Diana Palmer - Wyoming Bold

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!”

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 Café 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.