TANK LIKED CY Parks and his wife. They were surprisingly down-to-earth people, despite Parks’s unconventional background. He, along with local doctor Micah Steele and counterterrorism teacher Eb Scott, had formed a small unit of mercenaries who went all over the world as part of their jobs. They were taught, in turn, by a group of legendary fighters, now retired, whom they still kept in touch with.
Eb Scott’s school drew pupils from all over the earth. He taught all sorts of subjects, including small-arms instruction, defensive driving, hostage rescue and demolition. There were rumors, unsubstantiated of course, that the occasional government agent benefited from Scott’s instruction.
“Is there anything you guys haven’t done?” Tank asked Parks when they were strolling through the barn to look at some of his prize yearlings.
Parks shrugged. “We never took over a country.” He chuckled. “But one of our locals, Grange, did. He used to work for Jason Pendleton, but he’s got his own place now. His father-in-law manages it for him while he’s occupying the Military Chief of Staff position in Barrera, over in South America.”
“I understand the president of Barrera has family locally, too,” Tank remarked.
He nodded. “His son is Rick Marquez. Rick’s a lieutenant of detectives with San Antonio P.D. now, and his mother still runs Barbara’s Cafe in town. Good food. Almost as good as what my wife cooks.”
Tank nodded. “That was good cake.”
“She’s a wonder.” He glanced at his companion. “You married?”
Tank shook his head. He smiled secretly. “But I have prospects.”
Parks chuckled. “Good for you.”
“I appreciate the hospitality,” Tank added. “I travel a lot for the ranch. You get sick of hotels, no matter how good they are.”
“Tell me about it.”
Tank sighed. “I just hope your sheriff has some ideas about how we can track down this guy before he offs one of us,” he said quietly.
Cy nodded. “You’re worried about your family.”
Tank agreed. “And not just my family—my girl,” he added softly, referring to Merissa. “She’s the one who warned me. This rogue agent bugged her phones, as well as the ranch. Rourke’s got his eye on all of them, but it’s still unsettling.”
Cy clapped him on the shoulder. “I know how it feels, believe me. But we’ve got plenty of people trying to ferret out his identity. He can’t hide forever.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tank said.
TANK ENJOYED CY’S two little boys. They were smaller versions of their father, both with dark hair and green eyes. They wanted to know all about Tank’s ranch and what sort of cattle he ran. He got a kick out of listening to them hold forth on the subject of genetics. Obviously they were already headed in the direction of becoming ranchers when they grew up.
Tank called Merissa early the next morning.
“Anything going on that should worry me?” he asked her gently.
She laughed breathlessly. She hadn’t expected him to call, and she was all aflutter at the sound of his voice. “Not much,” she said. “Your man came and fixed the car for us. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. You’re sure he was our man?” he added worriedly.
“Oh, yes. Rourke came with him,” she added. “He’s a very interesting person.”
Tank ground his teeth together. “He’s my friend, but he’s a merc,” he began.
“You aren’t...jealous?” she asked shyly.
“Jealous?” he burst out. “Of course I’m jealous! You’re my girl!”
There was a soft gasp. He could almost hear her heart beating. “Oh, that sounds...very nice.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “Does it?”
“I like Rourke a lot. But not in that way,” she said primly.
He chuckled. “That sounds very nice, too,” he repeated her words.
She laughed.
“I love to hear the way you laugh,” he said softly. “I miss you.”
There was an indrawn breath. “I miss you, too. You aren’t going to be there a long time, are you?”
“No, just today. I’m going to talk to the sheriff later...” He paused as a car pulled up out front. He peered through the curtains. It was a squad car. He grinned. “Speak of the devil.” He laughed. “It’s the sheriff. I have to go. You take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes. You do the same. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He hung up and went outside. Cy Parks joined him on the porch.
A tall blond man in a uniform got out of the Jacobs County Sheriff’s Department vehicle and came toward them.
“Tank Dalton?” the man asked with a smile as he studied Cy’s companion.
Tank grinned. “Sheriff Carson?”
“Hayes.” He shook hands. “If it’s not too early for you, I thought I’d ask if you could come over to my office for a chat.”
“Go ahead,” Cy told him. “If you need a ride back, I’ll send one of the boys.”
“No need.” Hayes grinned. “I’ll bring him back.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
TANK CLIMBED INTO the patrol car with Hayes and they drove to the sheriff’s office.
“How’s your arm?” Tank asked him.
Hayes grimaced. “Still painful. I’m doing physical therapy and hoping I’ll regain at least partial use of it, but things are unsettled right now.” He shook his head. “I’ve been shot before, but I never had consequences like these.”
“I know what you mean,” Tank replied quietly. “I had injuries that required multiple surgeries. It was a few months ago, but I still get jumpy if there’s a car backfire.”
“Law enforcement is not a job for the weak of heart.”
“I totally agree,” Tank said. “That’s why I market cattle now.”
Hayes laughed. He led the way inside the building to his office, and offered Tank a seat. “I like my coffee strong.”
“Me, too.”
“Good thing, that’s the only way you’ll get it around here.” He produced two cups of coffee and put Tank’s in front of him. “There’s cream and sugar...”
“I don’t want either. ”
“Same here.”
Tank leaned back in the chair. “Did you ever catch the would-be assassin who shot you?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Hayes said with evident irritation. “We’ve put pressure on everybody we know. I even had my father-in-law ask around.” He leaned forward with a grin. “That’s how you indicate you’re really desperate—you involve a drug lord in your investigation. But my wife’s father has a good heart. He’s just in an illegal business.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t seem to run out of applications for jobs on his horse ranch in Jacobsville. But just between you and me, I think a lot of the applicants are undercover narcs.” He chuckled.
“That wouldn’t be a surprise.”
Hayes sipped his coffee. “We identified the shell casing,” he said. “Unfortunately the bullet’s still in me. The surgeon refused to remove it. He said it would complicate my recovery if he went in digging around delicate tissue.”
“I’m still wearing one of mine, too,” Tank replied. “I remember reading about Doc Holliday of O.K. Corral
