57. Antonio

57

Antonio

I stalked out of Lucky Pete’s, shoving the photo of Tessa back into my pocket. The guys there remembered her—she’d ridden the mechanical bull a little while ago, they said. And now she was fucking some cowboy named Bull. No one knew where she lived, but they knew all about him. He was some sort of rodeo rider, a local hero.

I fingered the gun I had stashed under my jacket. Part of me really hoped he’d get in the way. I’d enjoy seeing Tessa’s face when I offed her boyfriend.

Christ, but it was hot. I ran a finger around my collar. I’d already taken my tie off and still it was unbearable. Who the fuck would want to live in a desert?

I tried the ranch first, but it was all closed up for the night. Then I tried Bull’s trailer but there was no one home.

Well, fine. I knew they were here. I could wait it out.

I found a motel to stay in—the Stallion Inn, cowboy-themed like every other thing in the fucking state. I grimaced. I was sick of cowboys already.

It was when I was getting a soda from the machine that I saw him going into his room. Calahan. One of the FBI pricks who’d been hounding Erico for years. Shit! No way was that a coincidence. Tessa must be talking to him.

I ducked back into the shadows so that he didn’t see me. Then I hurried to my room, called Erico, and told him to send me some men.