Texas Stakeout. Virna DePaul
Aching in long-forgotten places that emphasized how different they were. How strong and masculine he was. How perfect he was made to press against and inside her softer more feminine parts.
God, how she wanted to lean back and rest her weight on this man. The man who’d come riding to her son’s rescue. The man who’d stood by her when she dealt with the death of her ranch hand and friend. The man who smelled of mint and melon.
The man who thought her brother was a scumbag drug dealer who’d kill an old man and endanger his family.
His very presence was a threat to her and those she loved.
She turned and shifted away from him, making him frown. The rough wood of the porch railing dug into her back. “Tell me,” she said quietly. “Please.”
His jaw clenched before he abruptly nodded. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but there’s not much a lawyer can do for Jax now. I’m afraid it’s bad. Jax didn’t just run off, though believe me, that would be no small matter to deal with. During the escape, two U.S. marshals who’d been transferring him to another prison were shot.”
“Oh, God...are they...” She couldn’t bear to say the word.
“One’s dead. The other’s been in a coma and is in critical care.”
She dropped her gaze to the faded wooden planks of the porch floor. The bones in her legs threatened to break into a thousand pieces and the shaking started. Surely he wasn’t telling her that Jax—
He slid a finger under her chin and tipped her head up.
“Rachel, I need you to look at me. I need you to understand.”
Unwilling, she met his deep, dark gaze.
Dylan continued, saying, “The reason we have such an intense operation targeting your brother is that he’s dangerous. He’s a killer. And we need your help to trap him.”
* * *
Rachel jerked her head away from Dylan’s touch and barreled into the kitchen, the loud crack of the screen door swinging shut behind her sounding like thunder. Dylan’s entry through the door was notable but much softer.
“Rachel—”
She shook her head as she paced alongside the kitchen table, the floor cold against her bare feet. The sensation was in complete opposition to the heat running through her veins: the heat of anger, of fear and of...denial?
She’d raised Jax since he was ten. Held him in her arms when he’d woken up with nightmares about their parents’ dead and empty eyes. Admonished him and yet felt a sense of pride when he stayed up all night with his favorite alpaca when she was about to give birth. Got annoyed with him over the countless frogs and baby birds he brought into the house to rescue.
And she’d been there when the troubles in school had started. Then the troubles with the law. It hadn’t mattered.
Jax saved baby jackrabbits from coyotes. He didn’t kill people. No way would she ever believe otherwise.
And no way in hell would she help the U.S. Marshals trap her brother.
A whinny came from the barn—a subtle reminder it was well past time to feed the livestock yet one strong enough to act as a lifeline. She grabbed on to it for all she was worth.
Trying to convince Dylan of her brother’s innocence was a waste of time. She knew her brother; he didn’t. She turned, strode outside once more, then headed down the patio steps and toward the barn.
Once again, she heard Dylan following her. Heard him say, “Damn it, Rachel, stop.”
When she didn’t obey him, he gently took hold of her arm, halting her progress and turning her toward him.
With a vicious tug, she ripped her arm away. “Don’t touch me,” she shrilled.
He immediately put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Rachel, you have to listen to me—”
“No! I don’t. Because you refuse to listen to me. No way is Jax a killer. And no way will I help you trap him. Please leave. I have animals to feed. After that, if he hasn’t come back on his own already, I’ll go looking for Peter.”
He put his hands on his hips, his expression radiating impatience. “Have you considered that maybe if you help me, I can help you?”
“I don’t want your help!”
“You sure about that? Because the U.S. Marshals have resources, Rachel. One call and I can get a chopper in the sky, looking for your son.”
An incredulous bitter laugh tore out of her. “You’re telling me you have the resources to find a kid, lost and alone somewhere out in the wilderness of Texas, and you’re refusing to put those resources to use unless I help trap my brother? Isn’t that called blackmail?” When the man refused to answer, she showed him her back and continued marching down the trail to the barn, aware of Dylan on her tail.
“That’s not what I meant. Look—I was going to get the chopper in the sky whether you agreed to help us trap your brother or not. I’d already asked my team administrator to look into it before I got here, just in case Peter hadn’t returned. She’s likely got a pilot at the ready.”
“Ready to move if I do what you want,” she said with a sneer.
“No,” he snapped. “I won’t put your kid’s life in jeopardy by playing games. I’m just pointing out that our relationship doesn’t have to be contentious. You don’t have to fight me because you think I want to hurt your brother. I don’t. I just want him safely returned to custody.”
She stopped and whirled, facing him with arms crossed over her chest. “So you...what? Think we can be friends and do each other some favors? You’ll help me find Peter and you expect me to believe you won’t expect something in return? Something like me handing over my brother?”
He stood only a few feet in front of her so that she could almost feel the fire burning in his eyes. She forced herself not to retreat.
“I know you’ll never hand over your brother,” he said. “All I want is your cooperation, Rachel. No, strike that. That’s all I can ask for. Because anything else I want from you has nothing to do with your brother.”
She sucked in a breath. Looked away. Refused to acknowledge the heat in his eyes that seemed to flare a thousand times brighter as he’d finished speaking. He wasn’t admitting he was attracted to her. And even if he was, so what? Sexual attraction meant nothing; family did. “How, exactly, do you want me to cooperate?”
“Don’t treat me like the enemy. Don’t do anything to warn Jax away. Let me help. Him and you.”
“By putting him back in prison for a crime he didn’t commit!”
“He’s going back to prison,” he said quietly. “He was convicted for transporting drugs. The evidence suggests he shot those marshals, but he hasn’t been convicted of those crimes yet. He still has a chance to tell his side of things. You want to help him? Do it the way you have been doing. By working inside the law. Anything else is going to end badly and you know it.”
She did know it. Jax would never be safe, not labeled an escaped convict.
“You think he murdered Josiah.”
“I can’t ignore that as a possibility, but it’s a slim one in my mind. And I do give great weight to the phrase ‘innocent until proven guilty.’”
She stared at Dylan. Took several deep breaths. Took a couple of steps back to put some distance between them physically even if she couldn’t run and hide from what he was saying.
“So don’t warn him away. That’s all you want from me?”
“Not quite. Let me stay here, on the ranch. Pretending to be a ranch hand. That way if Jackson—Jax—shows up, he won’t be suspicious.