“I was on special assignment back in the day when Tank was serving in Iraq.”
“Tank?”
Tank grinned. “I killed one. They stuck me with the nickname and I’ve had it ever since. I came out of the army and landed a job with the border patrol.” He looked at his two visitors. “I never want to wear a badge again.”
“Well, the job does have a few drawbacks,” Blackhawk said mildly, and smiled. He glanced at Grier. “Our wives forget what we look like from time to time.”
“You married?” Grier asked Tank.
“Not yet.” Tank laughed. “Haven’t really thought about it much.” He was thinking about it now, but he wasn’t going to share those very personal thoughts with his guests.
“Can you describe the man who led you into the ambush with the drug cartel?” Grier asked.
“Yes. He was a tall blond man with black hair, short, had a British accent and a Texas drawl and red hair and spoke with a Massachusetts accent,” he rattled off, tongue-in-cheek.
They blinked.
“Same suit, different face, hair color, complexion and accent,” Tank told them. “The guy who came out here to install the surveillance cameras was the same height, but everything else was different. He’s a chameleon.”
“I’m beginning to realize that,” Blackhawk replied. “The descriptions we’re getting of him are just the same. His height seems to be the only constant.”
“No,” Rourke interrupted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “There’s another. He’s a master of disguise. Even in a field of spies, that talent would stand out enough to be conspicuous. That’s your key. That’s where to start looking. And Carson would be your best bet to find a trail.”
“Not to mention the politician who’s lining up to go to bed with the drug cartels,” Tank added. “Might not be a bad idea to put a tail on him.”
Blackhawk pursed his lips. “Not bad at all.”
“Which is why we’ve already done it,” Grier said.
“Way ahead of me,” Tank said. “See why I’m not in law enforcement anymore?”
“What bothers me is why he’s after him,” Rourke said, indicating Tank. “He can’t really identify the man. If he could, the would-be assassin would have no problem just killing him outright.” He hesitated. “And if he was here on your place, why not just shoot you down in your own front yard?”
Tank stared at him. “There were witnesses when he was here. We had several cowboys working in and around the house, and our men go armed in winter. Wolves,” he explained.
“It’s illegal to shoot a wolf,” Blackhawk reminded him.
“Yes, it is, but if a rabid one goes for my throat, I’m shooting him and the charges be damned,” Tank replied firmly.
Both men chuckled.
“He bugged the phones at the Bakers’ home, too,” Rourke reminded Tank.
“The Bakers?” Grier asked.
“She’s a...friend of mine,” Tank said.
“With rather special skills,” Rourke said.
Tank gave him an irritated glance.
“What sort of skills?” Blackhawk asked.
Tank hesitated.
“Tell them,” Rourke said firmly.
Tank sighed. “She’s psychic. I don’t mean like those people on television who charge money to tell you things you want to hear. She’s the real thing. She came over here in a blizzard to warn me that a man was going to try to kill me because of something I didn’t remember. She described the shooting, every detail. She didn’t even know me when it happened, and she sure as hell wasn’t there,” he added firmly. He shrugged. “Spooked me, I can tell you. She told our foreman, Darby Hanes, to take someone with him when he went to cut a tree that had fallen on the fence line. He didn’t want to, but I made him.” He paused. “Tree fell on him and he became stuck. He would have died if he hadn’t taken another hand along.”
Blackhawk just nodded. “We have people in our community in Oklahoma with that gift. Science won’t believe it exists. But it does,” he added quietly. “I’ve seen it work. She might have saved your life.”
“And put herself on the firing line,” Grier interrupted. “If he’s after you and he knows about her gift, she may be in danger, as well.”
“I’m taking care of that,” Rourke told them. “Nobody’s hurting her. I promise you.”
Grier’s eyes were narrowed. “I still don’t understand why he’s after you,” he said thoughtfully. “Sure, you might be able to describe his height, remember something about the way he looked or walked or stood. But he’s paranoid about getting rid of anyone with any sort of memory about him. He had a computer expert killed in Texas for trying to recover an image off a hard drive in Sheriff Carson’s office. He’s gone to great expense trying to bug your house.” He frowned. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What did your friend say again, about the reason?” Blackhawk prompted Tank.
“She said he was after me because of something I didn’t remember.”
Grier glanced at his companion. “Perhaps a hypnotist.”
Blackhawk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Tank frowned. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve done it out of desperation a time or two in murder cases. Sometimes you see things but don’t remember them. Like a license plate number or an identifying mark. Little things solve big cases,” Blackhawk said.
Grier nodded. “Would you be willing to do it, if we could get someone up here?”
“Certainly,” Tank agreed. “But I’d already promised Sheriff Carson I’d fly down there to talk to him in person.”
“We could set it up at his office,” Grier replied. “In fact, I know a hypnotist in San Antonio who’s worked with us before on cases.”
“Let me wait until my brothers get back from that conference in Denver,” Tank asked. “I can’t leave the ranch with no one in charge here.” What he really meant was that he couldn’t leave Merissa. The stalker had been in her house. God knew what he might do if she was alone, without Tank’s protection. Mallory and Cane would make sure nothing happened to her, or Clara, in his absence.
“Not a problem,” Grier said. “Think you can make it before Christmas?”
“Yes. I’ll make my arrangements and get in touch with you when I’m coming,” Tank told them.
“That’s a deal.”
They finished the coffee, complimented Mavie on its strong perfection, shook hands with Tank and left.
“IS SOMETHING GOING on that I shouldn’t know about?” Mavie wanted to know.
Tank shrugged. “A lot, probably, but we don’t keep secrets from you,” he added with a smile. “They want me to see a hypnotist. They think I might remember something about the man who shot me.”
Mavie shivered. “That might not be a good thing, boss. You remember too much as it is.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” He smiled. “I’m going to get some paperwork going in the office.”
“I’ll clean up the kitchen, then I may go watch television before it’s time to make supper.”
“You and your soap operas.” He rolled his eyes.
“Getting harder to find one to watch, they’re cancelling so many of them.” She sighed. “I miss the old days and the old soaps.” She shook her head. “These new ones are heavy on intimate stuff and spare on relationships.”
“Sort of like the movies.” He studied her. “You know, Hollywood producers never seem to notice what keeps drawing people back to movies like
“I loved
