Navajo's Woman

“They might.”

“Yeah, well, even if they do—and I don’t think they will—what about the guy who really killed Bobby? He won’t have any trouble killing both of us to keep us quiet.”

“Jewel can back up your story. She went in at Bobby’s with you.”

“Jewel was so scared that she ran, didn’t she? She didn’t hang around to see if we got out okay. She’s not going to want to get involved. She could easily deny having seen or heard anything, just to cover her own butt.”

As much as Eddie hated to admit that Russ was right, he nodded his head in agreement. Being on the run from the police and from a ruthless killer wasn’t what Eddie wanted. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t turn against his best friend, could he?

“We’re in this together, right?” Russ cut Eddie a sideways glance.

“Yeah. Right.”

Joe Ornelas popped the caps off six bottles, placed the open beer on a tray and carried the refreshments out from behind the bar that separated his compact kitchen from his combination dining and living room. Hunter Whitelaw and Jack Parker still sat at the table where they’d been playing cards. Matt O’Brien picked up the TV remote and said something about checking ball scores on ESPN. Wolfe stood by the windows, his back to the rest of the Dundee agents, as he stared out into the rainy Atlanta night. Ellen Denby, their boss lady, came toward Joe, smiling.

“Need some help?” she asked.

“Just help yourself,” he replied, holding the tray out to her. “What’s up with Wolfe?” Joe nodded toward the solitary figure by the double windows that overlooked Salle Street. “This is the first time he’s taken me up on my offer to play cards. I had begun to think he was avoiding our company.”

Ellen lifted a bottle from the tray. “He knows all of us a little better than he did a few months ago. I think working closely with you and Hunter on rescuing Egan Cassidy’s kid might have helped.” Ellen glanced over her shoulder at Wolfe, who seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. “He’s a loner if I ever saw one.”

“Where’s that beer?” Hunter threw up his hand and motioned to Joe to come to him. “While you’re making brownie points with the boss, I’m dying of thirst.” Hunter laughed. Long, low, deep, grunting chuckles.

As Joe passed the sofa where Matt sat engrossed in the sportscast, Joe handed him a beer, then headed toward the table. He placed the tray in the center, which only five minutes earlier had held the night’s winnings. After Jack and Hunter grabbed their beverages, Joe picked up the two remaining bottles and walked toward the man who had separated himself from the others.

“Beer?” Joe held up a bottle in offering.

Wolfe turned slowly, nodded, accepted the beer and said, “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you decided to join us tonight,” Joe told him.

“I appreciate your asking me.” Wolfe lifted the bottle to his lips and downed a hefty swig.

“Feel free to join us anytime. The players change, depending on who’s in town, and we rotate apartments. Next week, it’s Ellen’s turn.”

“Uh-huh.”

Joe had thought himself a man of few words, but compared to Wolfe he was a regular chatterbox. The others had speculated about the reclusive agent, who’d been with Dundee’s Private Security and Investigation less than a year. Unlike the rest of them, who’d been hired by Ellen, Wolfe held the distinction of having been chosen by the owner of the agency, Sam Dundee. No one knew anything about Wolfe—not even Ellen. But she had quickly ascertained that the man had undeniable abilities. He was not only an expert marksman, but he had a knowledge of every aspect of the business, from weapons to strategy, from equipment to psychology.

“Damn!” Matt jumped up from the sofa. “I just lost fifty bucks on the Braves game.”

“That’s what you get for gambling,” Ellen said.

“Look who’s talking,” Matt told her. “You lost thirty dollars tonight playing cards. Hell, add the fifty I lost on the ball game to the forty-five I lost here and I’m nearly a hundred dollars poorer.”

“We had no idea what an expert card player Wolfe was,” Hunter said. “He took us all to the cleaners.”

“Are you sure you’ve never been a professional?” Matt asked, looking directly at Wolfe.

Wolfe shook his head. “No.”

“Ah, the guy’s just good at cards, the way he is at everything else.” Hunter rose from his chair to his full six-four height.

Joe noted a pained expression on Wolfe’s face, as if Hunter’s comment had somehow hurt him. But surely, no one would be hurt by a sincere compliment, would they?

“I should be going.” Wolfe placed his half-empty bottle down on the tray atop the table.

“Yeah, me, too.” Matt downed the last drops of his beer, then tossed the empty bottle to Joe, who caught it effortlessly in his left hand while continuing to hold his own bottle in his right.

“Yeah, it’s about time I called it a night,” Jack Parker said in his deep, Texas drawl, then scooted back his chair and got up.

The telephone rang just as Wolfe opened the apartment door. Not looking back, he made a hasty exit. Jack Parker waved goodbye and followed Wolfe. Matt lingered in the doorway.

“Need a ride home, Denby?” He smiled, showing a set of movie-star teeth.

“You know Hunter’s taking me home,” she replied.

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t shoot a guy for trying.”

“Our Ellen can and would shoot you.” Hunter chuckled.

“You guys hold it down,” Joe told them as he lifted the telephone receiver. “Yeah, Ornelas here.”

“Matt, you can give up trying,” Ellen said, smiling. “I don’t date Dundee employees.”

“So how come Hunter can escort you around and I can’t?” Matt leaned against the door.

Joe covered the receiver with his hand, gave his companions a stern look and repeated, “Hold it down. I can’t hear what my sister’s saying.”

“Because Hunter is a gentleman and you’re not,” Ellen said softly, then nodded and waved to Joe, letting him know that she’d heard him, understood and would be quiet now.

Joe removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “Sorry about that, Kate, but I’ve got a few friends over tonight.”

“You must come home, Joseph.” Kate’s voice held an edge of near hysteria and it wasn’t normal for his sweet, easygoing sister to be this upset.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Eddie. He’s in big trouble. We need you very badly.”

“What kind of trouble is Eddie in?”

“Trouble with the—” Kate’s voice broke “—the police.” She sighed. “He and Russ Lapahie are wanted for questioning in the murder of Bobby Yazzi, a man who is known for selling drugs to our children.”

Joe’s heartbeat accelerated. Eddie was in trouble with the police? He couldn’t imagine anything so ridiculous. Not a good kid like his eldest nephew, who was a bright student, an obedient son and a hard worker, helping his father on the ranch since he’d been not much more than a toddler.

“You said that Eddie is wanted by the police. Where is he now? Why hasn’t he turned himself in?”

“We don’t know where he is. Eddie and Russ are both missing. They’ve run away—”