Hands On. Debbi Rawlins
chose that moment to wake up and let out a huge wail. Jennifer briefly closed her eyes and groaned. “On second thought,” she muttered, struggling to her feet.
“I’ll get her,” Cassie offered.
“Thanks but it’s feeding time and that makes me the most popular person in this little lady’s life.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Anyway, I want you to go get started on the case.”
“You’ve got it, boss.”
“Call me tomorrow.” She picked up her daughter and the baby immediately quieted. “Let me know how you’re going to handle the documentation. A wire would probably be best, but I’ll let you decide how you want to work it. Although frankly, I think your word will be enough for Marianne to give him the boot.”
“Let me think about it, but I’ll probably use a wire. I know they haven’t been married long, but just in case they end up in court.”
“Good thinking.” Jen got ready to feed Annie, and Cassie headed for the door. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us.”
Cassie stopped with her hand on the doorknob, pride filling her chest. She’d do the best damn job possible on this case. Jen would never be sorry she took her in as a rookie. And everyone—Chet, her father, her brother—they’d all see that she was more than just a pretty face.
1
NOT ONLY did the new assignment suck, but it had landed J. Dalton Styles in this little Podunk town outside of Midland, Texas. Penance. That was what this was about. For having the balls to get the job done no matter what. And politics. His boss wanted a promotion so bad he could taste it. Just wait till Hector needed a favor. Screw him. He’d have to ask another investigator to do his dirty work.
Dalton took a sip of warm beer. He’d ordered it for show, that’s what all the cowboys in the bar seemed to be drinking. But he was on the job, which meant no alcohol. One of the few rules he did adhere to. He’d seen enough good federal investigators lose their careers over drugs or booze.
And women. Bad marriages. Not him. He’d gotten out first.
Shit, who was he kidding? Linda left him for another guy. She’d claimed Dalton worked too much. Hell, he didn’t care. Good riddance. A wife and kids would be a burden. He’d been crazy to think he could swing it. That wasn’t his scene.
Neither was this assignment.
He drummed his fingers on the bar and looked at his watch. He’d already been here an hour, sporting this ridiculous Stetson, trying to blend in with the decor. Wearing the cowboy boots was no hardship. He wore one of the three pairs he owned all the time. The guys back in Chicago razzed him. He didn’t give a rip. He’d gotten used to them early in his career during his first Texas assignment.
That had been a hell of a good case. His first major bust. Two guys holding a woman hostage at a meth lab near the Mexican border. Dalton had taken them down before the hostage negotiator even arrived.
Eight years and three commendations later, he gets stuck with this fluff assignment. How ironic that he had to expose a con artist who bilked wealthy women out of their divorce settlements. Dalton figured if the women were that stupid to fall for a smooth-talking snake like Robert Bask, they deserved to be left penniless.
Let those rich ladies work for a living. Let them know what it’s like to push themselves for long hours, hoping to build a nest egg, telling themselves it was worth it, that someday they could start a family without worrying about making ends meet.
Linda hadn’t understood. She was a taker, not a giver. In fact, she’d taken everything but the coffee-maker when she left. And only because the thing didn’t work worth a damn.
The front door opened and he casually slid a look at the new arrival. Early thirties, and well-heeled judging by the guy’s seven-hundred-dollar snakeskin boots and the gleaming gold Rolex on his wrist. Same yuppie type, but this guy wasn’t his boy. Bask had blond hair and stood half a foot shorter.
Dalton rubbed the back of his neck. His source had assured him that Bask stopped here for a shot of tequila most evenings. It would be just Dalton’s luck that tonight the guy decided to hop on the wagon.
“How long you gonna nurse that thing?” The bearded bartender threw a towel over his shoulder, put both hands on the bar and leaned forward, staring at Dalton.
“Give me something else.” Dalton pretended to study the bottles of booze lined up against the mirror. “How about a shot of that tequila?”
“You got it.” The bartender got out a glass and poured a hefty portion of the amber liquid. He set it in front of Dalton. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“Nope.” Dalton pretended to take a sip, and stopped the guy when he started to remove the beer.
“You waiting for someone?”
“You writing a book?”
The man put both his hands up and stepped back. “Just trying to make conversation, mister.”
“Hey, no problem. I’m just a little edgy.” Dalton didn’t need to piss the guy off. Bartenders were often a good source of information.
The bartender chuckled. “Must be woman problems.”
Dalton shrugged. “Something like that.”
“I can always spot a rebound a mile away.” He nodded smugly as if he’d just solved the crime of the century. “I’m Jerry, by the way. I got a good ear for listening.”
Man, he wished the guy would shut up. But then again, maybe he had a big mouth to go with that good ear. “Get me another shot.”
Jerry eyed the glass Dalton hadn’t touched yet, but shrugged and went to get the bottle of tequila. As soon as he’d turned his back, Dalton emptied the liquor into his beer.
“Whoa! That was fast.” Jerry set the clean glass aside and refilled Dalton’s empty. “You must be having big trouble with the wife.”
He smiled and scoped out the pool table in the corner. Two guys played eight ball while getting shit-faced, even though the tall red-haired, lanky one looked too young to drink. “This is kind of a strange place.”
“The bar or the town?”
“Both.”
“Yup.” Jerry set the bottle of tequila aside and rested both elbows on the bar, leaning closer as if he had a big secret to tell. “This town is made up of the super rich and the poor slobs who made them that way. And nothing in between.”
“Odd for such a small town.”
“Not really. Lots of big cattle ranches and oil around here. Folks who owned the right piece of property got to be millionaires practically overnight. Most of them are still good ole boys. They’ve bought themselves fancy cars and boots, but they still come in here to drink beer on tap.” Jerry’s gaze darted to the newest customer who flirted with the busty waitress, and his voice lowered. “A few got their noses so high in the air it’s a wonder they don’t get nosebleeds.”
Lots of money. Rich widows. Rich divorcées. Perfect breeding ground for Bask. Now it made sense why he’d landed out here. Dalton brought the tequila to his lips and took a small sip for Jerry’s benefit. “Guess you don’t get many strangers around here.”
The bartender shrugged. “Some high-fallutin Dallas types looking to buy oil or beef.”
Or con artists. Damn, he wished he could come up with a way to swing the conversation toward Bask without raising a red flag. Jerry could probably give him an earful.
Jerry frowned suddenly. “What kind of business did you say you’re in?”
Dalton started to dish out his spiel when the door opened, drawing the bartender’s attention. Something inside Dalton jumped. It was Bask. Call