Spy in the Saddle. Dana Marton
come you’re no longer a parole officer?”
His dark eyes focused a little sharper, his jaw jutting out a little, his masculine lips tightening.
Oh, God. “Did you quit because of me?” Had she been that bad?
He backed away from her, to the window, and looked out. He said nothing.
“You did?” She stared.
He did a sexy, one-shouldered shrug. “Technically, I was let go.”
She stared some more as she tried to make sense of that.
“Why? You were really good. You were the only decent person I met in the system. If anyone could have made me go straight, it was you. You just got me too late. I was... Look, nobody could’ve gotten through to me by that point. Why on earth would they let you go?”
He turned back to her, holding her gaze. “There was that letter.”
For a long second, she had no idea what he was talking about. Then it clicked. “The email I sent?”
“Work emails are not private.”
“But I was thanking you for all your help and apologizing for the car—”
And then it hit her.
Heat flushed her face. The email... Oh, God. At the end, in a fit of teenage drama, she’d confessed her undying love. She might have even mentioned that she would be saving her virginity for him.
She’d blocked that memory, apparently, until now. She cringed as she pushed to her feet and busied herself with packing up the first-aid kit. FBI agents didn’t blush, she tried to remind herself, too late.
“I’m sorry,” she said without looking at him. She couldn’t just now.
She had a fair idea what had happened. He’d probably been accused of encouraging her teenage fancy. He hadn’t. The opposite, if anything. He’d always tried to treat her as a big brother would, which used to frustrate the living daylights out of her.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again, feeling it in the bottom of her soul.
“Don’t worry about it. I found my place.”
She didn’t know what to say. She put away the white box and moved out to her kitchen to put a little distance between them. “Would you like a drink?”
“I better get going.” But he stayed where he was and watched her for a long minute. “There was one thing I could never figure out. Why did you set fire to the house?”
The air got stuck in her lungs. “Your house burned down?”
Again, he waited awhile before he spoke. “Could have been an accident.” He shook his head, then scratched his eyebrow as he thought. “I had the oil pan over to the side. You knocked a few things over when you drove the car off the metal ramp, come to think of it. Something might have thrown a spark.”
She’d burned his house down.
She sank into the nearest chair as the stark truth hit her. “I ruined your life.”
He gave a wry smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
For the first time in a long time, she had no idea what to say. He was armed. Why hadn’t he shot her yet?
She wasn’t about to ask him and give him any ideas.
For her, coming here, seeing Shep again meant...tying up some loose ends from her past. He’d been a good memory. She might have even looked forward to showing off to him a little...look, I’ve made it, that kind of thing.
She might have spent some extra time on her hair and makeup this morning. He’d pushed her away years ago. Now part of her wanted him to see what he’d missed and maybe even regret it.
She closed her eyes. What a fool she’d been.
All these years, he must have thought of her only as his worst nightmare.
His phone rang, breaking the silence, and he answered it. She was ridiculously grateful for the chance to gather herself.
He listened before he said, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“What is it?” she asked, still a little dazed by his revelations. “Did they find the Mustang?”
He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Not yet. It’s probably hidden somewhere in a garage right now. It belongs to a Doug Wagner, who doesn’t seem to be home at the moment. Keith went out there. He got a list of Wagner’s buddies. A neighbor said Wagner likes to hang out with them at The Yellow Armadillo.”
“Which is?”
“A seedy bar in Pebble Creek. Known smuggler hangout.” He shrugged. “But he wouldn’t be out in public right now, after a hit. We’re going to run down his friends and see if he’s holed up with one of them or, at least, if one of them is holding the Mustang for him.”
He held out his phone for her, with a mug shot on the screen. The man in the picture was average-looking— beady dark eyes, greasy hair, giant chin.
She’d seen only a little of the Mustang’s driver, but enough to match him to the photo. She pushed to her feet. “That’s him. I’m coming with you.”
“No.” He said it as if he meant it, in that stern, disapproving tone she knew only too well. “You just got shot. You’re probably still tired from flying out here. And now you’re injured. Stay and rest. Just take the rest of the day off, all right? Give your body a chance to recover.”
She bristled for a moment but then, just this once, she decided to give in to him. A few hours of distance might be just what the both of them needed to put the past behind them. They needed to do that so they could move forward.
“I’m really sorry about before. Do you accept my apology?”
He nodded without having to think about it. “I’m glad it all worked out for you in the end. It’s good to see you doing well.”
“You, too.” It was a relief that she hadn’t driven him to alcohol or something. “When I come into the office tomorrow morning, we’ll start over. Could we do that?”
“It’s a deal.” He walked out the door with a brief nod at her, then closed it behind him.
She had to give it to him, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. She wasn’t sure she could have been as understanding. She thought for a minute about their past, about where they were now, and tried to put things into perspective. Think positive.
She did that, and she also thought of something that would let her show Shep that she’d changed, that she wasn’t the same person who’d nearly ruined his life, that she was good at what she did now.
The sudden need to prove herself to him took her by surprise.
When she’d received the assignment, she got a list of the team members and a one-page memo on each. She knew she would have to face Shep and she didn’t really think she’d have any problem with it. She’d expected an awkward moment or two, maybe, but then they’d get over it.
Reality, however, turned out to be a lot more complicated.
She looked up the address of The Yellow Armadillo on the internet, then walked to her closet. Just because she’d agreed to stay away from the office for the rest of the day, it didn’t mean she was done with investigating. She wasn’t here on vacation. She wasn’t here just to observe and evaluate the team.
She was here to help them achieve their objective.
She’d come prepared, brought undercover clothes in addition to her FBI suits. She pulled on blue jeans, cowboy boots, left the tank top and combed her hair out, then pushed a cowboy hat over her head. Ready. She would hang out at the bar, nurse a beer and get a feel for local activity.
Wagner