Chapter 10

Westin wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but didn't think it'd been long. How could he sleep with her gorgeous body moving against his, her curvy ass pressing back against him until he was hard as a rock and dreaming dreams that were never conducive to sleep? For a night that had gone so sour, it had sure ended up sweet.

He traced the curve of her shoulder with his lips as his fingers moved slowly over her body. He brushed against the chain of her necklace, and a few intrusive thoughts danced through his mind, but he easily pushed them away as his fingers found that certain button between her legs, making her moan softly in her sleep. He nibbled a little at her throat, remembering the taste of that little button, wanting to taste it again. But she pressed her ass back against him, and the next thing he knew, he was searching for that box of condoms that was waiting eagerly on the nightstand.

She moaned as he entered her, his finger still pressed to that button. She moved her ass against him further, ready despite just coming out of the land of dreams. He nibbled at her neck again, loving the taste of her, the feel of her. He couldn't think of a better way to wake up on a cold, Colorado morning.

She turned into him when it was done and drifted to sleep again with her face pressed to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, allowing himself to admit that it felt real good to hold a woman in his arms. Particularly this woman. But now that the sun was rising, the light beginning to peek through the bottom edge of the blinds in the windows, reality came back to him slowly, memories of the things Clint had said to him last night reigniting the cold fire of fear that burned in his stomach.

What had this woman gotten herself into? What was it going to take to make it go away?

He kissed the top of her head as his mind worked the information, feeling around for something, a toehold he could use to pull himself up to the top and find a way out. The thing was, he knew there was still a lot they didn't know, things Lea—Lee—was keeping to herself. The first chore was going to be convincing her to tell them the truth, to allow them to help her.

"Westin!"

Lee jumped in his arms, pulling herself up to peek over his arm. The door vibrated as a loud knock came, the sound of Clint's voice as he once again called his name. "Westin!"

"It's Clint," he assured Lee, his hand sliding soothingly down her back. "It's okay. I'll deal with it."

He unfolded himself from her body, a shiver running through him as the heat of her skin was replaced by the cold reality of the small bedroom. He kicked around the piles of clothes until he found his jeans and tugged them on, zipping them up as he walked to the door. He glanced back at Lee, aching to climb back into bed against her naked body. Reality had suddenly burst over her, too. He could see it in her eyes.

"Something wrong?" he asked as he carefully slipped through the door without opening it wide enough to give Clint a glance at Lee.

"Besides the fact you're screwing a woman you barely know in my marital bed?" Clint rolled his shoulders. "Miss Dulcie wants you up at the main house."

"Me? Why?"

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Do you think she tells me everything? That I'm her confidant or something?" He shoved Westin's shoulder. "I don't know. But when Miss Dulcie asks to see someone, you better believe that person best get his ass up to the main house."

"All right." Westin started to turn, but Clint grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "This wasn't just a replacement for the bottle, was it?"

Westin crossed his arms over his chest, glancing toward the door like he could tell if Lee was standing there, listening. "Naw," he said, shrugging the idea off even though he'd asked himself the same question on the drive out here, and again as she'd welcomed him into her bed. He'd doubted himself until he held her, until he was inside of her. He knew then that it was bigger than just looking for some sort of oblivion. That's why it scared him so deeply.

Clint nodded. "Get dressed. Miss Dulcie was insistent."

Westin went into the bedroom where he found Lee still curled up in bed, still breathing slowly, her eyes closed. She looked peaceful there, beautiful. He wanted to crawl back under the covers with her. It was an effort to force himself to gather his clothes and head for the shower.

"Are you going to sneak off without saying goodbye?"

He turned, not surprised to find her watching him. "I wouldn't do that."

"Good."

She crawled out from under the covers, doing nothing to cover her nakedness as she strolled up to him. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his nose before bypassing him, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door in his face. He groaned, tapping his fingers on the door.

"Clint's waiting for me. I have to go up to the main house."

The toilet flushed and she opened the door, bowing as she gestured for him to come inside. "It's all yours, sire."

"All ours ," he said, pulling her into the room with him.

They showered, taking much longer than they probably should have with Clint waiting. He couldn't get enough of her. His hands just seemed to wander to places they didn't belong, slipping over curves and along straight lines, exploring every inch, memorizing the shape of her. She did the same, touching him, her fingertips exploring old scars and a simple tattoo on his bicep. She never asked, and he never offered, but the look in her eye told him she understood. A person didn't have to be a friend of Bill W. to understand what it meant to follow the Twelve Steps. Maybe she'd ask him about it later, but for now, she just let her fingers dance. And he loved her for it.

They dressed, her in borrowed clothes taken from what Melanie had left in the closet, him in the clothes he'd carefully chosen the night before. Clint was in the kitchen, sipping coffee, a ghost hanging over him as he stared out the window. Westin cleared his throat and Clint turned, brushing the ghost away.

"Landry will be here in a few minutes," Clint said. "I don't know how long we'll be gone."

"I want to go with you."

Westin and Clint were both caught by surprise. Westin started to shake his head, but Clint was a little more reasonable. "We don't want to advertise your whereabouts."

"I need access to a computer. I assume Miss Dulcie has computers in her house. She must use them to help run the business."

"She does, but—"

"I need a computer." Lee produced the silver necklace she'd taken off for their shower but had replaced the moment they were out. "I need to see what I have here."

Clint's jaw clenched. Westin, however, couldn't see what the harm would be, and the idea of keeping Lee close was more satisfying than the idea of leaving her alone.

"It couldn't hurt anything, Clint," Westin argued. "She'll be with us. And no one's going to see her who doesn't already know she's on the ranch."

Clint frowned. "What if I brought a laptop here?"

"Do you have one?"

Clint nodded. "There's a laptop in the security room up at the barn. I could bring that to you."

"It's ancient," Westin argued. "It wouldn't have a slot for the memory card." He glanced at Lee. "It's older than the hills."

"I do need one with a memory-card slot."

Clint frowned. "Then what about the computers in the security room? The desktops are top-of-the-line. Miss Dulcie bought them just a few months ago."

"The house would be safer. You and I will be there to make sure no one sees her." Westin slipped his hand into Lee's. "I think she should be with one or the other of us until we figure out how much danger she's really in."

Clint continued to resist, the muscles in his jaw popping as he studied the two of them. But then he sighed and lowered his head. "All right. But she stays in the office and doesn't talk to anyone. Understand?"

"You know, I am a federal agent. I'm trained to take care of myself in dangerous situations."

"Yes, well, you asked for our help. This is what you get." Clint dropped a wink before he turned to rinse his coffee cup in the sink. "Let's get out of here. Miss Dulcie's waiting."

***

Westin's arms had allowed Lee to sleep as though on a cloud, but she was crashing back down to earth now, reality worming its way back into her peace of mind. She held the sunflower between her fingers, her mind running over the things Clint had pointed out to her the day before. Why had Will sent her up to this part of Colorado? Why hadn't he had her go to the DEA office in Denver? Why hadn't she thought of it? Was she so blindly trusting of her partner that she never questioned his orders? Or was it something else? Something she didn't want to admit to even herself?

How long had she suspected that Will was going rogue?

Federal agents going bad and working for the very bad guys they were sworn to take down was not uncommon. It happened so often that it was a joke at the offices in Seattle. It wasn't the idea of Will going rogue that messed with her equilibrium. It was the idea that he would turn on her that pushed her off balance.

Undercover work was a blurred line. It wasn't as black and white as crime shows on television depicted. Sometimes a cop had to break the law in order to convince those around him that he was one of them, that he was willing to do whatever it took to survive. And, sometimes, those acts blurred the line even more, making it almost impossible to know what was right and what was wrong. So what if an undercover cop took a little money in exchange for a little information if that meant he could get closer to the really bad guy, the one he was there to uncover? How was that different from selling narcotics, taking drugs, sleeping with some lieutenant just to get to his boss? All lines could be crossed to get what was needed.

But turning on a partner? A friend? That was one line Lee wouldn't cross. She couldn't. That was the one thing that kept her grounded, that reminded her why she was surrounding herself with all this darkness. And she knew that Will felt the same way.

At least, she thought she knew.

She held on to Westin's arm as they drove to the main house, wishing she could just go back to that bedroom and lose herself in him. She didn't want to know what she was afraid she already did know. She didn't want to see Will's name on the memory card she'd protected with her life. She didn't want to know that he'd turned on her.

"We're going to figure this out," Westin said softly against her temple almost as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone. She kissed his shoulder, grateful for his presence.

Clint pulled the truck up to a side door, leading Lee and Westin into the house through the kitchen. He nodded to a young woman slicing tomatoes on a butcher-block-topped island, but offered no other greeting as he led the way down a narrow corridor that led the way through the same sort of maze as the one he'd taken her through during her last visit to this house. When they arrived at the same room, that large sitting room, he gestured for her to wait. He and Westin entered the room together, both with their hats in hand.

Curious, Lee peeked around the corner and discovered that Miss Dulcie wasn't alone in the room. A man, tall and dark with a distinguished amount of white beginning to lighten his jet-black hair just above his temples, stood before her, his entire body expressing fury in the way he stood, in the way he held his hands behind his back, in the tension that seemed to vibrate through every inch of him. When he spotted Westin, that fury only seemed to increase, burning like a wildfire through dry brush. Lee didn't understand this stranger's fury, but she took an instant dislike to him.

"Spend three years trying to get an audience with this guy, and I suddenly find myself in his company twice in twelve hours," Westin commented dryly.

"Do you see?" the stranger said to Miss Dulcie. "The insolence is ridiculous."

Lee peeked again, aching with curiosity. There was something about this guy, the stranger, that seemed familiar to her. She couldn't put her finger on exactly why, but there was something about him. She felt confident in her dislike for him, though, based solely on his attitude toward Westin. Anyone who didn't think Westin was a great guy was someone she didn't want to know.

Miss Dulcie stood between the two men and gestured for Clint to leave the room. He hesitated, clearly not sure he really wanted to do that. If anyone but Miss Dulcie had suggested it, he probably wouldn't have gone. But this was coming from Miss Dulcie, and he respected her too much not to do as she said. His hat still in his hands, Clint came out of the room and gestured for Lee to follow him. She did, somewhat reluctantly, glancing into the room as she passed. She caught Westin's eye, and he nodded, a clear attempt to reassure her that failed miserably. There was just something about that stranger that made her very uneasy.

Clint led the way up a large staircase that worked its way to the second floor, directing her to a set of double doors beyond a wide landing. The room was dark-paneled with shelves built into the walls from floor to ceiling, all of them covered in books. She caught a glimpse of some of the titles, knew enough about expensive books—criminals had a thing about collections, and a few she'd gone after collected rare first editions to launder their money—to know that some of them had to be first editions.

Clint led her through the room to a table at the back where someone had laid out several books, some of them open to specific pages, like they'd been doing research. Clint carefully moved the books out of the way, then produced a laptop from a cabinet built into one of the bookshelves.

"You won't be bothered up here."

"Are you leaving?"

Clint lowered his head slightly. "I should go back down in case things get out of hand."

"Who is that man?"

"Dominic Mollohan. He owns the Rocking D Ranch."

"The Rocking D?"

"A neighboring ranch. It's the biggest ranch in the state, barely, and a direct rival to Golden Sphinx. Asa and Mollohan used to fight all the time, but they did it in the courts or at the auctions, always trying to outdo each other. Mollohan is convinced that Asa stole three hundred acres of Rocking D because he won them against Mollohan's father in a card game. It was how he started the Golden Sphinx back in the seventies, with those three hundred acres."

"That's a lot of acreage."

"Yeah, it is. But Rocking D is still more than four hundred acres, just a little bigger than Golden Sphinx."

"What is his beef with Westin?"

Clint shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure." But even as he said it, Lee knew he was lying. He knew—or he had a suspicion—what it was about. That was why he was in a hurry to get back downstairs.

"You're worried about him."

"It's my job to worry about all my boys."

"You think this guy is going to push him back to the bottle."

Clint's eyebrows rose. "He told you?"

"Didn't have to."

There was a tattoo on Westin's bicep that told the story . Twelve simple, impossible, steps , it said. She knew it could have been there for lots of reasons—that those twelve steps could have referred to a lot of things, not necessarily the one Clint had just confirmed. But there was something about the way Westin was, the quiet control that was always right there, right under the surface, that Lee recognized. She had to know people, had to be able to read them so that she could protect herself if it came down to that. She knew Westin's demons even if she didn't know what caused them.

Clint took off his hat and ran his hand over the top of his head before putting it back in place. "He won't like that I let it slip."

"I think he probably knows I figured it out." She settled back in her chair and lifted the lid of the laptop. "I'm glad he has friends who care enough to look out for him."

"You don't have to worry about him."

Clint crossed the room, but hesitated just inside the door. "Stay here. Don't go wandering around the house."

"I'd get lost if I did."

He lowered his head in agreement before stepping out, pulling the door closed behind him. Lee had the feeling he would have locked it if he could.

She studied the computer screen for a moment, struggling a little to get back into that mindset of work. It was like returning to the office after a prolonged vacation. Only Lee hadn't been on vacation. Not really. She was on the run.

She slipped the memory card from her sunflower pendant and popped it into the slot on the side of the computer, waiting as the operating system read it and gave her the option of opening it. She scrolled through the files, remembering the rush to put each one on that card and the ones she'd been forced to leave behind when Fang had suddenly arrived in the office. She sent up a quick, silent prayer, hoping she hadn't left the wrong ones behind.

Criminals were normally very smart about the kind of information they kept track of. They encoded it, used their own ciphers so that the cops couldn't figure it out if they happened to confiscate a computer or ledger. There were those who set computer viruses on their system that would destroy all the information if someone tried to take it, and those who simply never wrote a single thing down. They kept it all in their heads, or just kept things so pared down they didn't have to keep track of anything. Lee had come across all kinds, and she'd figured out how to get what she needed from each and every one.

Fang was a new kind of stupid. He kept notes on everything—every transaction, every customer, every conversation. There were recordings, spreadsheets, journal entries. He wrote down what he had for lunch each day, what girl he took to bed that night, what he bought at the grocery store. He was anal in everything he did, and he kept track of it like it was going to be a part of the history books one day.

Good for law enforcement. Not so good for Fang and his gang.

Lee combed through the files, reading as quickly as she could, not sure how long she had for going through this. Some of it meant nothing to her, but others had little tidbits that connected to other bits she knew would eventually make puzzle pieces. The client list was invaluable. Her boss would love to have that. The journal entries were tedious, but not really as useful as she'd hoped. It was in the audio files, though, that she began to hit pay dirt.

She got up and searched through the cabinet where she'd seen Clint get the computer, finally finding a set of earbuds that looked brand-new. She plugged them into the computer and listened, curiosity turning into disappointment, and disappointment becoming a knife in the back.

Shit, shit, shit!

She didn't want to believe it, but the proof was here. She wondered if Will had been aware of Fang's habit of recording all his phone calls. If he had, he had to know that she would listen to them eventually. Was that why? Was it Will who sent Fang back into the office that night? Had he meant for Fang to kill her? What a shock it must have been to him when she'd called him, asking for help after escaping the club that night. Is that why he'd sent her to the airport, why he'd arranged for her to get on a flight for New Orleans instead of Seattle? Was that why he'd instructed her to drive north?

Lee was beginning to feel like a fool. She'd played into Will's hands like a blind person following another blind person. She never questioned him. Not once. She should have.

But if she had, would she be here now? Would she be breathing?

Lee used her credentials to get into her files at the DEA, verifying a few things she had begun to suspect as she looked through Fang's files. She had a better idea now what Will had done, had been doing. She was putting together pieces she was sure he'd never suspected she would find.

As she worked, she couldn't help but think of the years she'd worked with Will, the things they'd shared. He'd been her partner for five years, at her side through dozens of cases, so many undercover assignments that she couldn't even remember how many. And it wasn't just work. How many times had she slept on his couch after a bad case when she couldn't be alone? How many times had she sat at his dinner table, chatting with his wife while he made jokes from the kitchen? How many times had she held his children, babysat them so that he and his wife could have a few precious moments alone together? How many times had she heard him talk about his kids, talk about his pride and his fears?

They'd cried together, laughed, gotten drunk together, even kissed a few times. Granted, it was usually for an undercover gig, but they had. He was the one who whispered in her ear when she was about to take the bad guy down, the one who talked her down when things went wrong. They weren't just coworkers. He was more of a brother to her than her own half-brother would ever be.

How could he have turned on her?

Lee had learned a lot of things over the past five years of working undercover. She could dance like a professional, could seduce a priest. She could cook a pretty good batch of meth, knew the street value of almost every illegal drug on the market. She could break down a Colt M4A1 carbine assault rifle faster than a SEAL could. She'd talked her way out of dozens of dangerous situations and taken the stand in over twenty criminal courts. It wasn't always about drugs and guns. There were several times when computer skills were essential. She'd learned how to hack a computer like a pro, a skill that she'd never used outside of an undercover assignment until this moment.

She had to make sure she was right. She had to know that what she was about to set in motion wasn't going to destroy a good cop. It wasn't just her life on the line here.

Measure twice, cut once. It was a piece of advice her father once gave her that had come in handy more times than he could ever have imagined it would.

***

Westin was only partially surprised to find Dominic Mollohan standing in Miss Dulcie's sitting room. He'd known Mollohan wasn't the kind of man to be made a fool of, but he hadn't thought he'd have the balls to show up at Golden Sphinx after what Westin had revealed to him the night before. But maybe he'd underestimated the man.

"Mr. Mollohan has spent the last hour telling me about your behavior at his home last night, Westin," Miss Dulcie said the moment Clint had left the room, her voice soft and steady. "He wanted to make sure I knew just how rude he felt your behavior had been."

"I've come here to request that your ranch hands stay away from my home and my daughter," Mollohan said directly to Miss Dulcie, not Westin, a weariness to his voice that suggested he'd said this more than once already.

Miss Dulcie lowered her head slightly. "Would you like to explain yourself, Westin?"

A soft grunt escaped Westin's lips. Explain himself? Was that really something Mollohan wanted him to do in front of witnesses?

Apparently not.

"I don't need an explanation," Mollohan quickly interjected. "I just want your people to stay as far from my house as possible! It's ridiculous! I shouldn't have to put up with uneducated, boorish young men coming to my house and thinking they can do and say anything they want to do and say!"

"Uneducated?" Westin tilted his head slightly. "Is that what you think? That my mother didn't raise a boy who understands the importance of an education? Or is it simply that you believe people who don't live in your social bracket can't afford school?"

"Westin," Miss Dulcie said softly in warning.

Mollohan turned on Westin, revealing a nice bruise forming just below his bottom lip. "I think someone who resorts to fisticuffs instead of words must not have learned a damn thing, no matter how much philosophy he studied!"

"Then you were paying attention. And here I thought you were more interested in your damn phone than you were in the people who were right there, right in front of you, asking for your attention." Westin shook his head. "We poor may not be educated, but at least we know how to appreciate what we have."

Mollohan's face reddened. "How dare you!"

"You're so worried about who's spending time with your daughter… why don't you put down your phone and get to know her a little? I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

"Watch yourself, boy!"

"I'm sorry I wasted my time trying to get close to you." Westin shook his head, feeling as though he finally had twenty-twenty vision for the first time. He'd had his suspicions before, but now he could really see the man Dominic Mollohan was, and he felt sorry for the women in his life because they had no idea. Just like his mother. "You're not worth my time."

Mollohan's fists tightened at his sides, his face so red he looked like he might explode. "How dare you talk to me like that! I could destroy you with one phone call. You know that, don't you?"

"Make up your mind. Am I a loser with no worth, or someone with enough worth you could bother yourself to destroy me? Can't have it both ways."

Westin smiled as the redness in Mollohan's face darkened even more, amused by the power he suddenly appeared to have over this man who seemed to think he ruled the world. But that amusement didn't belie the pressure in his chest, the disappointment he was still feeling, and the sadness he held on to for his mother's sake. She'd so believed in this man. He was glad she wasn't around to see this, to see what he'd become, assuming he'd ever been the honest, kind man she'd believed him to be.

"Gentlemen!"

Miss Dulcie moved between the two men, her slight body hardly a physical barrier to their animosity, but the respect Westin felt for her pushing him back. He backed away, standing half a room away from Mollohan, not interested in a repeat of the night before. Not here. Not in front of Miss Dulcie. After all, he was a better man than Mollohan.

At least, he wanted to be.

Mollohan turned away and moved to the glass doors that looked out on the back porch, his hands behind his back. He was silent for a long while as Miss Dulcie approached Westin, taking his hands lightly in her own. She didn't say anything, just held his hands and looked up into his face, her expression saying more than any words ever could.

"Asa Howard stole three hundred acres from my father, and he built this house right in the middle of it."

Miss Dulcie stiffened. "He didn't steal anything!"

Mollohan turned, his dark eyes moving disdainfully over Miss Dulcie. "I don't care what the legal system had to say about it. My father put pieces of Rocking D up as collateral in dozens of card games, and not a single one of his opponents ever took it seriously. Asa had no right to believe it was a genuine bet!"

In true Miss Dulcie style, she took a seat on the couch and crossed her hands in her lap. "That was between your father and my Asa long before you or I got involved. Who are we to question what they agreed to?"

"My father didn't agree!"

"His name is on the contract, Mr. Mollohan." She smiled sweetly. "And, like I said, that was long before I got involved in Golden Sphinx, and long before you took over Rocking D. Also, as you pointed out, the courts have settled this argument as well."

"We'll see what the courts will say when I call the police and tell them how one of your men burst into my house and attacked me last night!"

"That's not what happened!" Westin cried even as Miss Dulcie stood and moved between the two of them once more.

"You do what you need to do, Mr. Mollohan," Miss Dulcie told him. "But I must warn you that if you bring false charges against one of my men, I will be forced to enlist the help of my lawyers."

"You think that scares me, Mrs. Howard? We all know about you here in this town. How Asa picked you up out of the gutter, how he only made you his wife because you were carrying his bastard! You really think walking around with the Howard name makes you any better than the trash you were born into?"

"You're playing with fire, Mollohan," Westin growled as he attempted to move in front of Miss Dulcie, needing to protect her from that vitriol. But Miss Dulcie pushed him back, patting his arm lightly.

"I know what your kind think of me, Mr. Mollohan. But rumor and gossip doesn't hold up in a court of law. I will not allow you to harass my employees."

"You have no idea who you're screwing with here," Mollohan hissed. "There is so much I could do to you with just a single phone call! You think you're so above it all, but you're not. You think you were his only whore? The man had a whole stable of women!" He shook his head, his eyes moving to Westin. "If you were truly as smart as you think you are, you'd stop associating yourself with these people and find something better for yourself. Something your mother might have been proud of."

"Don't talk about my mother!"

Mollohan's eyes narrowed. "If it's a war you want, then you've got it. Watch yourselves, both of you. I won't allow the likes of you to ruin my reputation, to steal from me, or to corrupt my only child." His eyes bore through Westin as he emphasized the word ‘only.' "Stay the hell away from me, or I'll rain hell down on you!"

"Why don't you let me show you out, Mr. Mollohan?"

Clint, his hat in his hands, stood just inside the doorway, dryly observing the conversation. Mollohan barely glanced at him, more interested in Westin's and Miss Dulcie's reactions to his speech, but neither gave him the satisfaction of a reaction at all.

Clint stepped forward, and Mollohan gave in, brushing past him on his way to the door. When they were gone, Miss Dulcie turned to Westin and gripped his forearms, staring hard into his face.

"You okay, boy?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. I'm sorry he dragged you into that."

She brushed that away with a little sound and a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about me. I've heard worse, believe you me!"

"Still, it was uncalled for."

She reached up and touched his face. "You know that my boy died years ago. Killed here on this ranch, right?"

"I know, Miss Dulcie."

"He was my only child, my only life. I was broken by his death. And then, not long after he died, Asa forced me onto a horse, took me out to watch the ranch hands move the cattle from the lower pasture to the winter pasture. When I complained and asked him why he was being so cruel to me, forcing me out of my safe bed, away from my private grief, he pointed to the boys on horseback and on those noisy ATVs, and he said, ‘This is your family now, Dulcie. These are your boys. As long as you have this ranch, and those boys, you will have a family.' I took those words to heart, Westin." She patted his face gently. "You are my boy. And I won't let anyone, not even that pompous ass, do anything to hurt you."

Westin nodded, a frog leaping to his throat. Miss Dulcie smiled, patting his cheek again. "Don't let him get to you. He's all bark and no bite."

Westin kissed her forehead lightly. "Thank you, Miss Dulcie."

Clint cleared his throat, letting them know he'd returned to the room. Westin turned, snatching up his hat from where he'd set it on the low table behind the couch. "We should get back to work," he said, shooting a questioning look at Clint, his thoughts on Lee.

Miss Dulcie made a gesture with her hand, shooing them out of the room. "I have work to do, anyway."

Clint was already halfway up the stairs when Westin caught up to him. "She find anything on that memory card?"

Clint shrugged. "I don't know. I left before she started."

"She's alone?"

"She's in a house full of people. She's fine."

But Westin had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him rush up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. When he burst through the library doors, he half-expected Lee to be gone, but she was there, typing furiously on the keyboard of a slim laptop. She had earbuds in her ears, so she didn't immediately realize they'd entered the room. For a split second, he was able to study her without her knowing it. Damn? she was beautiful!

"Hey," Westin said, rapping his knuckles on the table near her as he dropped into a chair beside her. She looked up, her eyes wide, a touch of fear registering in their amber depths. She bit her bottom lip as she studied him, a cloud of emotions rushing over her.

"I've got to go," she said in a flurry of words. "You were right. I never should have come here!"

"Whoa!" Westin took her hand, but she pulled away, sitting back and tugging the earbuds out of her ears. "What's going on?"

"It's worse than I thought." She closed the top of the computer and sat back, running her hands over her face. "I thought it was just about Fang and his little group of drug dealers, but I was wrong. This goes back so much further! And there are so many people involved…"

"Slow down," Clint said as he also took a seat across from her. "Start at the beginning."

Lee looked from Westin to Clint and back again, taking a couple of deep breaths. "It's the box. I should have known the moment I saw it that I was screwed, but I just…" She stopped, choking on her own words. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes skating over Westin.

"Hey…" He took her face in his hands and caressed her jaw with his thumbs. "You need to take a deep breath. You are safe here, okay?"

She shook her head even with him holding her face. "No, I'm not. They know where I am and they're coming for me."

"Who?" Clint demanded.

She leaned forward and kissed Westin softly, then pulled away, standing to pace for a second behind the table before she finally turned, hands on hips, and began talking… "Two years ago, Will and I worked a case in Utah. We'd gotten reports of an increase in fentanyl overdoses in rural areas of the state, so we went out there to check it out. We went undercover as a couple of teachers at a small-town high school where half a dozen kids had overdosed, hoping to find the source of the drug."

She ran her hand over the top of her head, remembering details far clearer than she wanted to, right down to the smell of the classroom where she'd stumbled through lessons on the Iliad. "After a couple of weeks, we built a relationship with this girl who finally told us where she got the drugs—some farm on the outskirts of town. That's when we stumbled on the boxes buried in the ground."

She stopped, her head spinning a little as she tried to recall all the information she'd just discovered from her less-than-skillful computer hacks. "We thought we had a small operation, a couple of locals stealing the fentanyl from a local hospital and selling it to kids who had no idea what they were doing. But it turned out to be just a small piece of a much larger operation. This cartel out of California—"

"There's cartels in California?" Westin asked.

Clint shot him a dark look as he gestured for Lee to continue.

"There are cartels everywhere," she sighed. "Every time we take one down, it seems like three more pop up to take its place." She ran her hand over the top of her head, smoothing her palm over her braided hair. "We tracked the supplier to Sacramento. I got a job working for the guy—he had a little bakery in a suburb, so I learned how to properly frost a cake—and we discovered that he was working for this cartel, and they were using ranches and farms and small businesses in rural areas to sell and move their drugs."

"This cartel is behind the boxes?"

"Was." Lee glanced at Clint, aware he was following her story easily because they'd already talked some of it out. But Westin… he was watching her with such trust in his eyes, and she felt like a liar, like she'd deceived him when he'd trusted her most. "They would bury these boxes in remote areas, usually on private property, not only to protect themselves should the boxes be discovered when they were full of product, but so they could use them to set up enemies, people they wanted taken out of the equation, whatever equation it might have been. We saw them call the police on some strawberry farmer outside of Sacramento because he'd been causing trouble for one of their members who happened to have a home that butted up against his. And that wasn't the only time…"

She sighed. "It's not an uncommon thing, these dead drops. Drug dealers have been using them for years. But the boxes, the code they write on the top—"

"Code?" Westin asked.

"The lettering on top," Clint said.

"Like the box we found," she told Westin. "It had a man's name on it. Petey J."

"Petey?" Westin asked, tilting his head just slightly. "Are you sure?"

Lee nodded. "Positive. It took us a little while to break the code, but once we did, it was simple to remember."

Westin shot Clint a look. "I told you one of those guys was wearing a Rocking D logo on his jacket!"

"What?" Lee looked from Clint to Westin, suddenly aware she was missing something here. "What are you talking about?"

Clint cleared his throat. "We put a camera on the box. When they came to clean it out, and then to remove it, we got footage."

"Are you kidding me?" Lee wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss them or kill them. "What did you see?"

"It was too dark to see faces. But Westin thought one of the guys who came to put something in the box was wearing a jacket with the Rocking D logo on it."

"It had to have been!" Westin cried somewhat triumphantly. "How many grown-ass men do you know who go by Petey ? Only the fucking foreman over at Rocking D!"

"We don't know positively that it was him," Clint warned. But Westin clearly thought it was. He was smiling like the Cheshire cat, more pleased with himself than Lee imagined he'd been in a long time.

"Listen," Lee said. "You don't know the whole story yet. Don't get too excited."

Clint tilted his head as he regarded her. "What is the whole story?"

"These people are dangerous. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want." She made a wide gesture. "Two years ago, Will and I traced the hierarchy of the cartel back to this politician in Sacramento. He wasn't anyone terribly important, not yet, but he might have been someday. Turned out the boxes were his baby. He came up with it to get rid of a few political rivals. He was making so much money from the drugs he was selling over several states, that he could afford to lose a few here and there to set these people up. He was ruthless."

The memory of it was almost painful to her. She rubbed her shoulder, remembered a fight with the guy's personal security when he came to the little bakery, a fight that had ended with her blowing her cover. She was damn lucky that Will was there to get the guy out of the way before he was able to warn anyone else what they were up to.

Or maybe she wasn't.

"Look, I thought we took the head of the operation down, that it was over. When I saw that box out there in your field, I knew something was up. I knew it wasn't good. Someone else must have taken over this guy's operation, but I didn't know who or when or how. Not until now."

"You're getting ahead of us again," Clint told her. "Back up a little."

Lee sat back down, landing hard on her tailbone. "There's no time for a bunch of explanations!" She ran her hands over her face again, rubbing so hard that her cheeks ached. "The thing is, I thought it was over. I thought we got this asshole and that he was rotting in jail, waiting for his trial date. I thought we put it in the past. So, when I saw that box, I didn't know what to think, but it didn't occur to me not to tell my partner. Yet, telling him told him exactly where I was."

"That's how Fang found you."

Lee pointed a finger at Westin. "Bingo!"

"That means your partner knew about the boxes ahead of time."

"Give that man a prize!"

Lee stood again, so much nervous energy built up inside of her that she couldn't stay still. "I looked over the files I got from Fang's computer. Most of it is crap. Just names and transactions we already knew about, most of which I made myself. But there were phone calls that Fang recorded, conversations with his bosses and his gang, information that it will take days to gather from listening to his ramblings. But I heard a few familiar voices, and that sent me looking in a different location."

She gestured toward Clint. "You were the one who put the idea in my mind."

"Your partner?"

"Wait! What are the two of you talking about?" Westin demanded.

Lee turned to him even as she made a wild gesture toward Clint. "He suggested that my partner sent me up here intentionally. That he wanted me stuck in the middle of freaking nowhere when Fang caught up with me."

"Why would he do that?"

Lee snorted. "Good gosh-darn question!" She twisted her hands together, wringing them mercilessly until the pain in her bones made her stop. "I hacked his computer."

"Will's?"

"Will who?"

She groaned. Too many damn questions!

"I can't breathe," she muttered, suddenly doubling over. "I need to get the hell out of here!"

Westin was immediately there, sweeping her up into his arms and cradling her head against his shoulder. Tears began to fall, humiliatingly enough. She couldn't remember the last time she'd shed a tear, let alone in front of two men she so deeply respected. They'd taken her in when she was desperate, no questions asked, and here she was, delivering a shitload of trouble on their doorstep! What the hell was she going to do?

Clint had jumped to his feet, too, and without her asking, he gathered up the computer and the memory chip she'd left sitting beside it. Westin carried her downstairs, not setting her on her feet until they reached Clint's truck and she had nowhere to go but into the passenger seat.

"Westin!"

A girl, too old to be a child but still too young to be an adult, came rushing toward them, her eyes filled with the same sort of tears Lee had cried upstairs. She threw her arms around Westin, burying her face against his shoulder even as a gleam of fear entered his dark-blue eyes.

"Rena?"

"I've been so worried! When father came out of the study and started ranting about finding you, about the things he was going to do when he did…!"

Westin's eyes jumped to Lee's face even as he gently pushed the girl back, holding her jaw so that she was forced to slow down, to look up at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Last night! I'm so ashamed of his behavior! How dare he throw you out like that?"

"What did your father tell you about what happened last night?"

"That you attacked him—but don't worry, darling; I know you wouldn't do that."

" Darling ?" Lee asked, an ironic twist to the word.

"Who are you ?" the girl asked, suddenly noticing Lee for the first time.

"I could ask you that, too." She focused on Westin. "Is this who you dressed up for last night?"

Westin's expression was priceless. He knew he was caught, and he wasn't sure what to say. But the girl in his arms didn't notice. All she saw was green, the color of jealousy. She pulled away from Westin and stepped into Lee, pushing her back against the side of Clint's truck like she thought she was tough.

"You need to back off. This is none of your business!"

"Yeah? Is that why he spent the night in my bed last night?" She shot a look at Westin. "Is this the game you were talking about last night? You're carrying on with this girl, too?" She shook her head even as she gave the girl a once-over and found her less than impressive. "If that's how he wants to play, you can have him, sweetheart."

But the strength had gone out of the girl. She stepped back, shaking her head like the mere act would make Lee take her words back. "Westin?" she asked softly, turning her big, sad eyes on him. Lee almost felt bad. She clearly thought he was the moon and the stars.

But, again, so had Lee. For a while, anyway.

"You don't understand." Westin reached for Lee's arm as she turned to get into the truck. The girl cried out and turned, running off into the open space beyond the house, her slight body already shivering with cold and the heartbreak Lee had just delivered.

"I think it's pretty obvious." Lee pulled away. "Go after her. She needs you more than I ever did."

But he wouldn't let her go. He jerked her back against him, wrapping his arms hard around her until she stood still, no longer resisting him.

"I wasn't playing games with you, Lee," he said roughly against her ear. "I would never do that to you." He squeezed her for a moment, and she had to admit it felt good. It felt perfect. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him, pretend this morning hadn't happened, that her world hadn't just imploded. She wanted to pretend she didn't know what she did, that trouble wasn't coming for her sooner rather than later. She wanted to pretend that, if he had been playing games, it didn't rip her heart right out of her chest to know it.

He kissed her jaw gently.

"That girl," he said, his voice filled with more emotion than she'd seen him express since she met him, "is my half-sister. She just doesn't know it yet."

And then he let her go, and she felt as though she were in a freefall. Her knees went weak even as she turned and watched him chase after the girl. Clint was there. He somehow always knew where he needed to be just in time to save everyone from themselves. He caught her and helped her into the truck, offering her hand a gentle squeeze before he closed the door.

What was it her mother used to say?

When it rains, it pours.