Renegade Protector. Nico Rosso
that Ty had been in her shop, and that his deep gaze had inspired an unexpected blush on her chest and cheeks.
“And in the fire?” Pete asked pointedly.
She shot back, “I was a little preoccupied.”
Jones looked over his screen. “So we have a black man, over six feet tall, and that’s it.”
“But I know that the guy who attacked me in the parking lot was white, shaved head, in his twenties, no facial hair.” Pete tilted his head and smoothed the back of his blond hair, a move she recognized as frustration. Before he asked, she answered, “The headlights of the car that tried to run me over lit that guy up pretty good, but not the man who helped me.”
Pete seemed unconvinced. Jones stepped in. “I think we’ve got everything you remember.” He took a business card from the desk and handed it to her. “Anything else comes back to you, call anyone here. We’re all working on this, Mariana.”
“Thanks, Jones.” Her legs felt like rusted steel as she stood. She shook his hand and nodded to Pete. He tipped his head in return.
Jones stepped with her toward the front door. “You want us to escort you home, check out the place?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got Toro there.”
“Dog?” Jones asked.
“Mean dog,” Pete answered. Mariana suppressed a laugh. Toro was a better judge of people than her, and had always growled when Pete’s car had pulled up the long drive to her farmhouse.
Mariana walked out of the building, Jones still behind her. “Sure you’re okay out there?”
A car eased down the street in front of the station. Ty was driving, heading in the direction of her home. Relief bloomed in her chest, edged with a hot thrill of seeing him again. He passed, not looking up at her. Whoever Ty was, whatever he was really doing in her town, she would find out tonight.
She turned to Jones, with Pete within earshot in the lobby. “I’m fine.”
A mile away from the center of town, country dark took over the landscape around Ty’s car. Leaving his headlights on was necessary, but it also made it impossible for him to move stealthily toward the low rolling hills that surrounded Rodrigo. He shifted his weight, reassuring himself that the automatic was still in its holster on his belt. There’d been no time to change into dry clothes while tracking Mariana to the police station, but he’d added the pistol as extra insurance after the assault and firebombing. If anyone was following him, they’d have a clear target on his vehicle.
Not that it would be a secret where he was headed. The Balducci orchard was at the end of Oak Valley Road, a two-lane deal that ran straight to the hills past neighboring vineyards, farms and horse ranches. Some lit windows stared at him in the distance with yellow predator eyes. Mostly, though, he was surrounded by black and gray. Low clouds blocked the stars. A looming oak sped past, made into a monster by his stark headlights and taking him back to the summer visits to his grandparents’ spread, east and inland from the Bay Area. As a child, he’d been afraid of that dark and the countless animals that could be lurking just out of reach of the kitchen window light.
Those creatures didn’t scare him anymore. As a cop in San Francisco, he’d seen the worst of people. He’d seen it tonight and still held a tight fist and clenched jaw.
According to the GPS on his phone, he’d passed the last of the side roads. Ty killed the headlights and brought his car to a crawl. Details in the terrain slowly emerged as his eyes adjusted. The road curved up a small rise ahead. More oaks flanked the asphalt, behind them aging wooden fences. Cresting the rise revealed the first edge of Mariana’s orchards. They spread up another hill and curled around a broad clearing that held her farmhouse and outbuildings.
He rolled the window down, trying to pick up any sounds of trouble over his engine. Approaching the dark house like this, expecting danger, with only the light from nature to find it, brought him closer to his ancestor than he ever imagined. Jack Hawkins had ridden this land in the dead of night and through stark days, a .45 on his hip and justice on his conscience.
The road turned into a single-lane driveway. Easing closer to the house brought the barking of a dog. Ty had read all the police reports, studied internet maps and social media about Mariana and her orchard, but there was nothing about a dog. He pulled off into a wide swath of dirt and turned off the car. The dog kept barking, but didn’t approach farther than twenty yards in front of the main house. Ty got out of the car and immediately regretted it. Summer was on its way out, and the Pacific Ocean a few miles away sent a cool, damp breeze across the hills and directly through his wet jacket.
“Good dog,” he called up to the guard, but the barking didn’t stop. The dog was as black as the shadows, making its size impossible to determine. It could’ve been anything from a mastiff to a Pomeranian. This being the country, and from the depth of the warning bark, Ty figured it to be a reliable threat and wouldn’t risk getting any closer. “At least you’re on the job.” If there was anyone other than Ty skulking around, the dog would’ve gone at them, too.
A hitch in the barking alerted Ty to a change in the action. He could see from his high vantage point that a pickup truck moved along the road toward the orchard. Mariana’s truck. Easy to remember because he’d been slammed into the side of it. Relief washed over him when he saw she wasn’t being followed. Either by the bad guys or the police. There was too much that he and Mariana needed to sort out, one-on-one.
It was clear from her confidence on the curves that she’d driven this road her whole life. In just a few moments, she pulled up beside Ty and his car. Dashboard lights revealed the exhaustion in her face. Her black hair was still back in a ponytail, her clothes unchanged. He wanted to replace the blanket she had around her shoulders with a clean, dry one. Her wary eyes kept him at a distance.
The dog continued to bark, voicing the caution Ty saw in her. She tipped her head toward her guard. “You met Toro.”
Ty nodded. “I like him. He’s looking out for you.” A small smile brightened her face, then disappeared. Ty took a half step toward her truck. “You should get into something warm before that chill gets too deep.”
She stared at him for a second, expression opaque. “Leave your car there. I’ll meet you at the house.” She drove off to the house, Toro bounding to follow. He saw in her headlights that the dog was some kind of shepherd mix, medium sized and athletic.
Ty collected a duffel from the trunk of his car and walked up the forty yards to the farmhouse. By the time he got there, several lights were on inside and the front door was open. Toro paced on the other side of the doorway, head low and eyeing Ty. It was best to pause on the broad porch that stretched the entire front of the house.
Mariana’s voice came from inside. “Toro, let him in.”
The dog edged away, not breaking eye contact. Ty stepped over the threshold and into a comfortable living room with mismatched furniture ranging from dark wood antiques to minimalist new pieces. Mariana stood on the far side of the room, next to an open cedar chest. In her eyes was the same caution Toro had. In her hands was a lever-action rifle.
Ty carefully placed the duffel on the ground and showed her the palms of his hands. The barrel wasn’t pointed at him, but it wouldn’t take much for her to swivel it in line with his chest. “I’m glad you’ve got that,” he said, noticing that it wasn’t cocked. Yet.
Her gaze narrowed on his duffel. “Are you planning on staying?”
“I’d like to change.” He brought his hands down. “The sprinklers hit me when I was running through the fire to pull the valuables from your shop.”
She lowered the barrel of the rifle toward the ground and let out a shaky breath, some of the tension releasing from her shoulders. Toro sat near her. “Sorry.”