Wyoming Bold

“You couldn’t have known,” Mallory said gently. “Neither of us thought about the possibility, either. It seemed a logical thing to do.”

“Yes, it did,” Cane agreed.

“We might have another company come in and tweak the cameras,” Mallory suggested with twinkling eyes.

“Not a bad idea,” Tank said. “I have a friend who can put bugs in ice cream and you’ll never see them. He was working as an independent contractor in the Middle East when I was serving over there. I’ll give him a call on my cell.”

“Your cell may be bugged,” Mallory pointed out.

“I’ll buy a throwaway,” Cane said. “And use it. We’d all better have some. I’ll send Darby into town for them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tank muttered. “We hire people to protect us from the bad guys, and they may turn out to be the very people we’re watching for.”

“Our advantage,” Cane said, “is that they won’t know we’re onto them.”

“We could all just be paranoid,” Mallory suggested.

The other two looked at him for a minute, laughed and shook their heads. “No.”

He shrugged, and grinned.

“Tell the wives,” Tank added, “not to say anything about this in the house.”

“We will. They’re going on a two-day Christmas shopping trip to Los Angeles Friday,” Cane pointed out. “Morie’s taking Harrison with them. She can’t bear to leave him even with Mavie for a couple of days.”

“She’s a great little mother,” Tank said. He pursed his lips. “And I hear you and your new father-in-law have a hunting trip planned for next month up in Montana.”

“Heard that, did you?” Mallory chuckled. “We do. Now that he’s a grandfather, he’s a lot less judgmental and harsh.”

Tank didn’t want to mention how much Mallory had mellowed. So he just grinned.

“I’ll call Merissa back and set up our date for Saturday,” Tank decided. “I can be fairly certain that the restaurant won’t be bugged.”

“I wouldn’t make that bet,” Mallory replied. “Especially if you told her where you’re going.”

“I did,” Tank groaned. Then he brightened and laughed. “I’ll drive her over to Powell instead, and we’ll eat at the Chinese restaurant. But I won’t tell her until we’re on the way.”

“Creative thinking,” Cane said.

“I’ll have my friend sweep the truck before I leave.” He paused. “If he’s got the time, I might hire him on as a temporary. Nobody has to know what he really does for a living.”

“Do it,” Mallory said. “Better safe than sorry.”

* * *

TANK SENT DARBY Hanes into town that afternoon for throwaway phones. As soon as he had his, and it was activated, Tank placed a call.

“Hello?” It was a male voice, deep and quiet.

“It’s Tank,” he replied. “How are things?”

There was a pause. “Not good. How are you?”

“Fine, so far.” He hesitated. “Are you free for a couple of weeks? It’s a job, and it pays well.”

There was a rush of breath. “How the hell did you know I’m out of work?” came the reply. “Just finished one job and didn’t even have another lined up. Bills are piling up, house needs repairs...” He was lying through his teeth, but Tank wouldn’t know. He didn’t speak of his private life to outsiders. He maintained the fiction that he was a starving mercenary, living from job to job.

Tank chuckled. “Great! Well, not about the bills, I mean. But you’re hired.”

“You’re a lifesaver! What do you need done?”

“I’ve got a rogue fed after me,” Tank said. “I just hired a surveillance company to put up cameras and install bugs—but I have a nasty suspicion that the installer will turn out to be the rogue fed who’s after me.”

“Damn! You do have the worst luck!”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “How soon can you come up here?”

“As soon as you email me a ticket” came the reply. “I haven’t unpacked from the last job. It will be a pleasure.”

“You aren’t working for your...for your old boss, I mean?” He bit his tongue. He’d almost slipped and said “your father,” but he didn’t dare do that. Rourke wouldn’t get on the plane. Most people suspected that Rourke was the illegitimate son of K.C. Kantor, the ex-merc millionaire. Nobody said it to Rourke’s face. Nobody dared. Besides, if the man was living from hand to mouth, it was unlikely that he had a rich father looking out for him.

“No, the boss and I had a falling out,” Rourke replied heavily. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Things have gone from bad to worse. And Tat won’t speak to me at all.” The last was said with subdued rage. Tat was a socialite journalist who’d gone with Rourke and General Machado to retake Machado’s country in South America. Rourke and Tat, his nickname for her, had a very long history. Rourke had known her since she was a child. They had a rocky friendship.

“Put her neck hairs up again, did you?” Tank asked.

Rourke cursed. “She’s gone in with the troops, over in Nganwa,” he said, naming a small country involved in a nasty revolution. “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. It’s a bloodbath over there. I know seasoned mercs who won’t go near the place!”

“Journalists are usually protected,” Tank said quietly.

“Sure they are. Want to hear how many bought it last year on assignment?” he asked pessimistically.

“Sorry to hear she’s in danger,” Tank said finally.

“Her own damned fault. Stupidity has a price. For two bits, I’d go in and drag her out...” He hesitated. Swallowed. “Send me the ticket. I’ll be right up.”

“I’ll email it on my alternate account,” Tank said.

“Good man.”

“Thanks, Rourke,” he said quietly.

“Hey, what are friends for?” came the reply.

* * *

MERISSA WAS WEARING a soft beige dress that clung to her slender figure, outlining her pert breasts and tiny waist and flaring hips. She wore flat shoes with it, and her blond hair waved in soft curls around her elfin face. She wore a small Christmas tree pin on the dress and a matching clip in her hair.

She smiled shyly at Tank, who stared at her with open admiration. “If it’s too dressy...” she began self-consciously.