The Bodyguard's Assignment

He took a seat at the conference table next to Jake Cantrell, a former FBI agent. “What’s going on?”

Jake shrugged. “Beats me, but it must be something big. Mitchell looks worried.”

Brady had to agree. Normally, Mitchell Forbes was a man to be reckoned with on the range or in the war room, but today his face was drawn with tension. As he sat at the head of the conference table, gazing at the assembled agents, his thumb worked back and forth on an ornate silver lighter, a sure sign of his anxiety.

A man Brady didn’t recognize was seated to Mitchell’s right. He studied an open folder on the table in front of him, and unlike the others, he hadn’t glanced up when Brady entered the basement.

Rafe Alvarez, ever irreverent no matter what the situation, said into the waiting silence, “Hey, Mitchell, what happened? Maddie stand you up last night?”

Maddie Wells, a widow who owned the neighboring spread, was something of a sore subject with Mitchell, and when Cody Gannon gave a hoot of laughter at Rafe’s impertinence, Mitchell pinned him with an icy glare. Cody’s smile faded, and for a long moment, the two of them remained locked in a silent battle of wills until finally the younger man glanced away.

Brady didn’t understand why Mitchell always picked on Cody. He was the youngest Confidential, and basically a good kid, even if he was a little on the wild side. But, hell, they’d all been young once. And if local talk was to be believed, Mitchell Forbes had sown his share of wild oats.

There’d been a few times when Brady had been tempted to point out that fact to Mitchell, to ask him to lighten up on the kid, but it wasn’t any of his business. And Cody was just muleheaded enough to take offense at the interference. Whatever burr the two of them had under their saddles, Brady figured they’d have to work it out for themselves. Besides, he had his own problems to deal with.

Mitchell flicked open the lighter and touched the flame to the clipped end of his cigar. The puffs of smoke drifting through the room signaled the meeting had come to order. Everyone grew deadly serious, the absence of their colleague, who had vanished a month ago while investigating the Calderone drug cartel, uppermost on their minds these days.

“There’s still been no word of Daniel,” Mitchell said gravely, referring to the missing agent. “But we may finally have a break in the case.”

Beside him, Brady sensed Jake’s sudden tension. Jake had a long history with both Rialto and Calderone. They’d taken something from him that he could never get back, and Brady alone knew that this case wasn’t just personal for Jake. It was a vendetta.

Jake leaned forward in his chair, his gaze riveted on Mitchell. “What kind of break?”

Mitchell nodded to the man seated next to him. “This is John Kruger. He’s assigned to the HIDTA office in Houston, but he’s also worked closely with the drug squads in El Paso.” The High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area, or HIDTA, was a task force set up by the Narcotics Service of the Department of Public Safety. The agents who worked in this area were highly trained in undercover, surveillance, and interception. Brady glanced at Kruger with new respect.

“John will be our point man at the DPS,” Mitchell continued. “I’ll let him fill you in on the details.”

For the first time, Kruger looked up from the folder he’d been studying, his gaze cool and assessing as he glanced around the table. He was about Brady’s age—thirty-five—with brown hair and blue eyes so light, they almost appeared transparent. The illusion was a little disconcerting, and as his gaze met Brady’s for an instant, Brady experienced a twinge of unease.

“I’ll get right to the point, gentlemen.” Kruger closed the folder and stood. “We think we’ve found a way to get to Stephen Rialto through a Dallas drug dealer named Lester Kane.”

This time, it was Brady who tensed. Lester Kane was his old nemesis, a devious bastard who had eluded the Dallas P.D.—and Brady—for too many years. “What’s Kane got to do with Rialto?” he asked sharply.

He could feel Mitchell’s steely gaze on him. Besides Jake, Mitchell was the only other person in the room who knew the whole story behind Brady’s sudden departure from the Dallas police force.

“We believe Kane has forged an alliance with Rialto,” Kruger explained. “In recent months, southeastern Texas has become the hottest transit zone for illegal drugs in this country. The Calderone cartel has become second only to the Juarez cartel in terms of volume. We estimate that each cartel ships upward of two hundred million dollars worth of drugs across the border a week. As a distributor for Calderone, Rialto’s business has literally exploded, and he’s looking to branch out, which is where Kane comes in. He wants the Dallas and Fort Worth area, and with Rialto’s help, he’s already muscled out most of his competition.

“We believe Rialto and Kane are positioning themselves to take over Calderone’s entire southwestern operation. The DPS and the DEA have monitored a flurry of recent meetings in both Dallas and Houston between the two organizations. One of those meetings took place the night before last in a warehouse owned by Kane. The place was torched afterward, and a body was found in the rubble. The victim has been identified as Alec Priestley, an associate of Kane’s. He was shot twice at close range before the fire was set. There was a witness.”

A witness.

Brady had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a score to settle with both Lester Kane and Stephen Rialto, but he didn’t like the sound of this. Witness protection, the kind neither the U.S. Marshals Service nor the DPS was willing to provide, was Brady’s specialty. Or had been, until Rachel.

“Kane and Priestley go back a long way,” Kruger continued. “They both started dealing in college, and afterward, Kane expanded the operation. Priestley went on to law school, but a few years later, he rejoined Kane in the business. Priestley was always the nervous type, but he went along with whatever Kane wanted so long as they kept the operation low-profile. It was a way to rake in a lot of extra cash, selling mainly to friends and clients, people he could trust.

“Then Kane became involved with Rialto and the Calderone drug Mafia, and the business, which had been a sideline for Priestley up until then, got serious. Priestley got scared. He wanted out. He started feeding information to a local reporter about Kane’s connection to Rialto and Calderone, and he arranged for her to be in the warehouse the night he was killed. Not only did she witness Priestley’s murder, but she got everything on tape, including the voice of a man we think is Stephen Rialto.” Kruger paused dramatically, his gaze slipping from one agent’s face to the next. “Kane is the way we get to Rialto.”

“So where do we come in?” Rafe asked.

“Dallas P.D. has requested through the DPS that your organization handle the protection.” Kruger’s gaze stopped on Brady. “We have to assume the witness is refusing to cooperate. She made contact with the police early yesterday morning, but since then, she’s gone underground. No one has seen or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, but one thing’s certain. If we don’t find her before Kane does, she’s a dead woman. The Dallas P.D. are moving to arrest Kane, but without her statement or that tape, they’ll never make the charges stick.”

“Are you sure she’s still alive?” Jake asked.

“By all indications, she’s extremely resourceful. We have every reason to believe she’s alive and well, at least for the time being. But she can’t hide forever. Not with Calderone and Rialto backing Kane.”

Brady hadn’t said a word for several minutes, but the bad feeling he’d experienced earlier had grown into a full-blown premonition. He knew what was coming.

“Who is this reporter?” he asked quietly.

“She works for a small paper called the Examiner. Her name is Grace Drummond.”

Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name was like the twisting of a knife blade in Brady’s gut.

“Her disappearance could have more to do with her desire to get a hot story than anything else,” he suggested, not bothering to disguise the bitterness he still felt toward Grace Drummond.

“We’ve considered that, of course,” Kruger agreed. “But as I said, she did initially make contact with the police. When they arrived at her apartment, the place had been ransacked. We figure she panicked. She realized the tape is her only insurance policy against Kane. Once she gives it up, there’s nothing stopping him from killing her. Your job is to find her before Kane does and…convince her to accept your protection until she can testify against him.”

There was no mistaking his emphasis on the word “convince.” The subtle implication was to use whatever means necessary to bring her in. That, at least, had possibilities, Brady thought perversely.

“I’ll do it,” Jake volunteered.

But Mitchell shook his head. “We need Brady on this one. The doctors have given him the okay to return to active duty, and he’s the protection expert. Besides, DPS thinks she’s still in the Dallas area, right?” When Kruger nodded, Mitchell said, “Brady, you know that city better than any of us. If anyone can find her, you can. Penny’s already made all the arrangements.” He stubbed out his cigar, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. The other agents rose to leave. Until further notice, they’d all resume their duties on the ranch.

Kruger remained for a moment, speaking in low tones to Mitchell. They appeared to be arguing, and then Kruger grabbed up his folder, stuffed it into his briefcase, and with one final glance at Brady, stalked from the room.

For a moment, Brady said nothing, then he got up and walked to the end of the conference table, planting his hands flat on the surface as he leaned toward Mitchell.

“What were you and Kruger arguing about?”

Mitchell shrugged. “That’s nothing for you to worry about. I don’t always see eye-to-eye with Austin,” he said. “You know that.”

“Kruger doesn’t want me for this job, does he?”

Mitchell glanced up at him. “It doesn’t matter what Kruger wants. I’m in charge of the Confidential.”

“Have you ever considered that he may have a point?”

“Meaning?”

Brady straightened, taking pressure off his knee. “Have you forgotten what happened to the last woman you sent me out to protect?”

Mitchell’s gaze narrowed on him. “I haven’t forgotten, but maybe it’s time you did.”

“A woman died last year because of me,” Brady said grimly. “I’m not likely to forget it.”

“That’s a load of crap and you know it.” Mitchell took out another cigar, but he didn’t light up. He pointed the end at Brady. “You put your life on the line to protect your witness. You almost died. No one could have done more.”

“Are you sure about that? How do you know Rachel Hayes isn’t dead because of something I did or didn’t do?”

“You think I haven’t been where you are?” Mitchell demanded. “I’ve been there plenty of times. I know what you’re going through, but it comes with the territory. You were a cop for a lot of years, Brady. You know as well as I do that bad things happen and good people die. We’re not God. We can’t save them all. But we do what we can.”

He paused, wrapping his hands around the silver head of his cane. He pushed himself up until he stood eye level with Brady. “There’s a woman out there somewhere, running for her life. She’s the one who needs you now. She’s the one you should be thinking about. If you don’t do what you can to save her, then it’s going to be Grace Drummond’s death on your conscience. No matter what she did to you in the past, I don’t think you want that.”

He was right about that. Brady didn’t want anything bad to happen to Grace, he just never wanted to see her again.

But Mitchell was right about something else, too. Rachel’s death would haunt Brady for the rest of his life, but Grace’s death…

Grace’s death on his conscience might very well destroy him.

Chapter Two

Through her dark glasses, Grace anxiously scoured the pedestrian traffic on Market Street. A cold front had moved in earlier, and she sat shivering in the lightweight denim jacket she’d hastily purchased yesterday, after she’d decided to go underground. Actually, it hadn’t been a decision so much as a necessity. She had to lay low if she wanted to stay alive. If she wanted to keep her mother alive.

At the thought of Angeline, bitter tears stung Grace’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t break down now. She had to stay focused, in control. She had to have a plan.

If only there was someone she could call, someone she could turn to. Someone she could trust. But there wasn’t. After everything that had happened since two o’clock yesterday morning, when she’d narrowly escaped that burning warehouse, Grace knew she could rely on no one but herself. No one could save her mother but her.

She suppressed another shiver as she tried to fight back her mounting despair. It was too cold to be seated outside, but she hadn’t wanted to be trapped inside the café. Out here, even with the coming darkness, she could at least watch the street.

Picking up her cup of coffee, she cradled the warmth in her hands as she scanned her surroundings. A horse-drawn carriage ambled down the street, stirring bittersweet memories of the last time she and her mother had taken a carriage ride together. Angeline had been in the early stages of Alzheimer’s then, with only the occasional memory lapse to remind them that one day soon, there would be no such outings.

Grace’s mother had always loved coming to Dallas’s West End, perusing the shops and dining in the converted warehouses. As Grace sat watching the street she and her mother had strolled together so many times in the past, a sense of desperation stole over her. Where are you? she cried silently. What have they done to you?

Yesterday morning, just hours after Grace had fled the warehouse, she’d gone home from a meeting with Burt Gordon, her boss at the Examiner, to find that her apartment had been sacked. As she’d stood gazing at the wreckage of her personal belongings, her cellular phone had rung. When Grace answered, a male voice on the other end said, “Grace Drummond?”

Something about the way he spoke her name made her blood go cold. “Yes?”

“You have something I want.”

“Who is this?”

“You know who I am.”

“Kane?” His name was barely a whisper on her lips.

He gave a low laugh. “I understand you’ve gotten pretty chummy with one of my colleagues. Unfortunately, Alec met his untimely demise earlier this morning, but then, you already know that, don’t you?”

Grace’s heart thundered in her ears. How had Kane known about her association with Priestley? Had Priestley talked? Had he sold her out before he died?

She swallowed, trying to calm her racing pulse. “What do you want?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I want.” Kane paused. “Tell me something, Grace. How long has it been since you talked to your mother?”

The connection had been severed with a soft click, leaving Grace clinging to the telephone with a horrible dread. She’d immediately dialed the number of the nursing home where her mother lived, only to have the director tell her that Angeline had been transported by ambulance a short while ago to another facility as per Grace’s written request.

Grace had given no such instructions, and when she’d called the new facility, they’d never heard of her or her mother. By that time, Grace was in her car, racing toward the nursing home. When her cell phone rang again, she lifted it to her ear without saying a word, knowing instinctively who was on the other end.

“Now I have something you want.”

Grace’s stomach rolled sickeningly. “Don’t hurt her. I swear to God, if you hurt her in any way—”

“Cut the dramatics,” Kane said cruelly. “We both know you aren’t in any position to make threats. From here on out, I call the shots.”

When Grace didn’t respond, he laughed. “You’re in over your head, little girl. I’ve got people in places you can’t begin to imagine. You talk to a friend, I’ll know it. You talk to the cops again—I’ll know that to. You understand?”

Grace understood. Only too well. Her hand shook as she gripped the phone. In the last five years, she’d done a lot of research on the drug trade. Drug lords spent millions of dollars a year to keep cops on their side. Obviously, Kane was no exception.

“You want to keep your mother alive, you keep your mouth shut.” His voice lowered dangerously. “If I so much as smell a cop nosing around that nursing home, or anywhere else, she’s a dead woman.”

Grace squeezed her eyes closed in fear. “Tell me what to do.” But even in her state of terror, she knew she was dealing with a man she couldn’t trust. A cold-blooded murderer. It would take equal cunning to get her mother out of this alive.

“You keep that phone close by, you hear? I’ll be in touch. We’ll set up a drop. Your mother for that tape.”

“When—”

The phone had gone dead in Grace’s ear, and she hadn’t heard from Kane since. It had been over twenty-four hours.

She knew what he was doing. He was making her sweat. Wearing her down. Making her so desperate to save her mother that she would get careless.

Her fingers trembled around the now lukewarm cup of coffee as she contemplated her dilemma. Her frail, beautiful mother was being held hostage for the tape that could put Kane away forever, and possibly incriminate Stephen Rialto. That tape—and Grace’s silence—was the only thing that could save Angeline’s life.

But Grace knew once Kane had what he wanted, he would come after them. He wouldn’t take a chance on her silence, and she had to be ready. Once the exchange was made, she and Angeline would have to disappear forever.

Her heart quickened as she spotted a familiar figure crossing the street toward her. Even in the deepening twilight, she could see Helen Parks’s agitation in the way she walked, in the nervous way she glanced over her shoulder from time to time. She was warmly dressed in a long wool coat and leather gloves, and a metal briefcase swung at her side.

Helen paused on the sidewalk in front of the café, her gaze meeting Grace’s for an instant before she disappeared inside, only to emerge moments later on the patio. She sat down at the table with Grace and placed the briefcase on the floor between them.

One leather-clad hand reached for Grace’s on the table. Her dark eyes searched Grace’s face. “God, are you all right? I’ve been worried out of my mind ever since Burt told me what happened.”

“Burt?” Absently, Grace pulled her hand away, entangling her fingers together in her lap. “What did he say?”

“He’s worried about you, too. He said you called him night before last and had him meet you at the office. He said you were scared to death and that you were going to the police with a tape you’d made.” Helen glanced around the almost deserted patio. “Grace, what’s going on? What have you gotten yourself into? It has something to do with the Calderone drug cartel, doesn’t it?”

“In a roundabout way,” Grace admitted. She scanned the patio, too. “You remember the night I staked out the warehouse? They murdered a man, Helen. My contact. Alec Priestley. I saw it. I got the whole thing on tape. They set the warehouse on fire, and I barely made it out. I didn’t know what to do at first, so I called Burt and asked him to meet me at the office. We talked about the situation for a long time. He wanted me to turn over the tape to him for safekeeping, but I’d already stashed it. And by that time, I knew I had to go to the police. I mean…I’d witnessed a murder. What else could I do?”

Helen’s gaze looked stricken. “I told you not to go there that night, remember? I warned you what kind of people they were.”

“I know. And believe me, I wish I’d listened to you,” Grace said grimly.

“What happened with Burt?”

“He stormed out of the office when I refused to turn over the tape. I used his phone to call the police. I talked to a detective, told him I’d witnessed a murder. I could finger Lester Kane and possibly Stephen Rialto, and I had the whole thing on tape. I asked him to meet me at my apartment later that morning so that I could throw some things together. I knew I’d be taken into protective custody, and I had to take care of some business first. Besides, I had no reason to believe I was in any danger. I mean no one even knew about me, right? Or the tape? At least, that’s what I thought. But when I got home a few hours later, my apartment had been tossed. Someone was already looking for that tape, Helen. Kane already knew about me.”

Helen’s dark eyes widened in fear. “But how did he find out so quickly? You didn’t tell anyone except Burt and the police—” She stopped short. Her gloved hand went to her mouth. “You’re not saying you think Burt—”

“I don’t know. But Kane found out about me somehow.”

“Maybe he already knew. Let’s think about this for a minute.” Helen stared at the street pensively as she tucked her short, dark hair behind her ears. “Your contact—this Alec Priestley—he could have gotten cold feet and told Kane himself. At any rate, Kane must have suspected him. Why else would he have killed him?”

Grace shrugged helplessly. “I’ve been over and over this in my head, Helen. Priestley left a door in the warehouse unlocked for me that night so that I could get in and hide, but after the fire started, I couldn’t get out. Someone had padlocked the door from the outside, which means someone already knew I was in there. I was supposed to die in that fire.” She paused when Helen gasped. Grace leaned toward her slightly, lowering her voice even more. “Burt knew I was going to the warehouse that night. He also knew Priestley was my contact.”

Helen looked a little dazed. “I just don’t buy it. I refuse to believe Burt would sell you out like that. Not even for a story. He wouldn’t be in cahoots with a drug dealer. No way.”

“I don’t want to believe it, either, but who else could have known?”

“Well,” Helen said slowly. “There was me.”

Grace met her gaze in shock. “You? You wouldn’t—”

“No,” Helen cut in. “I wouldn’t betray you. Of course not. But I’m just saying other people knew besides Burt. He can be ruthless when he’s after a story, but he’s not a criminal. I think deep down you know that.”

Grace didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t like Burt Gordon hadn’t betrayed her before. It wasn’t like he was above doing something underhanded.

“What about the police?” Helen asked. “You said you called and told them everything. A cop on the take isn’t unheard of.”

“I know that.” Kane had hinted as much when he’d called her. “I’ve got people in places you can’t begin to imagine.”

Grace shuddered, glancing around the darkened streets.

“The cops have been all over your office,” Helen said. “Going through your files, reading your phone messages. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve put out an APB on you.”

Grace wouldn’t be surprised, either. She was their key witness, after all. “Did they take anything from my files?”

“I don’t know. But a detective came by my office asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

Helen shrugged. “The usual stuff—if I’d heard from you. Where I thought you might be.”

“What did you tell him?” Grace asked anxiously.

“The truth. I hadn’t heard from you then, and I didn’t know where to find you.” She leaned across the table toward Grace. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Grace admitted. “Lay low for a few days until I can figure things out.” She hadn’t told anyone, even Helen, about her mother’s kidnapping. The last thing she needed was a horde of cops descending on the nursing home, alerting Kane that she’d talked. “You talk to a friend, I’ll know it. You talk to the cops again…I’ll know that, too.”

Helen nudged the briefcase toward her. “I got the money you asked for. As much as I could on such short notice.”