No One But You

It occurred to him that Fiona Halsey might have offered to tend to his hands.

It occurred to him that his brain had unaccountably migrated south, and the thought didn’t sit well.

He got out of the tub onto a sweet pink throw rug and took himself off to the living room to towel dry. He pulled on a fresh pair of long underwear, then turned off the light and lowered his aching body onto Aimee’s sturdy baby-blue tweed sofa. He lay there, eyes wide open, thinking through his options until daylight broke.

The threat Matt Guiliani posed to Everly was as a renegade insider cop gone over to the other side, clever and resourceful enough to have fabricated evidence ruinous to Everly’s reputation among The Fraternity members. He believed it would still work. He had to do two things: first, convince Dex Hanifen that the deal Matt had planned to extort from Everly, to make Matt his partner and heir-apparent, was already signed, sealed and delivered. Second, he had to portray himself through the ether of electronic communications as the man who had eliminated the thieving traitor from the rarefied ranks of The Fraternity.

He would step fearlessly forward to usurp control of Everly’s empire.

A deal worth millions was imminent. The summit of international badasses Everly had himself called was set to take place on the Bar Naught in a few short days in the guise of a big-game hunting party. Matt had to act quickly to ensure the meeting came off as planned despite Everly’s sudden demise. The vacuum of power had to be filled, and Matt’s would be the preemptive claim.

He combed again through the possible suspects in Everly’s murder. He couldn’t entirely rule out random motives or a killer unrelated to Everly’s operations—the woman scorned, an old score now settled. But he still believed the odds were that some local pretender to Everly’s throne, a sharpshooter in his stable of killers, perhaps even Hanifen himself, had taken the shot.

His own odds of surviving had taken a dive. In seizing control, Matt made himself a far greater target than he would have been with Everly alive.

Sheriff Dexter F. Hanifen was the big unknown. Where Dennis Geary had served as manager of the Bar Naught and occasional bodyguard to Everly, Hanifen was believed to be Everly’s true lieutenant. The analogy had been drawn more than once to a Mafia don and his consigliere, but Hanifen was more of a functionary than adviser. Everly would never abide a lieutenant so powerful as the consigliere role implied.

The men expected to gather for the big-game hunting party were the ultimate targets of Matt’s operation. Even their true identities were at this point unknown or unconfirmed.

Matt believed they would still come, like the heads of all the Mafia families assembling to evaluate the threat and perform their damage control. More likely still, to stop cold the incursion of Matt Guiliani into their death-dealing consortium.

But behind all his careful planning, his thoughts returned over and over again to Fiona Halsey. He couldn’t displace her for long. She played into every scenario just by her presence on the Bar Naught.

But he was lucid enough in those sleepless hours to know that on a certain level, it didn’t matter to him where she fit into the mix or what her secrets were. He was caught. His attention was arrested. He wanted to follow the gleam in his own inner eye. He could imagine making love to her, not giving a solitary damn what else went on.

He would have to be very, very careful.

AT 5:00 A.M. HE CHECKED his e-mail on his handheld wireless device and found a message from his friend and partner, Garrett Weisz, who had headed up the TruthSayers task force in Seattle for the last five years. The message stated only that Fiona Halsey had e-mailed her father the news that Everly had been murdered. No mention of the fact that Matt had been there.

Garrett didn’t waste a lot of words, didn’t even ask for details. What he wanted to know he put into two words. Go? Abort?

Matt returned: Going live, arrival on Bar 0 by 0800. He knew Garrett and J.D. would know he planned to proceed as if his partnership with Everly had been long-since sealed.

At six-thirty he got up and ate the beefsteak and eggs Miss Aimee prepared for him. Afterward he shaved closely in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, splashed on a rich, wickedly scented and expensive aftershave and changed clothes. He chose clothes befitting his upgrade from rogue cop to Kyle Everly’s partner. Dark designer jeans, a very light green silk shirt requiring cuff links and a pricey black cashmere sport coat tailored to accommodate both his shoulders and shoulder holster. He added the cuff links and watch, and then, turned away from Miss Aimee’s reluctantly curious eyes, he shoved the ammunition clip into place in the butt of his automatic pistol, holstered the piece and threw on a tie.

He grabbed up his duffel bag and a leather suitcase, then flirted shamelessly a moment with the ancient, birdlike Miss Aimee while she played with the knot in his tie, and kissed her on her flowery-scented, powdered old cheek.

“Mmm. White Linen?”

“Go on,” she scolded. “You peeked.”

He shook his head solemnly. “My grandma wore White Linen. She had to make a tiny little bottle last a couple of years, and by then—” He broke off, having sucker punched himself with the memory of Anna Disorbio. “Thank you.”

She shooed him out. He went into the old toolshed, where he’d reorganized twenty-five or thirty years’ worth of newspapers and Harper’s Bazaar magazines in order to park the Ford Bronco out of sight. He reached I-25 from the country road and headed south to the Bar Naught. He got off the highway on the access road, drove another couple of miles. Beneath a gate that announced the ranch, he signaled his turn and waited for an oncoming vehicle to pass first.

Instead, the Johnson County sheriff’s vehicle, Hanifen’s, turned off in front of him. Matt made the turn as well. Hanifen pulled over and got out, leaving Crider in the passenger seat, and approached the driver’s window of Matt’s Bronco. He held down the button to roll the window down.

Hanifen tossed a butt on the ground. “You lost?”

Matt shifted his weight forward on the seat and slouched, his arm resting in the open window. “Nope.” He directed his focus toward the ranch house, on the other side of a couple of acres of spruce and lodge pole pine, wondering how long it would take Hanifen to remember him. “How’s it going, Dex?”

The sheriff frowned. “I know you?”

“We’ve never met face-to-face. But I’m sure you remember me. Name’s Matt Guiliani. I’m the one who rescued the kid your buddies in the TruthSayers framed for firebombing his parents’ house last winter.”

The sheriff’s expression turned stony. “That vigilante pack aren’t any friends of mine.”

“No? But you do remember.”

“Like I said—”

“Yeah, Dex. You’re as innocent as a newborn lamb. But see, here’s the deal. I know better. But don’t worry. I switched sides recently. I had no idea what a market there is for defectors. Kyle made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Matt watched a glint of fear give way to disbelief in the sheriff’s eyes. “In fact, Kyle was expecting me this morning.”

“Was? What do you know—”

“Save it, Dex. Kyle was murdered last night,” Matt stated flatly. “Or have I been misinformed?”

The sheriff scowled. “Where did you come by that information?”

“Sources. The important thing for you to know, Sheriff, is that with Everly dead, I’m the guy in charge.”

“Whoa, wait—” Hanifen thumped the brim of his hat up. The barely visible, threadlike veins crisscrossing his nose seemed to sprout crimson. “Just you wait a gol-darned minute. You think I’m buyin’ into that shine, you’ve got another think coming—”

Matt cut him off. “What do you say we drive on up to the house and sort this all out. I’m going to be wanting some answers, Sheriff.” He stepped on the gas, churning up dirt and chunks of gravel as he drove off down the road, missing Hanifen’s toes by no more than a couple of inches.

GARRETT WEISZ WOKE at the first light of dawn. It had always been his habit, but it was easier these days. In Kirsten’s bedroom in the house on Queen Anne Hill, their home now, the first rays of sunlight shot across the ninety-three million miles to nestle on their bed.

As it did every morning, gratitude filled his heart. Abed with the woman he loved, his very pregnant wife, he settled in closer to her and let his fingers stray close enough on the mattress that, as she slept, he could almost feel the weight of the babies in her belly without waking her.

Twin girls.

When they learned that, he and six-year-old Christo had made a secret pact. The boys would be outnumbered in the Weisz household when the babies were born, and the menfolk would have to stick together to keep their girls safe.

Picking the babies’ names now preoccupied their older brother. He’d allowed as how Hannah might be one of them, but couldn’t decide between Madeleine and Irene for the other.

Garrett smiled, deeply content, more comfortable in his skin and in his life than he had imagined he would ever have a right to be. Kirsten had been confined to bed for toxemia problems since last week. He’d joked that he finally had her where he wanted her, and the poignant part of it was that it was true. True in the sense that he pretty much had the care of Christo to himself.

The timing wasn’t the greatest. The day her doctor ordered Kirsten to bed was the day it had been decided Matt would go to Wyoming within the week. Garrett’s hours were crammed with planning sessions for Matt’s undercover operation with J.D. and half a dozen other interagency cops, including their new Interpol liaison. He’d taken Christo along several times, so his son didn’t wind up at day care too long after his kindergarten let out.

From Christo’s point of view, life was sweet. One swell adventure on top of another.

Kirsten turned a bit in her sleep. Garrett feasted his eyes on her swollen breasts as he heard wee feet tiptoeing into their room.

Christo was good, a chip off the old block, but the tiny squeak of a floorboard gave him away. Garrett knew exactly what Christo was after. The electronic pager-cell phone Garrett kept on the nightstand. Christo knew he could expect a message from his Uncle Matt, who was off in Wyoming doing his undercover agent thing.

This was too cool for Christo to bear. He wanted to be the one who got the message, the one to tell his dad the secret communiqué had been received. Garrett lay utterly still and let Christo take the device off to his room. There was not one chance that his son would let a message from Matt go wanting.

Stirring restlessly, Kirsten shifted the weight of her belly, brushing Garrett’s fingers. Her eyelids crept open, and she gave a soft smile tinged with her discomfort. “Copping a feel again, Daddy?”

God. His heart just flooded. He loved her to the ends of the universe, smart mouth and all. “Shh. The babies aren’t old enough to hear that kind of talk.”

“Naughty Mommy.” She slid her hand down over her belly toward Garrett and he knew what was coming. Knew she’d find him with his straining, telltale flesh. She stole his breath away and asked, “Have you heard from Matt?”

Though the pleasure of her touch spread through him like molten gold, he kept his eyes open, playing her game. How long could he keep up a normal conversation under the onslaught of her caress? “Not yet.” He paused, let a wave of pleasure sidle through him. “Christo was just in.”

Kirsten smiled. “Did he get away with your pager?”

“He did.” He moved his leg to trap her fingers in a particular place.

“Clever boy.”

“Who, me?”

“No. Christo. Are you sure—”

His lips tightened. His whole face. “I’m sure.”

She whispered, “Surrender, Weisz.”

“Uncle.” But he didn’t close his eyes, chose instead to let her see his naked emotion, the pleasure welling up inside him.

They lay together for nearly an hour. Her back ached, and she begged a massage. He kissed her nape after she had managed to roll over, then applied his hand to the task of easing the twinges in her lower back.

They must have looked asleep to Christo. From the door came his best shot at a whisper. “Dad! Dad!”

Garrett sat up thinking this was it. “It’s okay, Christo-man. Mom’s awake. What is it?”

“Uncle Matt. It says Go! and something else.” He launched himself across the room and onto the bed. “What’s it say, Dad?”

Garrett looked over his son’s shoulder at the digital display and then at Kirsten who struggled to sit up as well. “You were right, Christo. It says, Go! It says, Going live, arrival at Bar 0 by 0800.”

Kirsten swallowed. Garrett nodded grimly over Christo’s head. Things had already gone awry, and the danger to Matt was multiplied a hundred times.

Chapter Four

Fiona had just finished turning out Soldier Boy when she heard a vehicle barreling into the yard. She crossed the central stable corridor and craned her neck to see Matt Guiliani wheeling to a stop in the yard. Dex Hanifen came roaring in after him, and braked so hard that the rear tires of the oversize vehicle spun out just as Guiliani stepped down from the Bronco.

She felt herself stiffening with anxiety, half ridden with guilt for what she was about to do.

Dex got out snarling, rushing at Guiliani and stabbing a finger at him in the air. “You pull that kinda stunt again and I will personally—”

“Settle down,” Matt ordered peremptorily. “I want to talk to Fiona.”

“Oh, you know Fiona now, too,” Dex challenged, his voice notching up.

“Matter of fact, I do.”

“I don’t think so. See, I know the people that folks around here associate with, and you are not one of them. And you are no more in charge around here than the little man on the moon.”

She’d never seen Dex taking any crap off anyone, and though he clearly had no intention of taking it now, he’d already been knocked off his pins, reacting in knee-jerk fashion rather than taking control of what went on.

She shoved hard and the stable door glided smoothly open. She was wearing jeans split at the knee, an ancient mauve mohair sweater with a fairly grubby down jacket over it, but from the way Guiliani’s eyes lit up, she might have been wearing a ball gown. As if it had been a too long a time since he’d seen her. Had her.