Desperado Lawman

She let go of her purse. He narrowed his gaze assessingly at her. “All right. I’ll let you show me whatever it is you think is so important, and then you stop stalling and allow me to make my call without having to keep a gun trained on you every second. Deal?”

“Deal.” She bit her lip as he extracted a leather wallet from the jumble of junk in her purse. “Open it. Pull out the plastic photo protector under the flap.”

He complied and handed the small sheaf of photos to her. In return she handed him the tiny one from Joey’s backpack.

“That’s Joey and his mom,” she said. “I guess she didn’t have the money for a department-store portrait, so she had their pictures taken together in one of those booths.”

“Yeah, it looks like. His hair’s slicked down, and she obviously arranged the two of them in a pose before she activated the camera,” Connor agreed.

He glanced at the curled-up figure in the bed beside them. “From what I know of his background, he’s already had more than his share of rough knocks, poor kid. His father was killed in a car accident before he was born, and his mother apparently couldn’t seem to keep even the menial jobs she occasionally found. He pretty much grew up on the street. When she died and he was put into the system, he kept hanging around his old haunts, like the alleyway where he saw MacLeish kill Quayle.”

He held the photo out to her. “It’s always better when family can step in and take over the responsibility for a child, instead of them being shoved into an already overloaded system. Too bad Joey wasn’t one of the lucky ones.”

“Joey’s luck just changed.” Tess didn’t take the picture he was holding, but instead slipped one from her wallet. “Everything just changed, Agent. This is a picture of me and my sister, the last one taken of us together. She ran away when I was nine and she was seventeen. Years later I tried to find her, but I never learned what had happened to her.”

She swallowed, and forced her next words past the lump in her throat. “Until now.”

She handed him the photo from her purse. She saw his gaze sharpen, saw him glance from one picture to the other. He looked up from the two photos to her and she nodded.

“That’s right, Joey’s my nephew. His mom was my sister. I…I guess Darla’s monsters got her in the end,” she said unevenly. “I’m not going to let that happen to her son.”

Through her tears she stared at him. “Whatever authority the FBI thought they had before Joey’s aunt showed up, I’m the one keeping the monsters away from him now.”

Chapter Four

“Even if it was my decision to make, I couldn’t let you waltz out of here with a federal witness just because you say you’re Joey’s aunt.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Connor turned from the woman sitting on the edge of the bed and moved restlessly to the window, something he’d found himself doing with increasing frequency since Tess had discovered the photo she seemed to think clinched her claim to Joey. Despite the heated discussion they’d been engaged in since, he still hadn’t been able to make her understand that her position hadn’t changed to any great degree—certainly not enough to have stopped him from phoning Area Director Arne Jansen with the news that the boy had been found.

At the end of the line of units a single light was burning in the motel’s office, but otherwise the darkness outside was undisturbed. He hadn’t expected the two backup agents Jansen was sending to have arrived yet. He’d just needed a break from the angry gaze Tess was lasering at him. He turned to face her again.

“I agree the Agency fumbled the ball in guarding Joey, but I promise we won’t slip up again. If you care for your nephew at all, you have to see that professionals can protect him from a couple of killers better than one untrained woman could.”

“But as you say, your team of professionals has performed pretty poorly so far.” Abruptly Tess stood, shooting a glance at the sleeping child in the bed she’d just risen from. “And you can’t protect him from an enemy you don’t even know about.”

Her words were barely audible, as if she was of two minds whether or not she wanted him to hear. Connor frowned.

“Just what does that mean?”

Her back to him, she was gathering the few articles she’d earlier set on the dresser, but he guessed that her task was no more valid than his glance out the window had been. She was avoiding his eyes, or trying to. Unfortunately for her every nuance of her expression was caught in the dresser mirror in front of her, and with a start Connor realized the emotion shadowing her features wasn’t fear.

It was terror. And terror was far too strong a reaction to have anything to do with his call to Jansen.

In the diner he’d been briefly convinced that Tess Smith was unbalanced. She wasn’t, he knew now. Her actions over the past two days might have been rash and poorly thought out, but she’d been well aware of the risks she was running and the consequences of what she was doing. She hadn’t known then that Joey was her nephew, so why had she chosen to take those risks and damn those consequences?

It was a question he should have asked himself before, Connor told himself. Why hadn’t he?

Because you’ve been too busy replaying that kiss you forced on her in your mind, a voice inside his head jeered.

“What do you mean, I can’t protect Joey from an enemy I don’t know about?” With an effort he shut off the jeering voice. “Did he see someone that night at the safe house? Is there a third person working with Leroy and MacLeish?”

Under the white tee she was wearing her shoulders tensed. “I’ve already told you Joey didn’t see anyone the night he escaped, and he’s still blanking out when he tries to remember exactly what happened between MacLeish and the retired agent who was killed in that alleyway. It’s too bad the Agency’s doctors didn’t take the time to find out what caused Joey’s mind to take refuge in a temporary amnesia.”

He was getting tired of talking to the back of her head, Connor thought impatiently. Between the white of her shirt and the silky black strands of her tousled haircut the nape of her neck seemed disarmingly vulnerable, for some reason.

He scowled. “The shock of seeing a man killed caused his amnesia. The on-site evidence, plus the fact that MacLeish was badly wounded himself, indicated that Quayle didn’t go down without a fight. Watching a violent struggle end in murder isn’t something any nine-year-old should have to go through.”

“I agree. But that wasn’t the first time Joey had witnessed violence.” Finally she turned to face him, her expression closed. “He’s not Beaver Cleaver, Connor. He hasn’t been protected from the seamier side of life, the way children should be. From what Joey’s told me, Darla did her best by him while she was battling her own demons, but he’d seen street fights before, even if they’d never resulted in murder.”

Her mouth tightened. “This is probably going to sound just as crazy to you as the Hangar 61 story. Have you ever heard of something—” her gaze wavered “—or someone, called Skinwalker?”

Earlier this evening his thoughts had gone to the year he’d spent at the Double B Ranch so long ago—the year he’d been thoroughly humiliated by Chorizo, the year a tough but compassionate Del Hawkins had turned his life around. But Tess’s unexpected question brought back his most recent visit to the ranch and the unsettling events that had threatened the Double B just over a month ago.

Those events had eventually been proven to have been orchestrated by an ex-con named Jasper Scudder, but even Del’s normally hardheaded composure had been disturbed by the warnings of Navajo matriarch Alice Tahe, who’d predicted that the evil spirit her people called Skinwalker had been behind Scudder’s actions…and that although Scudder had perished, the presence of Skinwalker still threatened the Double B and Del.

With no disrespect intended toward either the old lady or her traditional beliefs, Connor thought now, he just didn’t buy into the existence of a supernatural big bad. So when Alice Tahe had spoken about a thing that walked like a man, talked like a man, but was all the darkness from the beginning of the world personified, he’d dismissed her Skinwalker as merely one of the myths of the Navajo people.

From her tone, he got the feeling Tess didn’t. A slight impatience rose up in him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the legend. Why?”

Something sparked behind the amber of her eyes. “Because that’s who I’m protecting Joey from, Agent. You might believe he’s in danger from MacLeish or Leroy, but Joey’s convinced Skinwalker’s the one who wants him dead. And although I wasn’t brought up in the Way—the Navajo Way,” she added in explanation, “I’m Dineh enough to think he could be right.”

The spark in her gaze fanned to a tiny flame, and color lent a wild-rose tinge to the cinnamon of her skin.

“Don’t you get it yet? He doesn’t remember what happened between Quayle and MacLeish because everything else was blotted from his mind when he was almost killed himself. I don’t know if there was a third person at the safe house the night of the ambush…but there was a third presence in the alleyway the day Quayle was murdered. Joey swears it was Skinwalker. And he says that just before the police showed up, Skinwalker started toward the Dumpster where he was hiding to kill him.”

“Skinwalker,” Connor repeated. “We’re talking about the Navajo Skinwalker, right? An evil ghost, uses his shapeshifting powers to take on the form of a man or a wolf or whatever he wants?” He glanced at the small sleeping form in the bed and then back at her. “I guess it’s possible a kid might see him as the bogeyman, if he’d been told stories about him in the past, but encouraging him in that belief—”

“Is that your theory?” Her gaze darkened. “Joey translated his terror at witnessing Quayle’s murder into something a nine-year-old could understand—a monster, just like the ones other children see hiding behind a half-open closet door?”

“Or just like the ones you make a living writing about,” Connor agreed, not bothering to soften the edge in his voice.

Now it made sense, he thought, annoyed with himself for not figuring it out before. Now he knew why she’d risked going on the run with the boy long before she’d discovered there was a family connection between them. He didn’t know who he felt angrier at—her, for turning out to be the journalistic equivalent of a conartist, or himself for not seeing from the start what she was up to. Hell, for all he knew maybe she’d somehow faked that photo she’d conveniently found in her purse.

“That’s what all this was leading to, wasn’t it? You hoped you could get a National Eye-Opener front page out of this, complete with you in your ghost-busting gear facing down some guy in a monster costume. Lady, whatever hare-brained notion you’ve got of parlaying a federal investigation into journalistic glory for yourself—”

“Journalistic glory?” The pink in her cheeks flared to bright patches of anger. “In a rag like the Eye-Opener that gets shoved between the milk and eggs in a sack of groceries? I’m not that delusional, Agent, and even if I were I wouldn’t use a child’s fear to my own advantage.” Her voice shook. “Believe me, I know how damaging that can be.”

Her vehemence rang too true to have been put on for his benefit, Connor thought. And behind it was something else—something that held an echo of pain and guilt.

But he’d allowed himself to be distracted by Tess Smith’s seeming vulnerability once already, he reminded himself. Any pain he thought he detected in her voice wasn’t his concern.

“Let’s say you didn’t intend to use this in one of your stories.” He shrugged. “What does that leave me with—that you really believe Joey saw an evil spirit in that alleyway?”

“I told you you’d think it was crazy.” Her gaze was shuttered. “But yes, if Joey says Skinwalker’s after him, that’s enough for me. He needs to know someone’s on his side.”

As she spoke, Connor was half-convinced he could feel the warmth of her breath on his own lips, could discern the faintest scent of cloves and carnations coming from her. There was no good reason why he kept thinking of flowers when he looked at Tess Smith, he thought in irritation.

Besides, his involvement with the woman had begun with her leveling a gun at him. If he needed a botanical reference to compare her to, a cholla cactus was probably his best bet—wild fuchsia blossoms behind a formidable barricade of thorns.

But neither her prickliness nor his own inappropriate musings were enough to completely distract him from the care she’d taken in framing her answer to his last question. He knew with sudden certainty what she was trying to hide.

“You don’t believe in any of this, either, do you?” He frowned. “You said you weren’t brought up in the Way. Admit it—Skinwalker’s nothing more than a dim folkloric tradition to you, like the kelpies my Irish grandmother used to tell me about were to me.”

“He’s real to Joey.” She bit off the words. “And despite my sketchy knowledge of my own heritage, I have more respect for the old stories than to dismiss them completely.”

“Maybe, but you’re standing by Joey for your own reasons, not because you think there’s any possibility he’s telling the literal truth.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Why is it so important to you that he doesn’t go back into protective custody? Is there another threat to him you’re not telling—”

Connor broke off abruptly. From the parking lot outside had come the solid thunk of a car door closing, and even as he strode to the window he heard a second thunk. He pushed the drapes aside and saw an unmarked sedan almost identical to his own, two men standing by it in neatly unobtrusive suits and with expressions of grim alertness as federal issue as their car.

He let the curtain fall closed. “Your ride’s here,” he said shortly. “When you get to Albuquerque, take my advice and don’t count on Area Director Jansen cutting you as much slack as I have. You should have come clean with me from the start.”

“I’ve come as clean with you as I can, Agent Connor. I know you don’t accept that, but it’s true.”

Tess bit into her lower lip. She shook her head, her gaze searching his.

“The thing is, Virgil, I think you do believe in monsters,” she said slowly. “You just can’t admit it, because if you did your world wouldn’t be controllable anymore. What happened that made you build that rigid box around yourself? Did you go up against them once and lose?”

His first impression of her had been correct, Connor told himself tightly, slipping his gun into his shoulder holster. The woman was more than a little out of touch with reality.

“I don’t see operating on logic and reason as being boxed in,” he grated. “Which is why I’m not the one who’s going to have to tell a nine-year-old boy that I’m not the person I let him think I was,” he added.

He regretted his comment even before he saw the suddenly stricken look in her eyes. “Sorry, that wasn’t necessary,” he muttered. “Whatever I thought when I first saw you with Joey, you’ve convinced me that you only wanted to—”

“No, you’re right.” The husky tones came out unevenly. “I shouldn’t have acted as impulsively as I did. I should have thought things out more logically, like you say.”

She was finally beginning to see the light. Connor felt obscurely relieved. Her attitude would be a deciding factor in Jansen’s decision whether or not to—

“I should have stayed away from the highways and stayed on the back roads.” She exhaled sharply. “Dammit, I should have taken Joey up on his suggestion to show me how to hotwire a car in that diner parking lot when mine broke down. We would have been long gone by the time you got there.”

She hadn’t seen the light. She was never going to see the light. Her stubborn defiance was going to land her behind bars, he thought angrily. And it wasn’t his problem anymore.

“I would have caught up with you sooner or later.” Two sets of footsteps were approaching along the concrete walkway. He grasped the doorknob as he heard the soft squeak of a sole outside. “Be thankful this didn’t turn out any worse than—”

Whenever he thought about it afterward, for the life of him Connor couldn’t remember how the gun got into his hand. Even after racking his brains to reconstruct his actions, the nearest he would ever get to an answer was the dim recollection that his right hand had already been moving across his body as the door had opened.

They looked like agents. One of them was displaying an ID case with a photo and badge, and the other was reaching into an inner suit pocket, presumably to obtain his own identification.

“Agent Connor? I’m Agent Petrie and this is my partner, Agent Malden.” The one holding out the ID case snapped it shut and gave a thin-lipped smile. “Area Director Jansen sent us to—”

Even as the logical part of Connor’s mind was telling him the men confronting him had to be what they appeared to be and that he was about to make the worst mistake of his career, he made his move.

“Tess—get down!”

His shout cutting explosively across Petrie’s words, Connor swung the gun he was holding around in a powerful arc toward the two agents.

Chapter Five

“Don’t let Skinwalker get me, Tess!” Joey cried frantically.

Eyes still wide with shock at Connor’s shouted warning, Tess whirled around to the bed, where her nephew was sitting bolt upright, his face drained of color. His gaze was dark with terror; he was staring at nothing.

He was having a nightmare. Relief flooded through her as she rushed to his side, but on its heels came quick fear.

“It’s okay, Joey, I’m here.”

Wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders, she saw awareness returning to his eyes, and her own bewildered gaze darted back to the doorway in time to see the revolver in Connor’s hand smash against the cheekbone of one of the agents standing in front of him. The air rushed from her lungs as completely as if she had taken the blow herself.

Virgil Connor had just attacked one of his own people. Either he’d suddenly lost his sanity, or…

…or he’s working against the Agency. The terrifying possibility seemed the only explanation for what she was witnessing, but it didn’t make sense. If Connor had no intention of allowing her and Joey to reach Albuquerque, then why had he phoned Area Director Jansen? And why had—

She froze. Caught off guard, the man Connor had struck had staggered sideways and fallen to his knees outside the door. An object spun from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

The object was a gun. And Malden had been reaching for it before Connor had reacted.

“Under the bed!” Tess tightened her grip on her nephew’s shoulders. “Get under the bed and stay there until I say it’s safe to come out, understand, Joey? If something happens to me, do what Connor says.”

Mutely he nodded. Any other nine-year-old would be firing questions at her, she thought, as he scrambled off the bed, but someone had made the monsters real for Joey.

Deep inside Tess a hot flame of rage ignited, flared dangerously high and then steadied into an icy fury. Whoever that person was, she told herself, she would make him pay for what he’d done….

If she and her newfound nephew got out of here alive.

In the few seconds it had taken to attend to Joey, the confrontation at the doorway had evolved with frightening speed. She took in the situation with a glance.

Petrie had obviously gone for his own weapon when his cohort, Malden, had fallen. It would have been simple for Connor to have thwarted the agent’s intentions by opening fire, except for the possibility that a stray bullet from any ensuing gun battle might have found an innocent victim. As he had outside the diner, Connor had chosen not to take that risk. She saw worriedly that he’d dropped the revolver he’d used to disable Malden.

The man who’d identified himself as Agent Petrie had no such scruples. Even now he was attempting to bring the automatic in his grasp into position, but Connor, his height and weight definite advantages, was gaining the upper hand. Petrie’s features contorted in agony, his right arm bent back at an angle, but still he didn’t release his grip on his weapon.

“Drop the gun, or the next thing you hear’ll be the sound of your arm breaking,” Connor ground out. “I’ve heard that sound once or twice myself, and believe me, it takes the fight right out of a man.”

The epithet Petrie grunted out in reply was made even more graphically obscene by the raw fury in his tone. Tess saw a flicker of distaste and reluctance cross Connor’s face.

“If that’s the way you want it,” he said briefly. With no discernible effort, he forced the other man’s arm back further, and from between Petrie’s thin lips came a whistling noise.

“All…all right,” he gasped. The fingers that had been clenched so tightly opened in defeat and the gun he’d been holding fell to the worn scrap of carpeting by the door. “Ease off, damn you!”

“Not until you tell me who sent you to kill Joey Begand,” Connor said. She heard an edge of cold rage in his tone. “What happened to the real backup Jansen was sending me? Did you and your partner ambush them along the way? And how did you intercept a secure communication between an area director’s office and an agent in the field anyway, dammit?”

With every question he increased the pressure on Petrie’s arm, and again a breath whistled painfully in the man’s throat. Incredibly, this time it was accompanied by a rusty laugh.

“You’re not even warm, Fed. Yeah, we were sent to eliminate the kid, and if we could we were supposed to make it look like you snapped and shot him yourself. But we didn’t intercept—”

The first shot caught Connor high on the shoulder, breaking his hold on Petrie. Even as Tess’s horrified glance took in Malden, still prone, but with his trouser leg pulled up to reveal an empty ankle holster, the man fired a second time. His wavering aim missed Connor and hit Petrie.

In the middle of Petrie’s forehead a small, neat hole appeared. On the open door behind him was a brilliant explosion of scarlet. His eyes wide and sightless, slowly he collapsed to his knees, pitching face forward onto the carpet. Instant nausea rose in Tess.

But there was no time for squeamishness. Already Malden’s unsteady aim was swinging back toward Connor. Forcing herself not to think about what she was doing, she threw herself across Petrie’s lifeless body, her outstretched arm scrabbling past him for the automatic pistol he’d dropped only seconds ago.

Her fingers closed around it. Clumsily she flicked the safety off, raised herself onto her elbows and squeezed the trigger.

The report of her shot was overlaid with another, louder discharge that came from behind and above her. As if swatted by a giant hand, Malden lifted off the ground, completing a half roll before landing again, this time on his back. One knee jerked up and then slid back down.

She’d just killed a man. This time when the bile rose in her throat, Tess knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep it down. Scrambling to her feet, she took a lurching step across Petrie’s body toward the door, her gaze fixed on the tired clump of bushes just beyond the walkway.

“No!”

Connor’s arm shot out as she stumbled by him. Almost losing her balance, she struck blindly out at him.

“Let me by, Connor. I’m going to be—”

Five years ago she’d gone backpacking in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Tess recalled. It had been in the weeks following the Joy Gaynor incident—which was why, on her third morning out, she’d found herself standing on a ledge a hundred feet above a valley staring into the charcoal predawn and waiting for the sun to show itself over the horizon before doing what she’d decided to do.

The sun hadn’t shown itself. Instead the heavens overhead had split open with a crash so loud that she’d clapped her hands to her ears in pain and had nearly fallen from the ledge.