But as he started toward the man holding up the sign, the businessman suddenly bumped against him.
“Sorry,” he said loudly. But under his breath, he said, “Don’t go near the guy with the sign, it’s a trap.”
“My fault,” Tank replied.
He kept walking, not even looking toward the man with the sign. Once they were outside the airport, the businessman drew him to one side.
“Rourke sent me,” he told Tank. His face was very somber. “He didn’t say anything about a driver waiting for you here.”
“I thought my brothers did it for a surprise,” Tank replied, looking around.
“If they’d done that, I’d know about it,” the other man replied. “I left my car in overnight parking. I’ll drive you down to Jacobsville. Boss is expecting you. You’re going to stay with him.”
“Boss?”
“Cy Parks,” the man replied. “He owns one of the biggest...”
“...Santa Gertrudis cattle ranches in south Texas,” Tank finished for him. “In fact, he was on my list of people to see. I want to talk to him about a new bull.” He hesitated. “But I promised to check in with the local FBI office...”
“Later,” the man replied, looking around them with narrowed eyes. “If they sent someone to the plane, they’ll be watching. Let’s go.”
For the first time, Tank noticed a bulge under the man’s jacket.
“You packing?” he asked as they moved quickly toward the parking lots.
“Yes.” He didn’t say anything else.
JACOBSVILLE WAS JUST a few minutes drive down the road, through some beautiful country. “It must be really pretty here in the spring,” Tank remarked as he looked across the flat horizon with small groves of trees and the “grasshoppers,” or oil pumpers, dotting the landscape.
“One landscape’s pretty much like another,” his companion replied. He glanced at Tank. “You should have questioned who I was, you know,” he said. “If that rogue agent is on the job, he’ll know Rourke is working for you and that he said he’d have somebody at the airport.”
Tank was very still. His eyes narrowed as he looked hard at the man driving the car.
There was a patient sigh. “I am the real deal,” he replied. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t have assumed I was.”
Tank chuckled. “Okay. Point taken.”
He turned off the main road down a long ranch road between two white-fenced pastures with two levels of electrified wire in between. There were sleek, red-coated cattle eating at several points where hay had been provided.
“Nice cattle,” Tank remarked.
“Boss only stocks the best” was the reply. “We had to put out surveillance cameras here as well because somebody walked off with one of his prize bulls in the middle of the night.”
“Did they catch the perp?”
The tall man pursed his lips and glanced at Tank. “I caught him.”
“With the bull?”
“Fortunately. Rustling still carries a heavy penalty here in Texas, and we had proof. He’ll be serving time for the indefinite future.”
“You’re a tracker,” Tank murmured with narrowed eyes, and nodded when the other man glanced at him with surprise briefly visible. “I served in Iraq,” he explained. “There was a spec ops team assigned to my unit. Funny, the things you remember in a combat zone, but I remember how one of those guys walked. It’s a gait you don’t see in many people.”
“Cash Grier, the local police chief, has it, as well,” the man agreed.
“Grier.” He frowned. “Wasn’t he a government assassin?”
“Yes, he was,” the man replied. His black eyes were full of secrets as they met Tank’s.
Tank cocked his head. “Am I seeing a similarity about which I shouldn’t speak?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
He pulled up at the steps of the ranch house. It was sprawling and had paved flagstones leading to the front porch. There were mesquite trees around the compound, a huge barn out back, fenced pasture and a garage. There were stables out near the barn.
The tall man got out of the car. Tank followed him to the front porch, where a man with silvering black hair and green eyes was waiting.
“Cy Parks,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand.
“Tank Kirk.” They shook hands.
“Tank?” Parks asked, amused.
Tank shrugged. “I killed one in Iraq. The name stuck.”
“Come on in. Lisa made a cake and coffee. We can talk before the kids get back from a friend’s Christmas party,” he added with muffled laughter. “Once they’re home, it gets harder to have a conversation.”
“I’ve got a new nephew back home.” Tank laughed. “We’re up to the eaves in big plastic baby toys.”
“We’ve moved on to the next level of those,” Parks said, indicating scattered games and spinning toys and little pedal cars. “Good thing it’s a big house.”
“You’re telling me!” Lisa Parks laughed. She came out to greet them. She had green eyes, like her husband, but blond hair and she wore glasses. She was a pretty woman, still slender after two children. “Come in and have coffee and cake.” She glanced at the tall man. “I know. You hate cake, you don’t drink coffee...you’d rather be dragged behind a mule than sit around talking to people all day.”
The man gave her an enigmatic look.
“How about checking out that truck we noticed earlier?” Parks asked the man. “Take one of the boys with you. Just in case.”
The man glowered at him. “I invented stealth.”
“I know that. Humor me.”
The other man sighed. “You’re the boss.”
“Oh, and Grier called,” Parks added darkly. “It seems you’ve upset his secretary. Again.”
“Not my fault,” the man said with the first strong emotion he’d shown since Tank had met him. His eyes flashed. “She starts it and then runs to her boss to tattle when she can’t take the heat.”
“This is not my problem,” Parks replied. “Take it up with Grier.”
“Tell him—” he indicated Tank “—not to be so trusting. He never even asked me for ID.”
“What good would that do?” Parks muttered. “You never carry any. Which reminds me, I also had a call from a sheriff’s deputy who stopped you for speeding yesterday...”
“Tell you about it later,” the tall man said. “I’ll check on the truck.” He held up a hand when Parks started to speak. “I’ll take one of the boys with me,” he said with irritation.
He walked out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Parks said when he’d gone. He shook his head. “He’s head of the class when it comes to risky operations, but he’s a pain every other way.”
“Who is he?” Tank asked.
“Carson.”
“Is he related to your sheriff, Hayes Carson?” Tank pressed.
“Well, see, we don’t know if Carson is his first name or his last name,” Parks replied. “In fact, if you hack into government mainframes, you discover that he doesn’t even exist.”
Tank blinked.
“It’s a long story. Right now, let’s just eat cake. My wife—” he smiled at her “—makes the best pound cake in south Texas.”
“Flatterer,” she teased as she put the cake on the table and passed out plates and forks and a knife. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony, dig in. I’ll just get the coffee!”
