With every sounding horn Diablo grew more skittish. Thankfully, the Adobe Creek Police Department, the only modern facility in this currently one-horse town, was a stone’s throw away. And look there. A welcome committee stood in the shade of the carport by the front door, watching him. The woman standing between the two men was Meg Flores. And no surprise, she looked better in real life than in her photo—even from this distance.
Tico concentrated on maneuvering Diablo under the overhang. He pulled the reins to the left, leading them toward the entrance, when the stallion reared unexpectedly, came down hard, then reared again. Arms flailing, hat flying, Butler landed flat on his back in a cloud of dirt. Passersby in cars yelled for him to trade his horse for a car and sped on. Folks on the sidewalk clapped and hooted with glee.
Tico lay with his eyes closed, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. Meg Flores’s laughter blended with the guffaws of her two teammates. Her voice penetrated his mind like a double shot of whiskey. If she spoke the same way she laughed, the girl had one sexy voice. He would have laughed, too, if breathing wasn’t so difficult. Inwardly, he grinned, despite his discomfort. He’d gotten the reaction he wanted, although not exactly how he’d intended. If only it didn’t feel as though he’d just broken every bone in his body.
With eyes still closed, he absorbed the jokes flying at his expense. His senses homed in on the sound of footsteps coming toward him. A cowboy-boot stride with attitude. He’d bet a month’s pay he knew who the boots belonged to. Wondering if she’d act the part of rescuer, he kept his eyes shut. All expectations dashed when, still chuckling, she whispered to his horse, “Good job for throwing this bozo, fella.”
He opened his eyes in time to see the sole of a cowboy boot press down on his chest. The curious stare of one Meg Flores flattened him more than he already was. Damn, she was smoking hot! The reins dangled from her right hand. Diablo glared at him from over her shoulder.
Traitor horse.
“Can I get you a taxi back to New York, Detective?”
Tico laughed out loud. His sides ached. His butt hurt. He didn’t care. So, this was Meg Flores. Tough. Defensive. Acting exactly as he’d expected she would in the face of his arrival. He’d heard she had guts, but no amount of research could have prepared him for the way those dark, proud bedroom eyes leveled him faster than the horse had. For one dazed moment he forgot he was on his back as he inhaled a scorching breath. Unwilling to succumb to his reaction to her, he let an easy grin cross his mouth.
He pointed to the horse, who he swore was looking smug behind her. “You guys really ride those things around here?”
She watched him a moment, her face unreadable. “I’ve never seen a horse look more embarrassed in my life. This must be your first time out West.” She tapped the toy sheriff’s badge on his chest with the toe of her boot. “Did the kids at school give you that star as a goodbye gift?”
He pushed her foot away and pulled himself upright. He’d be sporting yet another fine bruise on his hip from this latest fall. He used his hat to dust himself off—especially her boot print on his shirt—only to give up. This dirt was impossible to remove. He totally ignored the insult that had been aimed at his ego.
He took a moment to size up Meg and liked what he saw. Curves in jeans, a tailored white shirt and a navy blazer. Fit. Judging from the roots at her part, her once dark brown hair about as long as his own had been dyed blond. A heart-shaped face, sweet lips and those big brown eyes made her look too gorgeous to be a police detective. She was just a few inches shorter than he, and, from her bearing alone, he could see she’d be able to hold her own in a tussle. Something in the challenge of her stance had him wanting to test her. Her chin might give away her attitude, but those pursed lips nipped at his heart in an unfamiliar way.
Tico ran a hand through his hair. “I thought anyone could just hop in the saddle and ride. It sure looked easy in the movies.”
Her laughter held a grudging tone. He didn’t mind a bit. Even more, he liked the sound of her voice.
“You’re the first out-of-town consultant to make a complete ass of himself at first sight. Well done,” she said.
He popped the hat back on his head. Damn cowboy hat. Hated them, but it was part of the getup. He stole a quick glance at the two men clearly enjoying the spectacle he’d created. Winning over the men wouldn’t take long. Cracking Meg Flores? Now, she would be a challenge.
Meanwhile, he could benefit from regaining some semblance of dignity. He hadn’t expected that he’d have so much trouble with the horse. When he’d come up with the plan, he’d imagined that the horse would behave and not have a personality completely foreign to him. And he wasn’t kidding about thinking anyone could simply jump on a horse and go. Damn. He’d ridden before. That beast was more of a bitch to ride than a rigid-frame chopper on city streets. He hesitated about claiming the reins from Meg, who already seemed to have tamed the animal. Yet, from the look on the detective’s face, he just might prefer to take his chances with the horse.
He reached for the reins. A smirk crossed Meg’s face as she handed them over. The horse turned his head away in total disinterest, pulling at the reins as if testing Tico one more time. Tico held firmly. The horse got the message and stood still. Looking the horse in the eye reinforced his earlier thoughts about riding. He’d never trade his Harley for a horse.
He cleared his throat. “I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Eric Longwood.”
One of the men, who looked to be of Mexican descent, thumbed toward the newly renovated precinct. If memory served Tico from the files he read, this was Jose Lopez, the rookie detective on this case.
Lopez gestured over his shoulder. “Inside. Chief’s expecting you.”
Tico made sure to have eye contact with each of them. “Thanks for the reception.”
Meg planted a hand on her hip. “We got a call that a circus act was riding in. Couldn’t resist.”
Ignoring her dig, he looked around. He wasn’t finished working the joker card. “Where does one park a horse around here?”
Meg shook her head. “Idiot.”
He liked the challenge in her derision. When she didn’t answer, he said, “I heard your precinct had a mounted unit. Can my demon on four legs hang out with your horses until I’m done?”
She gestured to the corner. “Stable is behind the building.” She glanced at her watch. “Better get a move on, cowboy. Eric doesn’t like to start late.”
Tico walked the horse away, leaving a wave of chuckles behind him for not mounting to ride. For once, Diablo followed dutifully behind him. The beast was probably glad he didn’t have to deal with Tico again. He rounded the corner to the stables. In any other city they could have been mistaken for a four-bay garage with doors that swung open instead of up.
The renovated police station reflected the wealth that funneled into Adobe Creek from the celebrity resort nestled in the foothills. While the rest of the city maintained its historic Southwestern architecture, the modern brick precinct looked out of place amid the older adobe and wood buildings and outdated warehouses farther down the narrow street. Adobe Creek needed about fifty years to catch up with the rest of the world.
Tico looked around with a sense of disbelief, unable to accept he’d taken this job. Yet, here he was, his hip already hurting from his two throws, facing off with the squad team that wanted nothing to do with him, and wondering what Meg Flores looked like when she wasn’t angry.
His reception had proven to be more or less what he’d expected. What had surprised him was the gut wrench that hit when he’d ridden his Harley past the Judumi reservation outside of Adobe Creek. His dad had told him stories of the Judumi tribe, but any group that had spit out his dad and forgotten about Tico, even though they knew he existed, was no group he ever wanted to join.
Yet, he’d come, even though he didn’t relish the meeting with Chief Eric Longwood and the detective team. Under other circumstances he’d bet Meg Flores could have been a friend, along with the rest of her team. But, no. Once again, he had to be the hired gun. He arrived as the threat to their reputations because they couldn’t move this investigation forward. None of them wanted him here. Diablo snorted behind him, pulling on the reins as if punctuating his thoughts. Tico picked up the pace. The sooner he unloaded this animal, the better he’d feel.
Did the team know that Tico had originally refused the job? It wasn’t until the man behind Longwood’s request had called him and explained the personal investment he had in solving this case that Tico did some soul searching and accepted the assignment. The huge pay hadn’t hurt either, but refusing would have been morally wrong.
He’d done stings similar to this before. He’d never tackled a group as far-reaching as the Mexican Carlito cartel, but stopping their drug and human trafficking ring in Adobe Creek outweighed his personal desires never to set foot in this part of the country. Diablo’s hooves clicked on the pavement as if counting out the seconds that would lead to the hours and then days he would spend in Adobe Creek. He’d get the job done as quickly as possible and get the hell out of town. Maybe take a long vacation. Ride his Harley up the Pacific coast. After fifteen years, he needed a break. He was so damned tired of playing the tough guy with his peers.
An older man with a day’s worth of stubble stood in the door of the stables. He took one look at Tico and began to laugh.
“Long ride from Tombstone, son?”
Another joker. Yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken this job, even if he did set himself up as a fool. Why was he always right?
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_57bb69ca-43cf-527b-be1c-3a5377eb1769)
MEG SAT IN the conference room with her team members, Bill, Jose and Mitchell, awaiting her boss and the Rattlesnake—Tico Butler’s nickname in the underground world, according to his profile.
She swallowed a gulp of coffee with disgust. Wasn’t it her bad luck that even though he arrived dressed like a clown riding down Main Street, Butler looked like someone she’d find attractive? She’d worried about that since seeing his photo. Almost forty years old, Butler had a tough look, his face chiseled by a life lived hard, but there was something strong, magnetic and downright sexy about the expression in his eyes in the profile photo. His features smacked of his Judumi heritage. Her family ranch sat adjacent to the Judumi reservation. She’d been friends with the tribe her entire life.
She’d learned that Tico Butler’s father had belonged to the Judumi tribe. Her most trusted teammate, Bill Mewith, was also from the Judumi and had been her childhood friend. She glanced at him sitting beside her now. He’d mentioned that he was curious about the tribesman they were about to meet who’d never known his heritage. Meg had always admired everything about the Judumi native culture. She might be Mexican-American, but she’d spent her childhood with her Judumi neighbors and felt like one of them.
Bill caught her glance. “So, what if we’re wrong about this guy, Butler? I could see my brother pulling a stunt like his this morning.”
At Bill’s words, Jose sat back in his chair as if expecting bullets to fly.
Palms flat on the table, Meg leaned closer to Bill. “After all we discussed, you’re caving?”
“Not caving, girl. We have a serious issue here. Maybe we should rethink our opinion of him.”
“Because he made an ass of himself for all to see?” She waved in the direction of the street. “You don’t know who he is. I do. I did my research. Did any of you? That whole show was to get you on his side. And you’re playing right into his hands.”
Jose whistled softly. “Cojones, man. His must be made of steel.”
Bill chuckled. “Especially with the way he was riding. An insult to his heritage, for sure.”
Meg cringed. She didn’t mind the slang. She minded that they were admiring Butler when they’d all agreed to be unified in their attempt to muscle him off the case.
“Look, I don’t argue that he’s probably good at what he does, but we don’t need him.”
Bill leaned toward her at eye level. “He took us by surprise with his antics. He’d probably be just as effective infiltrating a place we can’t get into.”
“Must have been quite an entrance. Sorry I missed it,” Mitchell said.
Meg swallowed her anger. “Look, he’ll be here any minute. I don’t want you wimping out on me when you were all outraged that we’d been circumvented. We can do this job without some city slicker.”
Mitchell cleared his throat. “We’ve been working to crack this ring for almost two years. It’s been a week since the latest women were taken, Meg. Not one stinking lead. We’ve probably already lost those three girls.”
“No!” Meg could feel her face flush. She didn’t like her emotional reaction one bit, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept the fact that the missing high school girls were gone for good. At least, not yet. Unsolved, the missing persons files could stay open forever. Meg didn’t want those ghosts haunting them. “I’m not willing to give up on these women yet, Mitchell. If they’ve been snatched by the cartel, too many bad things will happen to them. We have to keep looking.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But we’ve combed the county. What’s your next great idea?”
The sarcasm in his voice had the other men looking up. Easy girl, she told herself. Mitchell might be Longwood’s hired consultant, but he wasn’t hers. In her mind, he’d retired two years ago. He didn’t need to be here now. She took a slug of coffee and let the hot liquid burn down her throat. “Seems to me, Mitch, that generating great ideas is why you’re still here. You know? Resident expert? Why are you asking me?”
The room fell silent. Mitchell was the longest-standing detective in the precinct. Although he had retired two years ago, he kept coming back as a consultant because he’d experienced more stings and busts than any of them, at least until this latest cartel. The cartel operated along the border but had never intruded on Adobe Creek. Until now.
Mitchell slammed the table with his fist. “Well, little girl, I’ve run out of ideas this time. Maybe that’s why your daddy enlisted Tico Butler.”
Her father had brought Tico Butler on to the case? No. Eric Longwood had hired him. She wasn’t going to split hairs with the man who always tried to push her buttons.
Meg slid back her seat. “Daddy my ass, Mitchell. Maybe if you spent less time with your buddy Jack Daniel’s, you’d be clear enough to respect that kids like us know what we’re doing.”
Her accusation was like a bucket of ice water thrown on the room. Everyone knew Mitchell tipped the bottle now and then, but no one dared talk about his problem since he didn’t venture into the field anymore. After all, he was a legend in his own time. Now that he did mostly desk work, what did the occasional drink matter?
Bill held up both hands. “Dammit, you two. Enough! Nothing productive is coming from this argument.”
Meg blew out a breath. Bill was right. She let herself drop back into her chair. “See? The snake hasn’t even gotten here, and we’re sniping at each other. I’m not backing down.”
“We don’t have a choice, Meg. Butler is here,” Bill said. He leaned toward her. Speaking quietly, he pulled his usual stunt when he thought she was wrong. “I’ll bet fifty bucks you’re the first one who caves to this guy.”
She shook his hand, gripping it more tightly than normal. This was one bet he’d lose. “You’re on.”
Jose looked apologetic. “Mitchell is right, Meg. We have to listen to what Butler has to say. We’ve run out of leads.”
She pointed a finger at each of them. “If you think Tico Butler is useful, then you get what you need from him before I send him packing.” She looked each man in the eye. “Are we all agreed on this?”
Bill nodded. “Might take longer than one meeting, but I get your drift.”
Jose held up a hand. “You’re the boss.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Good luck with that one.”
That was all she’d get out of Mitchell. She didn’t expect much else.
She listened with half an ear to Jose and Bill making small talk with Mitchell, which was pretty much the routine for clearing the air after a heated exchange. Football. The latest drug bust. But, now that she’d had an exchange with Butler, all she could think about was how to keep her balance and stand her ground, even if the others disagreed. Butler’s stunt with the horse was nothing any of them had expected. More reason to run his unwanted help out of town. A lot was at stake here. She wasn’t about to let an outsider screw things up, no matter what his reputation.
She addressed Mitchell. “What do you say we let Eric and Butler do all the talking before giving our input?”
Mitchell shrugged. “That’ll do.”
She sensed motion in the hallway outside the conference room windows. She sucked in a fortifying breath to settle her heart rate when Tico Butler looked right back at her.
“Okay, guys. Here comes trouble.”
* * *
PLASTERING A SERIOUS look on his face after joking with the amused officer at the desk, Tico followed the officer’s directions to the conference room down the hall. The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows were open. He registered the scene with a glance.
Meg Flores, her two teammates and Mitchell Blake were seated around the fake wood table, a pitcher of water, glasses and manila files on the table. An empty whiteboard filled the wall behind the head of the table. A red light blinked on a coffeemaker holding a freshly brewed pot.
From reading their profiles, Tico knew that Bill Mewith was the Judumi Indian seated next to Meg, his hair hanging in a braid down his back. Jose Lopez sat drumming his fingers on the table. Mitchell Blake looked worse than his profile picture. Stress lines around his eyes and mouth, faded red hair and the start of a paunch at his waistline made him look world-weary and badly in need of exercise. Tico had read that they were all good at their jobs. Right now, they all looked pissed as they watched him pass the window.
Exhaling a long breath, Tico was about to push through the door when someone called his name. He recognized Eric Longwood heading toward him. He was taller and rangier than he’d expected from the face-to-face Skype conversations they’d had last week. With blond hair in need of a trim, and a mustache that could rival any biker’s, Longwood was as distinguished as his light blue eyes, intent and intelligent.
Eric held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person. Welcome.”
Tico let a grin play across his face. “I managed to arrive alive.”
Longwood motioned to his clothes. “What’s with the getup?”
“Trying to ruin my reputation.”
