Chapter Thirteen

Everlee didn't have to go far, just far enough to ditch the piece-of-shit truck she'd borrowed and locate a more respectable getaway car. It was a good thing she'd found the truck's keys on the driver's side visor just when she'd needed them. Shane might've been surprised at her good luck, but she knew men, and most guys who owned POS trucks and cars, if they were anything like her ex, were over-confident and lazy. Guys who owned cars worth stealing might be just as overconfident, but they didn't leave keys in their vehicles. But drunks and do-nothings? Their loss.

She found the ride she was looking for in the small, rectangular parking lot beside Uncle Luigi's Italian Dining on the corner of Seventeenth and Oxford. A silver Lexus. Recent model. Perfect. Handing over the bag from the convenience store, she told Shane, "Hold this. I'll be right back."

"Copy that," he replied obediently.

She wanted to tell him to keep his hands to himself, too. That he was getting too chummy with an alleged murderer, but that conversation had to wait. Him holding Smart like he had during that shootout rankled Everlee in a way she hadn't expected. She didn't know Shane. Wasn't sure she even liked him anymore. But in no way was she jealous of a woman who'd torch her children. If he was crushing on Smart, Shane was as worthless as Butch.

While Shane stayed in the truck with their apprehended killer, Everlee hurried into the eating establishment and headed straight for the bathrooms to tidy up. A woman had to look put together to be believable, and Everlee intended to present a polished image instead of the red-faced, sweaty one looking back in the mirror at her now. It wouldn't hurt to look decent the next time she saw Shane, either. Not that he cared. And she couldn't care less if he did. After a short-lived marriage that had totally sucked, she'd had enough of men to last the rest of her life.

Soaking a handful of paper towels under the cool running water, she wrung them out gently and wiped the chaos of the night off her face and neck. Another few towels dried the excess moisture from her skin. She slicked her hair behind her ears and pinched her cheeks to add a little color. Licking her lips, she tossed the towels in the trash receptacle and headed for Luigi's fine-dining room.

Outside the restroom, with a yummy mixture of scents to her left and a feast of quintessential Italian dining on her right, Everlee paused. Actually sitting down and dining at Luigi's would be the perfect way to end this hectic day. Inhaling the savory aromas of tomato sauce, oregano, parmesan cheese, olive oil, and all the wonderful seasonings that made Italian dining a feast for the senses, was almost sinful. Almost enough to make her stay.

But not tonight. Before long, Everlee was holding a large paper bag filled with three take-out orders of piping hot, salted, buttered bread sticks, three slabs of luscious, parmesan covered lasagna, and bottled waters.

She was inventive, if not always efficient or coordinated, and a little proud of herself for procuring dinner. Too bad they'd end up eating it cold.

Everlee marched back to where she'd left Shane and their prisoner. His eyes opened wide when he saw the oversized takeout bag, and man, the guy knew how to smile. He still looked like he'd just survived the zombie apocalypse. His jeans were sooty and singed, his clean shirt just as bad. But that ruggedly handsome, if somewhat ash-lined face, lit up when he spotted what she held in her hand.

Everlee liked that a lot. She lifted the bag to tease him. "I've got dinner."

"I see that." By then, Shane had climbed out of the truck and had one hand on Ms. Smart's elbow. She winced as she set a dainty foot to the sidewalk, grabbed Shane's biceps for balance, then bent over and brushed something off the bottom of her bare foot. Poor thing had no shoes. Everlee nearly snorted. Like I care? Poor thing, my ass.

Shane held still and let Smart use him to catch her balance. Annoyed at the nice-guy feelings this female killer seemed to invoke in her fellow agent, Everlee jerked her head toward the lot beside Luigi's. "Over there, guys. See that Lexus? That's our new ride. Hurry it up. This food's hot now, but we've got promises to keep and —"

" ‘And miles to go before I sleep,' " Shane finished brightly for her. There was that same light in his eyes again. " ‘Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening,' by Robert Frost. My favorite."

Despite the devious but charming prisoner at his side, Shane was totally grinning now. His eyes were focused on Everlee, and so was that handsome, mega-watt smile. She could almost feel the warmth radiating out of him. How great was that? This big, gruff guy knew poetry. The night just kept getting better and better.

"I never would've guessed we'd like the same poet," she told him coyly.

"Here, Agent Yeager. Let me take that for you while you drive," Ms. Smart offered as she stepped alongside the Lexus and reached for the takeout bag.

"No, thanks. I've got it." Everlee didn't want Smart touching their food. The woman wasn't who Everlee expected, but she also was not who she seemed.

Everlee turned to Shane instead. "Want to do the dirty deed this time?"

"Sure." He stepped up to the driver's door of the Lexus, still smiling. The power of that smile destroyed the brooding moodiness he usually led with. Laugh lines radiated out from those midnight blue eyes like rays of golden sunshine over an indigo ocean. All because they both liked Robert Frost? Or maybe he just enjoyed breaking into cars.

The smile faded as quickly as it came. "You don't want to steal this car, Ev. Uh-uh. It's got On-Star . We take it and the police will be able to track us." He stuck his chin at the next one over, a crappy-looking 1980s Dodge Challenger parked crooked across two parking stalls. The car's once-shiny black paint was scuffed to a flat, dingy black. The wheel wells were pitted and lined with rust. The wheels weren't much better, the tires were bald, and the windows were streaked with dust and speckled with bird shit. It might've been a hot car in its time, but it had obviously been driven hard, put away dirty, and neglected. "That one'll be easier to get away with."

"Go for it then," Everlee urged. "Don't forget your gloves. I bought that extra-large pair just for you."

Shane grunted as if he didn't need to be reminded. Well, too bad. That was her job. It took him less than five minutes to open the driver's door, less to hot-wire the sad, old relic. This time he took the wheel, and their take-out order rode in the back seat between Everlee and Ms. Smart. They didn't talk much, not with Everlee sitting with her pistol on her thigh.

"Head into Dallas," she told him.

"Copy that," Shane said as he eased the Challenger out of the parking lot and onto the quiet street.

A real car thief would have swapped plates, but in Everlee's mind, the Challenger was an honest borrow, not grand-theft auto. Pulling up the map app on her cell phone, she gave Shane directions to another quiet neighborhood just east of Dallas. It took him half an hour to drive to the empty church parking lot. Everlee had already called an Uber driver and written a four-word note on a napkin from the take-out order. She left it on the Challenger's dash. All it said was: Thanks for the ride!

The night was dark and quiet by then. Not much traffic on the streets. They walked a block north to meet the Uber driver. From Dallas, they hop-scotched between Uber drivers and cabbies, until the final driver took them out of town to the middle of Nowhere Cattle Country. Like before, Everlee paid the final fare in cash, told the driver goodbye, and stood in the middle of the dusty road, watching his taillights grow smaller and farther away.

"What's going on now?" Tuesday Smart asked Shane.

Once again, they were standing side by side, Smart almost snuggled under his arm while he leaned down to answer. "Basic SERE tactics, ma'am." He ticked the four components of SERE training off his fingers. "Survival. Evasion. Resistance. Escape."

Of course, she offered up one of those weak feminine laughs that sounded sincere and breathy at the same time. "Evasion? Really, Shane? How could anyone find us? I don't even know where we are."

"Agent Hayes," Everlee corrected her sharply. "I'm Agent Yeager and he's Agent Hayes, not Shane. You need to address us accordingly, Ms. Smart. We are not your buddies, and this isn't a party." She left off Shane's junior agent title. Smart didn't need to know any more than she already did.

"Good," was all Shane replied.

He might not trust Smart, but Everlee had seen the spark of attraction between them. Smart might be a pleasure to look at, and that was most likely how she'd been able to seduce and kill two men for their insurance money. But Everlee didn't trust Smart at all, and she needed Shane's head in the game, damn it.

Rocking back on her heels, Everlee was on high alert, ready in case Smart tried anything and Shane missed the cues. Smart hadn't tried anything yet, not after Everlee mentioned the safe house. If anything, Smart was too damned compliant, and that rang every last one of Everlee's ADHD's overpowering warning bells, whistles, and buzzers. A true black widow knew how to act innocent, when to deceive, but also when to strike. They were intelligent, psychotic women who plied stupid men with the sugar and honey of their bodies, until they'd finally seduced them into their sticky, deadly webs. Once trapped, this kind of woman paralyzed her prey with her poisonous bite, then sucked his assets dry.

Everlee refused to let that happen again.

After the last cab drive, which had cost her a small fortune, they'd ended up so far west of DFW there were no big city lights visible in any direction. But she knew where they were. Safe. Finally. The night air was cool and full of the sweet perfumes of wild flowers, freshly cut alfalfa, and even some already-been-chewed-and-left-behind hay. Yup, cow shit.

"Here?" was all Shane asked once their ride left them in a cloud of dust and dark.

"Yeah. We're here, Agent Hayes." Everlee had her phone in one hand, the take-out bag in her other, and her patience on hold. She thumb dialed a number and said, "Hey, Smoke... Yeah, we made it. Glad Alex gave you a heads-up that we'd be late. Which place is yours, the one without trees or the other… ? Okay, good. I see the green light now. Sure. See you soon." Ending the call, she turned to Shane and snapped, "Follow me," as she set off toward the ranch without a single tree in sight.

Obediently, Shane followed. Smart did, too. Why not? Everlee knew how to lead, but she also kept their suspect within sight every step of the way. Not like there was anywhere for Smart to run, but Everlee wasn't taking chances.

Smoke Montoya stood waiting for them on the doorstep of his home. The black jeans and tight-fitting t-shirt he wore seemed molded to his lean body. Made him almost invisible in the dark, just another shadow beneath the dim green porchlight he'd turned on. Didn't need to. Less light, less risk. Smoke knew the drill. Civilians needed bright porch lights. Not former SEALs.

Everlee stuck her hand out when she cleared the fancy brick walkway that led from the gravel driveway to his doorstep. "Hey, Smoke, good to see you again," she whispered. "Sorry to bother you so late, but Alex said come, so we came."

Without a welcome or a ‘go to hell,' he stepped aside, opened his door for his late-night visitors, and ushered them inside with a wave of his hand. After everyone shuffled in, he engaged a deadbolt, then pressed his palm to the glowing panel alongside the doorjamb. The hushed sounds of metal screens sliding and unseen locks clicking into place filled his quiet hacienda-style home.

"Sure hope we don't wake Jess or your little girl," Everlee said quietly.

"No worries. Jess is in San Antonio this week. She took Carrie with her."

"She must have a good personal assistant."

"Yeah, she does. Also has a nanny and two bodyguards with her. Plus" —he shrugged— "she's Jess."

Everlee took that to mean Jess knew how to take care of herself. Jessie West, the widely acclaimed supermodel, was no weakling. She'd once lived with her parents and brother on the ranch east of Smoke's place. They'd been childhood sweethearts, had even competed in rodeo events until the never-ending war in Afghanistan came along and stole Smoke from his family. By then, Jessie had already made it big in the fashion world. They'd lost touch. Then along came the F5 tornado that brought them both back home and together again. But only because the twister had taken Smoke's parents, Caleb and Caroline Montoya, as well as Ethan West, Jessie's brother and Smoke's best friend.

Smoke and Jessie now owned quite a chunk of property that included his parents' ranch, the Lost Chaparral, the West's family ranch to the east, as well as what had once been Clem and Betty Hardy's ranch to the west. Last Everlee knew, Smoke's wife Jessie was breeding champion Appaloosa horses and Texas longhorns, in between photo shoots for her teen cosmetic line, Western Stars . An odd combination of interests, but hey. Smoke certainly had enough room for Jessie to do whatever she wanted.

If you asked Smoke how he was doing, he'd always say, "Good." Just like every other American warrior on the planet. Didn't matter if they were shot to hell, half-dead, or bleeding out, special operators were all the same. They were good, at least good enough to fight until they couldn't. Course, by then, they might also be good and dead.

Everlee had never been in combat, but she respected the hell out of men and women who had. They were the heroes. Unknown, underpaid, and trashed by the press, but tried and true. You didn't see reporters or politicians getting medals of honor. Just warriors, the men and women on the front lines, the ones who'd actually sacrificed blood and limbs and friends. Firemen, nurses, doctors, EMTs, teachers, and warriors, those were the other real heroes in America.

She turned a sober smile to the silver-haired gentleman kicked back in a corner of the dark leather couch beneath the curtained, now secured behind metal armor, picture window. "Hey, Jared. How's Sunnyvale treating you?"

"Damned if I know or care, Agent Yeager. Not a big friend of city folk drama, so I don't get into Sunnyvale much. But out here where the air's clean, I'm still kicking butt. How's my best girl?" Jared Powers was an older, wiser, and yet still flirtatious gentleman. He'd been Caleb's foreman until Caleb died and was Smoke's foreman now. A stern-faced cowboy with a mustache that matched the shade of his shaggy, silvery-gray hair, Jared managed the ranch, while Smoke handled the sixteen oil rigs scattered across the southernmost portion of the ranch.

"I'm good, you old snake charmer," she replied, then gestured to Shane, who still had a good grip on their prisoner's arm. "Smoke, Jared, meet my partner, our latest and greatest, former USMC Corporal, now Agent Shane Hayes, scout sniper extraordinaire."

Ms. Smart's eyes widened at that sensational intro. Good. Everlee meant to surprise their pretty little killer. Which was all Everlee saw. This woman was guilty. Her innocent act was just that, an act, damn it.

"Ha," Shane grunted, but leaned over and grabbed Smoke's hand. "Not sure about all that crap, but I am at your disposal for as long as I'm here. Damned good to meet you, Mr. Mon—"

"Smoke. Just Smoke."

Everlee had to smile. Smoke Montoya was quiet, yet as deadly and to the point as ever. He might look like a sexed-up playboy with his deeply-tanned skin, a by-product of his proud Mexican heritage, and all that lush, black hair, cut short on the sides and left longer on top. But he was still a former Navy SEAL and one of America's most lethal snipers.

Seeing these two men shake hands felt like watching matched bookends coming together. Both were the same height, damned near the same heft and confidence, both tall, dark, heavily muscled through their shoulders and chests, and handsome as hell. Only difference was Smoke's eyes were deep, dark brown, and Shane's were midnight blue. Smoke was obviously of Mexican descent. His skin was naturally dark. Shane's was not; he was just tanned in all the right places. Not like that made them different where it counted. The same haunted shadows still stalked behind their eyes.

Everlee wished she knew Shane's story and what put those shadows there. But she also sensed the instant brotherhood these men shared that she never would. It was an exclusive club combined only of special forces operators and men who'd survived combat. Not a sisterhood, but a rock-solid brothers-in-arms thing that defied politics, distance, or public opinion. There was no safer place for Ms. Tuesday Bremmer, aka Ms. Tuesday Smart, aka Ms. Whoever, than right here on the Lost Chaparral.

"Smoke, then," Shane said gruffly, nodding his respect.

Smoke crossed his arms over his chest, his obsidian black eyes as dark as his jeans. "Afghanistan?"

As if responding to some unspoken guy code, Shane released Smart's arm and assumed the same position as Smoke, his feet spread, his arms crossed over his chest. "Laos and Chile, too. Heard you were in Cambodia a while back."

Between the two of them, there was a wealth of nonverbal communication going on. Was this a contest or something?

Smoke lifted one shoulder. "Cambodia. Thailand. Vietnam. Wherever the bastards sent me."

Just that fast, the competition was over. Shane ran a quick hand over his head. "Shit, this is insane, me being here. Never guessed Alex was sending us to your place. You have no idea how long I've wanted to meet you. Best damned thing I've ever done. You ranch horses or cattle?"

"Both. You ride?"

"Oh, hell, no. I'm one of those awkward city boys zipping around town on rented scooters. Never been on horseback. Wouldn't know where to start."

"We can take care of that while you're here," Jared cut in. He stretched over the coffee table to shake Shane's hand. "If you're anything like this guy here, and I know you are, I'm damned proud to know you, son," he said as he gave Shane's hand a solid shake. "Take a chance on one of our horses while you're here. Even got a couple sturdy mules if you'd rather. Big man like you might like them better."

Emotion flared across Shane's face, like a wicked flash of lightning against the pitch-black backdrop of an approaching thundercloud. It vanished as quickly as it came, but Everlee wanted to know the reason behind that flare. She'd seen him crash and burn, knew PTSD pretty much trashed the person you were before you went to war. Shane was exactly like Smoke, a war hero with relentless demons locked inside. Maybe something ordinary like a horseback ride in the country would do him good. Fresh air wouldn't hurt, either. She intended to make that happen, somehow. But not now. Maybe later.

"Thanks, another time," Shane replied. And there it was again, that disquieting tone in his answer.

Everlee changed the subject. "And this—" she turned to their too-quiet, too pretty to be a real prisoner— "is alleged murderer, Ms. Tuesday Smart, also known as Tuesday Bremmer. She's a wanted fugitive, which is why we're here."

"She's not restrained," Smoke said matter-of-factly.

"Couldn't keep her cuffed as fast as we switched vehicles getting here," Shane answered, then added, "but she's not armed. Ev already patted her down. You wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of tennis shoes she could borrow?"

"Ma'am," Smoke said politely to Smart. Not friendly like he'd greeted Shane, and he didn't appear to be smitten by Smart's dewy, doe-eyed looks like Shane, either. Without a second glance at Smart, Smoke looked back to Shane. "Jess has a shit ton of shoes. I'll see what I can find."

"'preciate it," Shane replied.

Smoke turned to Everlee and nodded his chin toward the back of his house. "Follow me."

"Breakfast at six," Jared called after them. "You need anything before then, dial one for room service."

"Are you serious?" Everlee had to ask. Room service? Really? In a safe house?

"Hell, no. Just making sure you guys aren't dumb enough to believe everything you're told. Goodnight, folks."

"Goodnight, smartass." She lifted her take-out bags where he could see them. "And for your information, I brought room service with me. We'll be fine for the night."

While Jared chuckled, Smoke led the three of them through his kitchen. He paused at a panel beside the rear exit to release the lockdown panels that covered all windows. Then he led the way to his patio, the edges lined with beautiful, brightly painted Talavera pots in graduating sizes. A motion-activated light flashed on overhead, and Everlee could see the pots were filled with yellow and orange flowers. She stopped to take in the wide-open landscape behind his place, looking for any bushes or trees that could serve as sniper hides or fast getaways. But the Texas night was dark, and Everlee couldn't see much past his backyard, except for the barn and corral and what looked like rows of sapling trees.

"You planted a forest back here?" she asked.

"Live Oaks, yeah. They're slow growers."

"I heard you lost most of your trees a couple years back. These replacements?"

"Something like that," Smoke replied as he led them across the lawn to what looked like a tornado shelter, if that's what the slanted wooden doors in the middle of his backyard concealed. Sure enough, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a little black remote, and voila. The two doors slid to the sides, like pocket doors, to reveal a lighted concrete staircase that led below ground.

She gestured at Shane to head down with Ms. Smart. "You two get settled. Thanks, Smoke. I'm serious. We really do appreciate this."

"Yes, thanks for everything," Shane said, his foot on the top step and his left hand on Ms. Smart's elbow.

Everlee winced at how protective—and gentlemanly—Shane was with Smart. But that was just him, a gentleman, polite and courteous with everyone. Right? Even with Everlee after she'd spit coffee all over him. Even then, he hadn't been an ass, and he could've very easily called her names, could've blasted her for ruining his shirt and his interview, his one chance at a decent first impression. But he hadn't. Hadn't belittled her, and…

Jiminy Christmas, he prayed over his food. She'd never seen anyone do that before. So maybe that was all he was doing, being gentlemanly and decent to their prisoner.

"There'll be a vehicle here tomorrow for you guys, and I'll find a couple pairs of shoes for your friend. Don't bother saying goodbye. I won't be here, and Jared'll be too busy working to see you off."

"Thank you for the shoes, Mr. Montoya," Ms. Smart spoke up, her voice so damned gentle that Everlee wanted to smack her and tell her to shut it. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

He didn't answer, just nodded at Smart before he turned back to Everlee and said, "Too bad you guys can't stay long enough to reconnect with Jessie. She would've liked that."

"Yup, not this time," she told him. "We've got to get our client back to DC, the quicker, the better."

"Understood." Smoke handed over the remote. "The green button's for these doors, the red's the weapons vault. Take what you need. There's a wall phone down there that instantly connects with mine and Jared's cells. Call if you need anything. We'll be here till sunup."

"There's a kitchen and a microwave down there, too, right?"

"You bet. Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Smoke."

Without another word, he walked away and left Everlee standing there, looking down at the hole in the ground that would be home for the night. She couldn't help but feel that where one adventure ended, another was beginning. Just like Alice through the looking glass. Only this rabbit hole had steps.