Desert Heat

“His job is in New York. My team can do this.”

“My dear, the only way I will permit you to stay on the case is if you let Detective Butler lead the squad. You follow his instructions, or Eric will pull you off. Your mother and I prefer you work this case from a desk, anyway.”

And she’d thought this morning’s meeting was bad. She’d just been sideswiped by the two people she trusted most in the world while the object of her derision watched. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “And to think I came here to ask your help to remove Detective Butler from the case.”

Don Francisco shook his head. “No, Meg. He’s our guest. I’ve invited him to stay in one of the vacant cabins.”

That did it.

She stood, placed the half-finished beer glass on the table, her insides quaking with anger. “I’ve heard enough. Enjoy your ropa vieja. Good night.”

* * *

TICO SAT IN the rocking chair on the porch of his cabin, feet on the rail, roasting the end of a Catelli cigar for lighting. The orange tip glowed in the dark as he drew on the cigar. Slowly exhaling the smoke, he relaxed his muscles, letting the stillness of the evening settle into his senses.

He’d showered off the day’s dust and bad attitude, and changed into his favorite worn jeans, black T-shirt and boots. With his hair tied back, he felt physically refreshed, but his thoughts were weary.

Once again, he was the odd man out. As much as he could have happily spent the evening alone, especially after pissing off the sexiest woman he’d seen in a very long time, he’d stayed for dinner with Don Francisco and Barbara.

They’d seemed genuinely interested in learning more about him, asking in-depth questions about his parents and his upbringing, which Tico patiently answered, though he didn’t appreciate the invasion of his privacy. He suspected Don Francisco already knew the answers, but figured the man wanted to see Tico’s take on his childhood. Tico could understand the man’s motives, which was why he’d answered. He wouldn’t have been as understanding with anyone else. As his employer and the father of the sultry team leader he’d been hired to supplant, Don Francisco deserved respect and ease of mind.

He’d worn his long-sleeve shirt through dinner because he hadn’t wanted Barbara Flores to see the rattlesnake tattoo circling his forearm. The ink was a permanent reminder of a time he was no longer proud of. But the tat? The snake’s meaning had changed with him.

Now, in the dark, he didn’t care. He needed to unwind from the day but was too wired. His newly relaxed muscles tightened up once more as he thought about Meg’s fine ass as she strode from the veranda tonight. He really liked everything about her. Felt a pull toward the woman in a way he’d never known. If the situation were different, they’d make one helluva team.

He took a moment to exhale a stream of cigar smoke. His entire left side ached from the falls this morning. He’d been so outraged at the horse after the morning meeting, he’d called Charlie Samuels and told him he’d pay extra if Charlie would send someone to pick up the horse and give Tico a ride back to his Harley. The son of a bitch had laughed on the other end of the phone, but sent Seth with a horse trailer.

A chuckle escaped his throat. The look of amusement on Meg’s face before the horse threw him had been priceless. She may have treated him rough, but he’d seen the intense way she had checked him out while all huffy and pissed. The others might have been fooled, but he could tell she was arming herself against her own thoughts in his favor.

He’d take a chance on that instinct in the near future.

Even though her father had hired him, the last thing Tico wanted was to ambush Meg as team leader of the investigation. Don Francisco had brought him in as a top detective, but not until tonight had he made it clear that his desire to keep his daughter safe from the cartel was enough for him to sanction Tico taking over Meg’s job—permanently. He’d couched his concern by saying that he wanted Tico to do anything necessary to keep his daughter unharmed. Tico had heard Don Francisco’s veiled message loud and clear, and didn’t like it. At all. In an equally correct manner, he’d replied that Meg had an excellent reputation, and he looked forward to working with her.

Tico had no desire to take Meg’s job. He wanted to get the bad guys. Period. Don Francisco’s double standard put Tico in a difficult position with both Meg and her father. Would he be able to solve this case and keep his integrity intact with either party?

In the past, Tico had never had trouble bulldozing anyone out of the way if they impeded an investigation, but Meg hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she and her team had done everything right. Smugglers had the upper hand with stealth and technology, and were terrorizing local residents to remain invisible—and untouchable. The cartel’s advantage made law enforcement almost impossible. Every detective knew that no matter how big the sting, they could only scratch the surface of the black market. The answer to killing the underworld was to have public demand dry up. People had to stop feeding their addictions—and their dark sides—in order for the good guys to win.

That would mean changing the world. Given the world he came from, Tico was determined to do just that, one case at a time. The one person he thought who didn’t need changing at all was Meg Flores. He’d seen how she had put her heart and soul into this investigation. He’d react exactly as she had, if the tables were turned. No doubt, Meg’s helplessness at her powerful father’s demands was infuriating.

He stood and leaned against the railing. Overhead, stars filled the night. Until driving across the country, he’d had no idea what the night sky truly looked like. Now the inky darkness attracted him with a haunting familiarity, though he’d never seen anything quite like the stark blackness littered with so many points of light. His imagination soared as he looked into the depths of the sky.

Maybe it was the dry, hot air. Maybe the occasional lowing of cattle on the range, or coyotes howling in the foothills. Whatever the reason, this place stirred a need in him he’d never known. He wanted to belong to an environment as wide and clear as this place. Nights like this simply did not exist in one-bedroom apartments in the lower Bronx with car horns blaring, trains clanking and kids who yelled to each other from the sidewalks. He exhaled a long breath. He could get used to life in the desert.

His gut knotted at the realization. Inwardly, he shook himself. This place was haunting his good senses. He’d learned early on not to attach himself to anyone or anything. He’d chosen to be an undercover detective because his parents had been crack addicts. Unsupervised, with a lot of pent-up anger, he’d run with gangs until he was finally arrested in his early twenties and scared straight. Even then, working for the law, he found no sanctuary.

Tico was tough. Running with gangs had made him that way. But he was honorable and got the job done. Then, when he lost his partner in a gunfight with a gang, prejudice toward him spiked, and Tico’s defenses rose right along with his peers’ reactions. He’d learned as a kid and again as a cop that no place was home.

Yet, basking in the peaceful night on the most beautiful grounds he’d ever seen, Tico found himself wishing for the first time in a long time that he had roots—a home like this one. Maybe not so grand, but a place to belong. He hadn’t entertained thoughts like these since he was small. Now desires like these did him no good at all.

Yeah. Coming here was a bad idea.

He needed to get his job done and get out as fast as possible. He’d planned on cracking Meg’s defenses and winning her over, but he’d liked her and her team on sight. They looked like honest, straightforward folk with whom he’d like to be on good terms. Bill Mewith and he had the Judumi in common, but was his lost heritage something he wanted to explore further?

It didn’t matter. Tico had been perceived and received as the enemy. An uphill battle, one more time. It was ironic the way he’d been more accepted in gangs than in the world of law enforcement. The old adage of being judged by the friends one kept followed him everywhere he went.

Don Francisco had set the stage one more time for Tico to be the outsider. But what the hell. He’d do it. The pay was certainly worth it. He’d ignore the pull of the land, of his Judumi heritage, of Meg Flores’s soulful eyes. There was nothing here for him except a job to do.

He’d get it done.

His instincts were already giving him ideas for directions he should pursue. Only this time, for the first time in his career, he wouldn’t bulldoze the team leader. Again, unfamiliar territory. But he’d read the reports. Met Detective Flores and her team. No matter what Don Francisco wanted, he’d make sure Meg worked with him on this investigation. Somehow, he’d appease Don Francisco. Meg deserved the recognition. Tico could protect her. He had no goddamn idea why he was even remotely entertaining that thought, but he was.

Maybe it was the swirl of stars overhead. Maybe it was this excellent cigar. Whatever. At the moment he felt inclined to meet this challenge. Who knew how he’d feel tomorrow.

The pounding rhythm of hoofbeats rose from behind the ranch house. One horse. One rider. He’d watched Meg’s truck pull up to a cabin on the lake in the distance after she’d left her parents’ veranda this evening. Sounded as if the rider was coming from that direction.

A rush heated his blood. Damnation, he hoped so.

Standing perfectly still, he watched as Meg rode around the house, heading for his porch. She looked sexy and wild in the shadowed light, her hair flying behind her, the air pushing a white Mexican shirt against her body as she moved—and what a body she had. He moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. A sweet sight in the saddle, Meg handled the horse as if they were one. The power of the gallop meant she was still fuming. That brought a grin to his face.

She reined in the horse in front of the railing, just a hair’s breadth from where Tico stood. In the small cloud of dust, the musky heat from the horse’s hide vibrated the air between them but did nothing to match the heat from Meg’s flinty stare. He didn’t move a muscle. She looked sweet as hell.

He took a draw on the cigar. “Nice night for a ride.”

Her voice thrummed with barely suppressed hostility. “As if you’d know.”

“Did you race all the way here to discuss my riding abilities?”

“You have none.”

He chuckled. “A little rusty. I’ll give you that.”

“We have to talk, Detective.”

She was still pissed. He would be, too. Time to get to the bottom of their first encounter. Tico gestured to the rocking chair next to the one he’d been sitting in. He’d like to know if his inclination to help Meg had been misplaced.

He flicked the ash of his cigar into the dirt. “You climb down off that thing, and I’ll be happy to listen.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_345f2871-3f06-57ba-814e-5f36ca257367)

THE SMUG LOOK on Tico’s face had Meg questioning her reason for coming here. Needing to keep her anger, she refused to ignore his jest. Meg laid a propriety hand on the horse’s neck. “She’s not a thing. Her name is Whisper.”

“Sounded more like thunder to me.”

Okay. So maybe she’d ridden Whisper hard on the five-minute run over here. She didn’t want to have this conversation but had no other choice. “Very funny.”

He addressed the horse. “Okay, then, Whisper, why don’t you deposit your mistress so we can have an eye-level conversation.”

“She won’t answer. She knows better than to converse with a man who considered himself above the law for most of his life.”