Wyoming Bold

He was a smart man. He had a degree. He knew that it was impossible for Merissa to get that information except through physical, and probably illegal, means.

But how did she know that he’d forgotten details of his ordeal, like the man in the suit, the DEA agent, who’d led him into the ambush and then disappeared?

He turned off the computer and got to his feet. There had to be a logical, rational explanation for all this. He just had to find it.

He’d left his car keys in the truck. He threw on his coat and trudged out through the snow to the garage to get them. The snow was getting really deep. If it didn’t let up, they were going to have to implement some emergency procedures to get feed to the cattle stranded in the far pastures.

Wyoming in snowstorms could be a deadly place. He remembered reading about people who were stranded and froze to death in very little time. He thought about Merissa and her mother, Clara, all alone in that isolated cabin. He hoped they had plenty of firewood and provisions, just in case. He’d have to send Darby over.

He frowned as he noticed that Darby wasn’t back yet. It had been several hours. He pulled out his cell phone and called Darby’s number.

It was Tim who answered.

“Oh, hi, boss,” Tim said. “I started to call you but I wanted to make sure first. Darby got hit with a limb when we brought the tree down.”

“What?” Dalton exploded.

“He’s going to be okay,” Tim said quickly. “Bruised him a bit and broke a rib, so he’ll be out of commission for a bit, but nothing too bad. He said if he’d been there alone, he’d probably be dead. Tree pinned him, you see. I was able to get it off. But if I hadn’t gone with him... He says he owes his life to that little Baker girl.”

Dalton let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he murmured unsteadily. “I believe he just might.”

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner,” Tim added, “but it took us a while to get to town, to the doc. We’ll head back in a few minutes. Have to go by the pharmacy to pick up some meds for Darby.”

“Okay. Drive carefully,” Tank said.

“You bet, boss.”

Dalton hung up the cell phone. He was almost white. Mallory, coming into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just got cured of my skeptical attitude about psychic phenomena,” Tank said, and laughed shortly.

CHAPTER TWO

DALTON COULDN’T FIND a cell phone number for Merissa, or he would have thanked her for the information that saved Darby’s life.

He looked up her business on the internet, though, and sent her an email. She responded almost immediately.

“Glad Darby is okay. Take care of yourself,” she wrote back.

* * *

AFTER THAT EXPERIENCE, Tank took her advice a lot more to heart. And the first thing he did was to place a call to Jacobsville, Texas, to the office of Sheriff Hayes Carson.

“This is going to sound strange,” Tank told Hayes. “But I think we have a connection.”

“We’re talking on the phone, so I’d call that a connection,” Hayes said dryly.

“No, I mean about the drug cartel.” Tank took a deep breath. He didn’t like speaking of it. “I had an experience on the Arizona border not too long ago. I was with the border patrol. A man who identified himself as a DEA agent took me out to a suspected drug drop and into an ambush. I was pretty much shot to pieces. I recovered, although it’s taking a long time.”

Hayes was immediately interested. “Now that’s really odd. We’re looking for a rogue DEA agent down here in Texas. I arrested a drug dealer a couple of months ago in company with a DEA agent that nobody can find information about. Even his own guys don’t know who he was, but we think he may be linked to the cartel over the border. Several of us, including the local FBI and DEA, have been trying to chase him down. Nobody can remember what he looks like. We even had our local police chief’s secretary, who has a photographic memory, get a police artist to sketch him. But even then, none of us could remember having seen him.”

“He blends.”

“I’ll say he blends,” Hayes said thoughtfully. “How did you connect your case to mine?”

Tank laughed self-consciously. “Now, see, this is going to sound really strange. A local psychic came over to warn me that I was being targeted by a politician who has something to do with the drug cartel and a mysterious DEA agent.”

“A psychic. Uh-huh.”

“I know, you think I’m nuts, but...”

“Actually, our police chief’s wife has the same ability,” came the surprising reply. “She’s saved Cash Grier’s life a couple of times because she knew things she shouldn’t. She calls it the ‘second sight,’ and says it’s from her Celtic ancestry.”

Tank wondered if Merissa’s ancestry was Celtic. He laughed. “Well, I feel all better now.”

“I wish you could fly down here and talk to me,” Hayes said. “We’ve got a huge file on El Ladŕon’s operation, and the men who’ve taken over after his unexpected demise.”

“I’d like to do that,” Tank said. “But right now we’re pretty much snowed in. And with Christmas coming, it’s a bad time. But when the weather breaks, I’ll give you a call and we’ll set something up.”

“Good idea. We could use the help.”

“You’re recovering okay from your kidnapping?”

“Yes, thanks. My fiancée and I had an interesting adventure. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” He laughed. “She held one of our captors at gunpoint with an AK-47, was really convincing. And then she confessed, when it was all over, that she didn’t know if it was loaded or the safety was on. What a girl!”

Tank laughed. “What a lucky man, to be marrying a woman like that.”

“Yes, I am. We’re getting married tomorrow, in fact.” Hayes chuckled. “And going on our honeymoon to Panama City for a few days. Next week is Christmas, so we have to be back by then. You married?”

“No woman in Wyoming crazy enough to take me on,” Tank said dryly. “Both my brothers are married. I’m just waiting to be snapped up by some kind passerby.”

“Good luck to you.”

“Thanks. Keep safe.”

“You do the same. Nice talking to you.”

“Same here.”

Tank hung up and went looking for his brother Mallory. He found him in the living room, by following the exquisite sound of a score from a popular movie. Mallory, like Tank himself, was a gifted pianist. Mallory’s wife, Morie, was better than both of them.

Mallory noticed his brother standing in the doorway and stopped playing with a grin.

Tank held up a hand. “I’m not conceding that you’re better than me. I was just thinking, however, that Morie puts us both in the shade.”

“Indeed she does,” Mallory replied with a smile. He got up. “Problems?”