* * *

ROURKE CALLED BACK a few hours later, from near the Baker house. The cowboy who’d been watching Clara had returned to the ranch. Rourke had released him, and he was anxious to get back to his regular chores, despite Clara’s wonderful cooking. Carson was working around the Kirk ranch, keeping an eye on the family.

“Sorry it took so long. Marquez was in court,” Rourke said.

“I figured he wasn’t available or I’d have heard from you sooner. Are Clara and Merissa okay?”

“They’re fine. They were having lunch just before I left to check the surveillance units Carson put up. If I get back in time, I’ll get homemade chicken salad.” He laughed. “Okay, here’s what Marquez was able to find out...”

“Is that line secure?”

“Is it ever,” Rourke said grimly. “I’m halfway up a tree talking on a throwaway phone. Yours is a prepaid. No way he’s got access to these. And just in case he does, I’m running a scrambler on the line.”

“Devious.”

“I work in covert ops,” Rourke reminded him. “This is what Marquez told me. That watch was made by a Swiss manufacturer. It’s a custom one-of-a-kind watch. It was a birthday present to the assistant D.A. from his very wealthy wife.”

“So the guy couldn’t fence it,” Tank guessed.

“Very good. It could have been disassembled, jewels removed, gold melted down, but the watch was unique. My guess, and Marquez’s, is that the killer liked the prestige of wearing a watch that was worth more than the price of a new custom Jaguar XK. Same thing for the shirt, which was couture, hand-painted and cost a mint. So he likes the shirt and the watch and starts wearing them. It’s stupid, but brilliant people do stupid things. He wears them to Hayes Carson’s drug bust and is photographed wearing them. Later, he wears them to your ambush and you saw him wearing them. Somebody, probably his employer, goes nuts when he realizes his man has been advertising a killing that could put them both in the slammer for life and there’s a photograph to prove it. So the repentant employee goes after Hayes, tries to have him killed, but hires the wrong man and the gunman misses. Thus the kidnapping, which would certainly have led to Hayes’s murder except for some great escape work by Hayes’s fiancée, whom he just married.”

“The photograph would have been on the computer that was in Hayes’s office that was erased by a cohort of the would-be killer,” Tank finished for him.

“Most likely the woman accomplice was the one who worked for the so-called surveillance tech who bugged the houses up here,” Rourke guessed. “Then when they realized the photograph could be recovered, they took the computer and killed the techie who was trying to do the recovery.”

“Sloppy, messy job all around,” Tank muttered.

“Isn’t it, though?” Rourke mused. “To continue, then he realizes that you got a great look at him and you’re another loose end he can’t afford to ignore. Our guy is a pro. He’s great at disguises, knows his poisons...knows his way around the underworld. But I’ve worked with some guys like that who were skilled at covert ops but lousy at strategy and tactics. Maybe in the past he’s had someone else telling him what to do and how to do it, and he was great at it. Now, maybe he’s on his own and finding that he’s not covering all his bases like he used to. Or maybe he has a drug habit and it’s getting out of control, so he’s sloppy all of a sudden.”

“He didn’t try to hit the two federal agents or Cash Grier’s secretary,” Tank pointed out.

“They may have been further down the list. Take out the biggest risk first—Hayes Carson and his computer. Then you, because you could actually connect him with Charro Mendez and lead you back to his boss if you talked to the right people.”

“Lot of maybes there,” Tank pointed out.

“True.”

“What else did Marquez tell you?”

“They’ve tentatively traced our would-be assassin to a sleazy politician with purported ties to a drug cartel. He’s a state senator. But he’s running for a high political office. The elderly senior U.S. senator from Texas has died suddenly of what they assumed were natural causes. That’s being reinvestigated as we speak. There’s also a serious rival for the unexpired term who just landed himself in the hospital with an undiagnosed illness.”

“Did they look for poison in his bloodstream?” Tank drawled.

“They hadn’t, but thanks to Marquez, they’re going to.”

“You think there’s a tie to this politician?” Tank asked.

“Now, there’s the really interesting thing. Among the cases the prosecutor was investigating was one involving this sleazy politician. Bribery, misuse of funds, drug distribution connections, that sort of thing.”

“Did he have evidence?”

“I think he might have. But the data in his computer was destroyed. And I mean destroyed. The hard drive was shattered. All the paperwork on the case disappeared. Seems the prosecutor had hired a temp to sub for his sick secretary just before he was killed and all the records went missing.”

“There would have been police reports, investigator’s notes,” Tank began.

“I’m coming to that. All vanished. It’s just the word of the police officers and detectives. Know what that’s worth in court without a paper trail?”

“Damn!”

“Marquez’s language was much more colorful,” he said. “Anyway, there’s nothing that can connect the politician to any of this. Except...”

“Except?”

“It seems he has an enforcer with expensive tastes. The enforcer, a man named Richard Martin, was seen wearing a paisley shirt just like the one the prosecutor’s wife gave him.”

“Don’t tell me—he was also wearing a watch that plays Joan Jett.”

“Bingo.”

“Now what’s the bad news?”

“Same as before. No paper trail. Nobody who saw him could identify him except maybe you and Hayes Carson and the feds. He’d have to be nuts to go after the feds, by the way. Or maybe he thought about importing some overseas talent for those. Oh, and Cash Grier’s cute little secretary with the photographic memory—she saw him. They’re still trying to tie in her father’s attempted murder with the poisoned would-be assassin.”

“Somebody had better be watching her back, just in case,” Tank said grimly.

“I know things about her father that I can’t tell you,” Rourke said.

“The minister?” Tank asked.

“He wasn’t always a minister. Leave it at that. Besides, she works for Cash Grier. I know career criminals who’d think three times before they even considered tangling with him. He may be a small-town police chief now, but those old skills aren’t rusty. He also has a network of, shall we say, off-the-radar friends and associates. Some of them are reputedly wanted by a number of world governments.”

“Very interesting.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Rourke’s voice became serious. “Marquez said that the sleazy politician’s enforcer has a reputation for extreme violence, especially in tight corners. We can’t let our guards down for a moment.”

“Clara and Merissa have to come over to the house and stay with us,” Tank said firmly.

“I told them that. Merissa was willing at first. Now, she’s not. She thinks they’ll be all right at the cabin. Clara says if Merissa wants to stay, so will she.”

“Don’t even let them argue with you about it. Pick them up and carry them out to the car if you have to.”

“It’s a truck, but I take your meaning.”

“Get Merissa’s computer and any sentimental items you can carry, as well. Just in case he has any ideas about making a bad situation worse.”

“I’ll do it right now.”

“Watch yourself.”

“I always do. Take your own advice. Talk to you later.” He cut the connection.

* * *

TANK TOOK HIS brothers into the kitchen, turned on the mixer in spite of Mavie’s exasperation, shooed her out of the room and told them what had happened.

“Things are getting very dangerous,” Cane remarked.

“Yes, they are,” Mallory agreed. “Carson set up his system to do facial recognition, and we pinpointed a man today with a criminal record who ran when we tried to question him.”

Tank felt the danger. “I wouldn’t have put you two in the middle of this, or the wives, or your son,” he told Mallory, “for anything.”

“It’s worth the danger if we can keep you alive,” Cane said tightly.

“It’s Merissa I’m most worried about,” Tank confessed.

“She’s safe for now, though,” Mallory told him. “Rourke won’t let anything happen to her or her mother.”

“That’s not all.” Tank shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Something’s got me worried.”

“What?”

“The trail he left in the snow, the one that led to the highway.”

“Old hunter’s trick is to double back on a trail,” Mallory mentioned.

“If he was laying a false trail deliberately, he’d make sure we saw it. So where do you think he’s been hiding?”

Mallory’s face was hard as rock. “In the cabin itself.”

Tank felt his breath catch in his throat. “Merissa and Clara!” he exclaimed, fear in his expression.

* * *

HE OPENED HIS cell phone and called Rourke. The phone rang and rang. But Rourke didn’t answer.

“Something’s wrong,” Tank said. “I’m going over there.”

“So are we,” Cane and Mallory said together.

“No,” Tank replied emphatically. “You stay here. I’ll call all the cowboys to stand around the house with loaded weapons. Carson’s going with me.”

“Be careful,” Mallory said tautly.

“You’re the only little brother we’ve got,” Cane added and tried to smile.

“I’ll be fine.”