Chapter 12

The gun made Westin nervous.

Lee refused to leave it sitting on a table, or beside the bed. She carried it with her everywhere she went like it was her smartphone and she was expecting a phone call. She moved between the couch and the windows, between the bed and the front of the house, pacing like she expected an ambush any moment. He couldn't distract her with reality television, with funny banter, even with a kiss or a romp in the bed. Nothing could keep her still.

"Are you expecting an ambush?" he finally asked her as the sun started to go down, the land darkening with dusk.

"Yeah."

"Who? Who are you expecting to come for you?"

She was standing at the windows in the living room, studying the view out the front of the house that looked toward the back of the property. It took him a while, but he finally realized that this view pointed toward the field where she'd found the box. It was that direction from which she expected trouble.

"Lee, you can trust me. I can help you."

"Can you?"

He moved up behind her and slipped his hands over her shoulders. "Tell me who you think is coming for you."

"Besides my partner? The one person I should have been able to trust, but apparently can't?"

"Yeah. Besides your partner, one man out there all by himself."

"But he's not alone."

"I get that impression. What I want to know is who you think is working with him."

She didn't answer him right away, just stood there staring off into the unfamiliar darkness. He could see her reflection in the window, could see the worry lines that were etched across her forehead and beside her amber eyes. He wanted to smooth them away, make them disappear, not because they weren't pretty—everything on her was beautiful—but because he knew what lay behind them, and he wanted to take that from her too.

"That California cartel was that bad?"

"It's complicated."

"But that's who you think is behind this?"

She once again chose not to answer him. The tension in her body was infectious, moving through his own body until his shoulders were sore and his back ached. He rubbed her shoulders lightly, running his fingers up against her neck, caressing as much as massaging, wanting her to know he was there, to remember that he was part of this too. Finally, she sighed and turned into him, pressing her face against his chest.

"I should have seen it coming," she said. "I knew the pressure he was under. His daughter has spina bifida, which requires physical therapy and a wheelchair and so many other things. It cost money that he was barely able to afford, and time. He was never home, never there to help his wife with the emotional and physical parts of having a child with special needs." Lee shook her head. "I saw it, but he kept assuring me that they were working it out. I believed him."

"It's not your job to figure out when the people you trust are lying to you. It's his job to be honest with you."

She shook her head against his chest. "I should have known. How desperate did he have to be to make a deal with these people?"

"Lee," he said softly, "what people? Who else is involved in this?"

But she didn't have a chance to answer him. The house shook as an explosion rocked the land underneath them. Westin pulled her back from the windows as they imploded, twisting around to cover her body with his own. He could feel the glass bouncing off his shirt, felt the bite of it cutting him in a few places. They stumbled, falling against the back of the couch, covering their faces as they waited for the debris to stop flying.

"What was that?" she asked even as she turned into him, touched his face to check for damage. "What happened?"

"I think it might have been the old hay shed. It's about half a mile from here."

"Why would they do that?"

"To get our attention. To draw us out."

"It worked."

She pulled away from him and stood, charging to the door like she was going to just walk out there. Westin scrambled to his feet and grabbed her, pulling her back.

"They could be anywhere!" he hissed. "You can't just walk out there! You could be walking right into their hands."

"I'm the one they're after. Why shouldn't I walk out there?"

"Because they'll kill you!"

"If they're busy killing me, they won't mess with you or Clint or any of the others!"

"I'm not going to just stand here and watch you give yourself over to them! We're going to fight, Lee, whether you like it or not!"

"I see she told you what her name really is," a voice behind them said. "She's usually good about staying in character until the final arrests are made."

Westin watched the color drain from Lee's face, but her eyes never left his. There was fear there. Cold fear. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

He turned, pushing her behind him. A man, smaller than him, less than six foot he guessed, blond and good-looking, the kind of guy who would do well in Hollywood if he had a box to stand on every time he kissed his leading lady. A golden version of Tom Cruise.

"How gallant of you," the man said. "But I can assure you that Lee can protect herself much better than you probably can. She was trained by the best."

"You always did have a massive ego, Will," Lee said as she stepped around Westin, refusing to be protected, even by him.

"Are you going to tell me I wasn't the best?"

She lowered her head slightly. "You were. You were the best at all of it—until you turned to the dark side."

"We've always been on the dark side, Lee. Just because we did it in the name of catching the bad guy didn't make us any better than them."

"But didn't it? At the end of the day, we went home, and they went to prison."

"I'll still be going home."

"I don't know about that." Lee stepped further away from Westin. He could see Clint's gun tucked into the back of her jeans, barely covered by the tail of her shirt. He was sure this guy couldn't see it, but he would if she turned the wrong way. "I sent an email to White this morning. It contains more than enough evidence to prove you're the one who went rogue."

"Any information you got off Fang's computer I can explain away."

"This isn't just from Fang's computer."

The Tom Cruise lookalike paused at that, but he didn't stop. He took a few steps toward her, waving his gun as he directed her the long way around the couch. "It doesn't matter. I can explain everything once I have your body."

"Then why don't you just shoot me, Will?"

He ignored her question, again impatiently gesturing with his gun to get her to come around the couch down the long way. Westin frowned, a little confused about what this guy was up to. He'd been so busy watching him, the hadn't checked the windows behind him, hadn't looked around the room to see where he'd come in. There were windows in the bedrooms, but there was also a small laundry room at the other end of the cabin with an exterior door. He saw the movement just before Lee did; that same slender Hispanic man who'd tried to pull her from her car by her hair was sneaking into the room, a gun in both his hands.

"Lee!"

She jerked the gun out from her waistband and fired in one, quick succession as Westin hit his knees. Two shots fired, then a third. Westin watched as Lee jerked back, twisting on one ankle just before a fourth shot echoed through the cabin.

"Lee!" he cried again, crawling to her as she fell back. He moved his hands quickly over her body, expecting to find blood staining his fingers. She sat up and kissed him almost roughly on the lips. "I'm okay," she said. "I just turned too fast. My ankle went out on me."

"You're okay?"

"I'm okay."

She untangled herself from him and cautiously pulled herself up to her knees. Whatever she saw must have given her courage because she quickly jumped to her feet and ran around the couch. Westin followed, catching sight of the Hispanic guy bleeding out on the carpet. Clint was going to be pissed about that! All that blood…

"Why, Will?" Lee dropped to her knees again beside her partner. "Why did you do it?"

Blood was bubbling out of the man's mouth and he was moving it almost like a fish out of water. It was surreal, like something Westin had seen on the cop shows Clint liked to watch so much. There was a hole in his chest and it was sucking in air; he could see the way the blood seemed to be flowing in two different directions. The man wasn't going to make it if someone didn't do something—that much was obvious to Westin. But Lee didn't seem intent on saving him. She only wanted answers.

"Was it just about the money?"

Will coughed, splattering blood across the front of her shirt. She stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly seemed spurred into motion, grabbing a throw pillow from the loveseat and shoving it hard against the wound on his chest. Will cried out, proving he could still make a noise, and then lay back, breathing visibly easier.

"Tell me they forced you into it!"

He focused on her, his eyes moving slowly over her face. "Oh, Lee, my beautiful Lee. You were always so idealistic. All those undercover jobs, all those slimeballs always shoving their hands up your skirts, yet you still somehow held on to your morals." He moaned, arching his back as he coughed, more blood splattering on the surfaces around him. "How was I supposed to turn down all that money?"

Something broke inside of Lee. Westin could see it, something about the expression on her face, the very way she held herself. His words destroyed something in her.

"Fuck you, Will," she whispered. She stood up, placing all her weight on his chest as she did, then releasing the pillow that had been keeping the air from sucking into his chest wound. He grunted again, but he was actually smiling even as more blood bubbled up out of his mouth.

"Do you think it's over?" he asked, the blood spilling, getting over everything. "It's not over. They're coming for you."

"They'll have a fight when they do," Westin informed him. He took Lee's arm and pulled her away from him, but before he could, she kicked him, landing a kick right to his ribs. He grunted again, but then he began to laugh, the sound one Westin would not soon forget.

"We have to get out of here. We have to warn Clint."

Lee stooped to pick up Will's gun, sliding it into her waistband where the other had been. Then she grabbed the Hispanic's, and then Clint's where she'd left it on the floor behind the couch. Westin got their jackets, tossing hers to her before opening the front door. He peeked cautiously around the frame. Lee slipped up behind him and pressed one of the guns into his hand. He didn't have a lot of experience with handguns. His preferred weapon was a shotgun. But he knew how to use it. One did not work the oil fields in Texas without learning how to use a variety of weapons, guns in particular.

Together, they stepped onto the porch and made a quick beeline for his truck where it was still parked in the spot he'd left it the night before. He pulled out a little too fast, mud flying up under the tires as they slid through the slush that used to be a lovely layer of snow.

They didn't see anyone at first, even as Westin directed the truck over the small rise that led to the trail back toward the main section of the ranch. But less than half a mile later, he spotted an ATV in the distance.

"That's not one of ours."

Lee came to attention, leaning forward slightly to attempt to get a better look. It was a single ATV with what looked like only one person on board. It was headed in the opposite direction to them, but there was no doubt whoever was driving it had spotted them. There was nothing between the two vehicles. No cover.

"Who is it, Lee? Who's coming for you?"

"Razor." It took a little while for the puzzle pieces to come together, but once they did, it created a picture Lee hadn't wanted to see.

Two years ago, it was a cartel out of California. They were supplying fentanyl, cocaine, and meth to neighborhoods from Sacramento to Los Angeles to Portland to Salt Lake City. Lee and Will had traced them back to that low-level politician, had taken out the whole operation with the evidence they had. It had come together beautifully, every piece fitting in a way that was rare in her line of work. But she hadn't thought twice about it because it was good. They'd made a dozen arrests. The fentanyl overdoses had stopped. They'd achieved what they set out to achieve.

Fast-forward two years. Cops in Arizona knew there was a gang moving drugs and weapons through Phoenix but they had yet to figure out who was running the operation. They'd made arrests, but it was always street-level dealers, never anyone high enough in the hierarchy to do damage to the operation, to stop it from moving in their city. They brought in the DEA to root out the leadership and take them down. In a matter of weeks, Lee and Will had gotten close to one of the lieutenants, Fang, to put together a map of the leadership. Everything pointed to this guy, Razor, as the head of the whole operation. He was their target, and Fang was going to lead them to Razor.

And then everything went to hell and Lee was on the run, trusting her partner to get her somewhere safe. Instead, he walked her right into the monsters' den.

Until Clint had pointed out the illogical aspects of Will's actions after Lee was discovered stealing files from Fang's computer, she had not suspected him of any betrayal. Will was her partner, had been her partner though some truly difficult cases. They'd leaned on each other, had each other's backs. She would have followed him blindly through the desert without question. But Clint had forced her to step back and take a look at the things he'd done and said from the moment she'd left that nightclub, and that had made her take a closer look at other things Will had done over the past few months, and continued, dominoes falling all the way back to the California cartel two years ago.

It started there. But when? And why?

It was hacking his computer that had put her on the right road. Finding that bank account. The audio files, the things he'd kept that would have easily incriminated her as much as they would him. He was preparing. Setting her up. But what pushed it over the edge was something she'd found in an unexpected place: her own files.

They routinely recorded interviews with suspects. All law enforcement tended to do that now. It was just safer for the cop as well as the suspect. In one of the interviews she and Will had done with that low-level politician, he'd said something that she didn't make note of at the time, but which haunted her now.

"You have no idea just how widespread this is. You think that by taking me out of the equation you're doing something good for mankind. The thing is, you crush one cockroach under your foot—there are hundreds crawling around inside your walls that you don't see. It's never going to end. It's everywhere. You think you're the one in power, but I'm the one holding the razor."

Even now, taking it at face value, it seemed like the rantings of a man who knew he was caught. But what were the chances he'd use that word? Razor . Why that word? Why not power ? Or knife ? Or almost anything else? Why that one, simple word?

Lee went back, dug through the information they'd gathered on this politician. Turned out he hadn't always lived in the city. He was a transplant from Phoenix, Arizona. He had family in the city, one of whom was a co-owner of the club Fang managed. And that man was married to a woman who had family in Salt Lake City. And that woman? Her cousin was a widow by the name of Mollohan.

And when Lee went back to look through the files from Fang's computer, she came across a recorded phone call during which Will said the name Mollohan.

"Have you heard from Mollohan? When's the drop?"

"Tomorrow."

"Good. It's all coming together. All we have to do is get rid of that other problem."

"When do we do that?"

"She's talking about wanting to do it after you leave the club. Make sure you leave early tomorrow night."

She knew immediately what they were talking about. Will was telling Fang to set Lee up, to leave the club and give her the time to get into his office. Then he was supposed to come back and kill her. Only, Fang let his personal proclivities get in the way—he wanted to rape her first. But he underestimated her will to fight. She got away, and Will had to think quick.

He sent her to Razor.

"Razor?" Westin asked, leaning forward to keep track on the ATV. "What is that?"

"He's the guy running the drugs between here and Arizona."

"Another gang member?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then who?"

She shook her head. "This is the boss, the guy who took over the operation when we arrested that guy in California."

"Someone local?"

"Probably." She ran her hands over her face, realizing when she dropped them that there was blood drying on her palms and between her fingers. There were pictures, fuzzy pictures, of a man who met with Fang a few times outside a restaurant in Phoenix. He was tall, dark. But so were more than half of all American men. They never could get a clear picture of him. Will said it was because the guy traveled with security and he couldn't get close enough, even with the wide-angle lens. But now Lee knew it was because he didn't want them to have a good picture of this guy. Will was protecting his own boss.

But when she'd seen that man in Miss Dulcie's sitting room this morning, there'd been something about him that she instantly disliked. And it wasn't just the attitude he'd turned on Westin, though that didn't help.

"Who is Dominic Mollohan?"

Westin glanced at her, his expression almost comical in his obvious disbelief that she would ask that question now.

"He owns the Rocking D."

"Where Petey J works?"

"Yeah." He glanced at her again. "And he's Rena's father."

"That girl who thought you were cheating on her with me?"

"Yeah." He rubbed a hand on his jeans as he continued to drive with the other hand. "Why? What does Mollohan have to do with this?"

"Does he have a brother?"

"He did. Michael. But he died like five years ago, I think. Car accident in Utah. He was down there visiting his wife's family."

Lee just nodded, her mind still moving around pieces, putting the puzzle together. "The box… are you sure there were never any other boxes on your land? You've never seen anything else like that?"

"It's a big ranch, Lee. It's kind of hard to search every inch of it every day."

"But you have people running the fences."

"We have guys on ATVs who ride sections of the fence that can be accessed from roads or trails, and we have a couple of guys check specific sections of the fence at specific times to make sure there's no damage, no spots where a curious cow could get itself hurt or escape. But, like I said, it's a big ranch. We can't have eyes on every inch of it every single minute of every day."

"Then it's possible there have been other boxes on the property."

"Anything's possible."

"Mollohan doesn't like Miss Dulcie."

Westin grunted even as he stretched to check out all three of his rearview mirrors. Lee turned around and studied the area, but she could no longer see the ATV they'd spotted earlier.

"Mollohan's father was a little reckless when it came to business. He struggled to keep Rocking D afloat during his time there, and he would often use the ranch as collateral in card games. Asa knew that, and he arranged to play Mollohan's father a hand of poker when he first came to town, hoping to get a bit of land to use as a jumping-off point to start his own ranch. And that's exactly what he did."

"But Mollohan didn't appreciate it."

"Mollohan was a kid at the time. He had no idea how badly his father had run the business until twenty or so years later. And when he found out that part of the land his father had ended up handing over to Asa had a small oil well on it—the rights to which his father had also handed over to Asa—and that the oil had financed most of the fortune Asa built in the years after winning the land, he was furious. He believed the transaction was illegal and that all of Asa's fortune, as well as the empire he'd built from it, belonged to Rocking D. He wanted it back."

"But Asa refused."

"Asa refused. They fought it out in court until about five years before Asa died. Every time Asa would win a complaint in the courts, Mollohan would think of something else to sue him for, until he just finally ran out of lawyers willing to work with him. It was a futile struggle. Asa was always going to win because he had a legal contract from Mollohan's father. He made sure of that." Westin shrugged. "No matter what Asa might have been, he was a damn good businessman, and he made sure that every angle was covered."

"He must have been some guy, Asa, starting his fortune with a card game."

"It's almost like something straight out of a Sidney Sheldon book."

The reference made Lee laughed. It was a horrible time to be laughing, but she couldn't help herself. Westin glanced at her, that startled look still in his eyes. He must have thought she'd gone over the edge, that she was in shock or something.

They slid to a stop at the bunkhouse a minute later. Westin picked his gun up out of the console as he stepped down from the truck, coming around to help her out despite the fact that she had two guns shoved in her pants. One for each hand. But it still might not be enough.

They burst through the door of the bunkhouse, neither really sure what they'd find. Bowie was in the kitchen, moving his big body to music blaring through a smart speaker. Landry was coming out of the bathroom, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. And Remington was in his bunk, a book in his hands.

"What the hell?" Bowie cried when Westin walked over and switched off the speaker.

"Where's Clint?"

"He went to town to talk to Sheriff Reeves," Landry offered up, not in a hurry to cover up. Lee looked him over, already aware of just how pretty he thought he was. Now, she had to admit, there was some weight to his opinion.

"He's still in town?"

Bowie rolled his shoulders. "They're friends. With Melanie playing around…"

Westin cursed under his breath, flashing a look at Lee. That was the moment the others seemed to finally notice her, to see the blood splattered across the front of her shirt, the gun in her hand.

"What's going on?" Remington asked slowly as he unfolded his body from his bunk and stood. "What's with the guns?"

"We were attacked up at the cabin."

"By whom?" Bowie wanted to know.

"It's complicated," Lee said, checking to make sure the door was closed and locked before going to the window to peek outside. There was still that guy in the ATV. He had to have seen them. He had to know they'd moved on from the cabin. It wouldn't be long before Will's friends would come looking for them. "You guys should be prepared, though."

"For what?" Landry asked. "A battle?"

"Yeah."

He thought she was joking, but when she flashed him a look, he suddenly seemed to understand that she wasn't. Westin came over and drew Lee away from the window, his hands gentle but insistent. She took a seat on an armchair, sitting on the very edge, ready to spring up at the least notice. Bowie came over and handed her a moist cloth to wipe her hands on. She nodded to him, grateful.

"Is it that guy? Your ex?" Remington asked, looking as though he was ready to take him on again.

Lee shook her head. "He's dead."

"Dead?" Landry asked, suddenly anxious to put on some clothes. "Did you say someone's dead?"

"It's complicated," Westin repeated for her. "All you need to know is that there might be more people on the ranch, and they're looking for her. We've got to keep her safe."

"That's not a problem," Remington said. "That's why we brought her here—right?"

Landry and Bowie didn't seem to agree. They didn't appear to be against the idea; they just didn't seem anxious to jump into the middle of a gun battle.

Westin knelt in front of her. "You're sure they'll come? Are you sure it won't end when they find Will?"

"I'm sure. This Razor has a lot to lose if I can identify him. He's not going to take any chances."

Westin nodded. "And you're pretty sure you know who it is?"

Was she? She had an idea, but she wasn't positive. The next few hours would prove her right or wrong. They were coming. She had no doubt about that.

"I should go move the truck," Westin said. "Leaving it out front will be like a beacon, showing them exactly where we've gone."

"I'd rather you didn't. Let them see it."

"You want them to find you?"

"No. But is there anywhere else we can make a stand? Anywhere that would be easier to defend than this building?"

"She has a point," Remington said. "There's only the one window, only the one door. They won't be able to come in here without us knowing it."

Westin studied her face. "All right. Tell us what you want to do."

Bowie walked over with three shotguns laid over his arms. He handed one to Remington and one to Westin before snapping the third open to make sure it was loaded. "We'll take the door. You should go get cleaned up and stay back there with Landry."

Lee nodded. It seemed like the best idea she'd heard yet. She leaned forward and kissed Westin, a little surprised when he grabbed both sides of her head and drew her into him, kissing her with the same heated passion he'd offered her the night before. When he finally backed away, her head was spinning and she'd forgotten for a moment where she was.

"Be careful," she said softly.

"You too."

She walked back to the open space in front of the oversized bathroom and pulled the guns she'd stuffed into the back of her waistband out, checking both to see how many bullets they had left. The gun Clint had given her was down by three, leaving twelve bullets, and the other was down by two. Twenty-five bullets altogether.

"That's Clint's," Landry said, coming out of the bathroom again, fully dressed this time minus his boots. "Where'd you get that?"

"He gave it to me." She turned it around and offered it to him by the handle. "You know how to fire it?"

"Who do you think gave it to him?"

He released the clip and popped loose the one in the chamber. Then he counted, doing the same inventory she'd just done before he put it all back together. Knowing that these men knew their way around a gun should have made her feel a little better. Somehow, it didn't.

She had no idea what was coming for them. If one of these innocent men got killed because of her, she'd never be able to live with it. Bowie tried Clint on his cell three times, but it kept going to voicemail. Westin took up a position by the window, watching until his vision was blurred, expecting trouble to appear at any instant. But five minutes turned into thirty, and that turned into an hour. Time passed slowly, the world darkening as the sun disappeared from the sky, and the moon refused to show itself behind the high winter clouds.

"How many are there?" Remington wanted to know.

"I don't know. Two broke into the cabin, and she took them out. We saw one on the way over here, but I'm sure there's more than that."

"They're probably gathering more," Bowie suggested. "That's what's taking so long."

"Probably."

The whole thing was surreal, like something out of a John Wayne movie. He just wasn't sure who had the advantage here—the guys who had all the time in the world to gather their forces, or the ones locked up in a small building with only one way in, one way out.

It was just about two hours since they'd arrived when something finally happened. Westin peeked out the window and saw someone running from the barn to the back of his truck.

"They're here."

Bowie came up and peeked out the window, too. "Where?"

At that moment, the truck exploded, flipping into the air and landing just feet from the door of the bunkhouse.

"Fuck!" Bowie cried, jumping back as the window shattered from the concussion of the explosion. Westin had seen a flash and managed to get down before the window broke, but he hadn't managed to grab Bowie. He clutched his arm, pulled him onto his back, checking him for injuries. He was fine, though, unharmed. Just startled.

"We've got to move," Remington said, grabbing the back of Westin's collar. "That fire is going to catch the walls."

Even as he said it, the front of the building burst into flames. It was like the wall had morphed from wood to fire in just the seconds it had taken for Westin to turn his head.

"That's our only way out!"

There wasn't time to panic. Remington pulled Westin away from the wall as Bowie scrambled to his feet and followed. Lee and Landry were standing by the bathroom, shock on both their faces.

"What now?" Landry demanded.

Bowie pointed. "The crawl space. That's our only chance."

There was a panel in the ceiling just above their heads, an opening to the small crawl space that allowed for access to the roof for repairs. Bowie could reach it easily thanks to his impressive height, tapping it a few times to loosen it before tugging it down. He turned to Lee, interlacing his fingers so that she could use them as a toehold. She went easily, almost too quickly, into the space. Landry followed, then Remington, and finally Westin. By the time he got up there, Landry and Remington were already trying to find a thin spot in the roof to break through.

"We need a knife," Westin called down to Bowie.

The building was beginning to fill with smoke. It was difficult to see much further than the kitchen. Westin could barely see Bowie fumbling around, searching for instruments to help them get out. When he came back, he had a butcher's knife, a cleaver, and meat tenderizer.

"It's the best we have," Bowie mumbled through a moist towel he was holding over his mouth and nose.

Westin handed the tools to Landry and Remington, praying it would be enough to get them out of there. The boys went to work, smashing on the plywood that created the platform on which the roof rested. They cut and slashed, pounded with the tenderizer. Finally, they got a little hole that they used their hands and feet to enlarge with every motion they could manage. As they did, the air coming in through the hole drew the smoke up from down below.

"Hurry!" Bowie called. "The fire's getting closer!"

When the hole was big enough, Landry lifted Lee through first. Remington came over to help Westin hoist Bowie up into the crawl space. It took a bit of effort, but they managed, the heat of the fire a fantastic motivator. Landry was out of the hole next, then Remington, Bowie, and finally Westin.

The smoke was pouring through the gap in the roof, and flames started to lick the edges as they stood there. Remington was already on the ground, having found a gutter that was bolted well enough to the side of the building to hold his weight. Westin urged everyone else over, watching them all climb down before him. He pulled the handgun Lee had given him the second he hit the ground, not sure what they'd find when they got there.

It was dark and smoky, visibility down to nothing. There was the occasional burst of light from the fire, but it was inconsistent and more of a liability than an asset. That's why it took him a few minutes to realize what his heart had already known.

"Where's Lee?"

No one responded. They were looking, too. But Westin knew. She was gone. They'd gotten her.