Chapter Twenty-Seven
While the medics tended the groove Archer’s bullet had sliced across Linc’s ribs, Carly waited for the sheriff in Linc’s impressive study, one of the few places she felt comfortable in the huge stone mansion.
The room was clearly his, and she felt close to him there, while the house itself reminded her of his ex-wife, of the money he had spent to build it for her, of the enormous power he wielded. It reminded her of the Lincoln Cain he was when he wasn’t at the ranch.
And reinforced all the reasons she couldn’t afford to get more deeply involved with him.
The realization of just how close she was to falling in love with him had hit her in the lightning bolt moment she had heard Ray Archer’s gun go off, when she realized Linc had been shot.
In that instant, her fear had been so overwhelming that for several seconds, she had been nearly blinded by it. It was a glimpse of what it would feel like to lose him if she didn’t do something to protect herself.
She remembered losing her first love, Garth Hunter, the college quarterback who had sworn he loved her and asked her to marry him, only to dump her a month later for one of the cheerleaders.
Or even more painful, Carter Benson’s abrupt departure years later, a reality check that had taken her to disturbing lows from which she hadn’t been sure she would recover.
Or at least she had felt that way at the time.
Her feelings for Linc were already far deeper than any emotion she’d ever felt for Garth or Carter. If she allowed herself to believe she could be part of Linc’s future, if she let herself fall in love with him, when he left it would destroy her.
She had to pull back, find a way to be with him for as long as it lasted yet keep her heart intact.
The door swung open and Sheriff Howler walked in, Stetson in hand, belly hanging slightly over his leather belt. He could have been a character out of Smoky and the Bandit.
“Hello there, litt—Ms. Carly. I hear you had yourself quite an excitin’ night. Got a dead man out there to prove it. You want to start from the beginnin’, tell me what happened?”
“Of course.” Very succinctly she told the sheriff about Ray Archer showing up after the guards had been forced to take shelter, breaking into the house during the worst of the storm, and threatening her with a gun.
“He thought he could use me as a bargaining chip to get to his son.”
“Where was Cain? I thought you two were staying out there together.”
She and Linc had talked about this. Linc didn’t trust the sheriff. No way was she telling Howler their plan to equip a Drake truck with surveillance gear.
“Linc went to Dallas on business. He heard about the storm and decided to drive back in case it got worse, which it did. I just thank God he showed up before it was too late.”
They talked for another twenty minutes, Howler asking the same questions in different ways, getting the same answers, since she was telling him the truth—at least about what had happened during the storm.
Then Howler asked her to leave while he interviewed Linc, who gave him the same story.
When the sheriff called her back into the study, Linc sat at the table with a scowl on his face.
“We’re done here,” the sheriff said to her. “Guess you might as well move back home since Archer won’t be givin’ you any more trouble.”
Howler’s attention swung back to Linc. “I know Ms. Drake filed for custody of the boy. Real convenient his dad showin’ up on your property like that, then a tree fallin’ on him, killin’ him dead.”
Linc’s jaw tightened. “I assure you, Sheriff, no matter how much money I have, I can’t command God to crash a tree down on someone I don’t happen to like.”
Howler just grunted. The heavyset sheriff picked up his paperwork. “A few more questions may come up. Be somewhere we can find you.” He ambled out of the study, and Carly felt a wave of relief.
“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.
Linc’s gaze remained on the study door the sheriff had just closed behind him. “Archer’s no longer a problem.” Linc’s attention returned to her. “Now we need to deal with El Jefe.”
Any relief Carly was feeling slipped away.
* * *
It was Saturday morning. Linc was packed and ready to leave for his trip with Carly into Dallas for the charity ball. Crews were at work on the ranch, cleaning up the mess left by the storm, rebuilding the roof of the barn. The good news was, the storm had caused enough mayhem that the protestors were too busy taking care of their own problems to hassle him.
And the truck, completely fitted with surveillance equipment, now sat once more in the Drake truck yard. Things were moving forward, but until they heard from El Jefe, or the Demons came up with his identity, there was nothing more he could do.
“It’ll be good to get away for a while,” Linc said. Carly walked beside him as he carried her overnight bag and hanging garment bag from the bedroom out to the living room. “We can relax a little once we’re there, get ready for tonight.”
“I guess so . . .” Pausing in the entry, Carly glanced around as if she might never see the house again, and alarms went off in his head.
“What are you thinking? We’re only going to be in Dallas one night. Are you nervous about the benefit?”
She shrugged. “Not really. It’s just . . . you’ll be different there. You won’t just be Linc. You’ll be Lincoln Cain.”
He set the luggage down and strode toward her, caught her shoulders in his hands. “I’ll be the same man you slept with last night. The same man you’ll be sleeping with in Dallas.” Bending his head, he very soundly kissed her. “The same man I am right now.”
She swallowed, seemed to collect herself. “You’re right. I’m being silly.” She glanced away. “Just so much going on, I guess.”
He wanted to shake her, make her understand it didn’t matter which man he was, she was still the woman he wanted. Instead his cell phone rang and he let her go.
Linc pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Cain.”
“FBI Agent Quinn Taggart. We need to talk, Cain. It’s important.” The formal tone of Quinn’s voice relayed the man’s irritation.
Linc should have phoned, as Taggart had expected, given him something, even if it wasn’t completely the truth. No choice now. “We’ll be in Dallas within the hour. Where would you like to meet?”
“Maybe you and Ms. Drake should come in to FBI headquarters. Maybe we’ll be able to communicate better there.”
Unease filtered through him. “You don’t really think that’s a good idea?”
“What I think is, we need to discuss your situation. We expected to hear from you. If you come in, maybe you’ll understand how serious this is.”
Never good to piss off the FBI. He should have found a way to stall them. Once they had evidence of a crime, they could bring the feds on board.
“Why don’t we meet at my apartment?” Linc suggested, a place Taggart had been before. “If you park in the underground garage and take my private elevator, no one will see you.”
“All right. I’ll give you an hour and a half to get into town and get settled.”
“Fine. We’ll see you there.” He turned to Carly, hating that they weren’t going to be able to escape their problems even for a day.
“Taggart?” Carly asked.
Linc nodded. “We’re meeting him at my place.” He sighed. “I should have phoned him, given him enough to keep him hanging until we have what we need.”
“It’s not too late. We can do that when we see him. We’ll tell him something, just not what we’re planning to do. He doesn’t have to know anything we don’t want him to.”
He smiled. He loved her toughness, a vivid contrast to the sexy, feminine side of her. “You’re right. We can talk about it on the way.”
* * *
The high-rise condominium apartment building on Pearl Street in Uptown Dallas was near the art district and close to the park. Carly had been to Linc’s office on a number of occasions, but never to his condo. Standing next to him in his private elevator, she felt her curiosity ramp up as the conveyance rose, lifting her stomach along with it. The place a person lived could be a mirror into his soul.
Though definitely not in her case. After she’d left Iron Springs, she had never really put down roots. The longest she’d lived in one place had been the Park Slope district of Brooklyn when she had flown the New York-Paris route out of JFK.
With rent in the district high, she had shared an apartment with three other flight attendants, all of them in and out on different schedules.
She’d met Carter Benson in a small, local café, the son of a renowned architect. His family was wealthy. Carter had gone to the best private schools, then on to a top architectural college. He worked for Benson and Associates, his father’s prestigious firm, and had already begun to build a name for himself by the time she met him.
She had fallen hard for Carter, who had promised her the moon and given her the boot instead. At the time, the pain and insecurity of losing him had been devastating.
As she looked back on it now, she saw it was Carter’s good looks and charm, the bright lights of his success that had attracted her, rather than anything of actual substance, or anything they had in common.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding and Carly walked out into a slate-floored entry, while Linc carted her bags into the room behind her. Through an impressive wall of windows in the living room, views of the city stretched endlessly below.
“Go ahead, take a look around,” Linc said. “I’ll put your stuff in the bedroom.”
“Okay.” She wandered, pleased he was inviting her into his personal space so completely, strolled into the open living/dining space, comfortably modern, done in shades of dark brown and cream, with lots of dark wood tables and accent pieces. A beautiful dark walnut dining table that easily seated eight, could probably stretch to ten.
She wandered into the kitchen: granite countertops and state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, including a Sub-Zero fridge. As she continued her journey, she passed another living space, more of a den, with brown leather sofas and chairs and a big-screen TV. Clearly this was Linc’s man cave.
She wanted to prowl, see what she could discover about him in that room, but the rest of the apartment beckoned. Down the hall, she passed his wood-paneled study, where a black granite fireplace was built into one wall. A high-tech computer sat on his desk and a big projection screen hung on the wall.
She found him in the master suite, hanging up the bag that held the gown she planned to wear to the gala. A king-size bed covered by an elegant brown silk comforter and a stack of cream and brown throw pillows made her think of what would happen later, and warmth settled low in her belly.
Through an open door, she caught a glimpse of a huge marble bathroom, wandered past the dresser, where framed photos of Linc with Beau sat beside a photo of Linc with his brother, Josh. She picked up a picture of Linc with Joe, Linc’s arm around Joe’s shoulders, and her throat closed up. The photo told her how important her grandfather had been to Linc, which somehow made her feel closer to him.
Footsteps warned of Linc’s approach. He bent his head and kissed her, took her hand, and tugged her toward the door of the suite.
“I’m getting hard just watching you walk around in here,” he said with a grin. “Since the FBI will be here any minute, I think we’re safer in the living room.”
Carly laughed. Linc led her out the door and back down the hall. “I bought this place after my divorce. Four bedrooms, each with a private bath, great views from every room. But the selling feature was this. . . .” He led her through a set of sliding doors off the dining room, onto a lovely landscaped terrace.
“Sixteen hundred feet of outdoor living space. I can actually breathe out here.”
She glanced around the terrace. “And it still has beautiful views.”
“Plus a gazebo with a hot tub. It’s great when I need to relax.”
“Your place is wonderful, Linc.”
One of his dark eyebrows arched up. “You think it fits me?”
She thought of the masculine furnishings, the fireplaces, the dark wood used throughout, the lovely terrace with its potted trees and blooming flowers. “Yes. It definitely fits you.”
He pulled her into his arms. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Carly. A man can enjoy different things and still be the same man.” Lowering his head, he kissed her, softly at first, then deeper, more thoroughly. He was a big, powerful man and yet when he held her, she felt more cherished than threatened.
Emotion rose inside her, feelings that went far past desire. Carly pulled away.
“Taggart will be here any minute,” she reminded him.
Linc sighed. “You’re right. With any luck he won’t stay long.”
She didn’t miss the heat in his eyes, the promise of what would happen when they were alone. He was so incredibly sexy. Just looking at him turned her on. “No, if we’re lucky he won’t stay.”
Linc kissed her one last time, then set her away as if she were too much temptation. An instant later the intercom buzzed, indicating their visitor had arrived.
Linc walked over and hit the speaker button. “Agent Taggart, I presume.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll key in the code so you can come up.”
They had strategized during the helicopter ride into the city. Both of them knew what to say. Carly hoped it would be enough to satisfy the FBI until they could get the evidence they needed against El Jefe.
As the elevator arrived in the entry and the elegant dark wood doors slid open, she took a deep breath and slowly released it.
Showtime, she thought. Flicking Linc a conspiratorial glance, she smiled as Agent Quinn Taggart walked into the room.
* * *
Linc led the agent with the buzz-cut blond hair into the den. The tightness around Taggart’s mouth said he wasn’t happy. Linc needed the man to relax, feel comfortable, and let down his guard.
Moving to the built-in bar, Linc filled three highball glasses with ice, popped the top on a can of Coke, and poured the bubbling liquid into the glasses, opened another can and filled them to the top. Taggart was on duty. No way was he drinking anything alcoholic.
“Let’s sit down so we can talk,” Linc suggested.
Each of them carried a glass of soda over to the seating area in front of the huge flat-screen TV. He and Carly sat down on the sofa while Taggart sat in a deep leather chair.
Without taking a drink, Taggart set his glass down on a leather coaster on the coffee table. “We might as well get down to business, and don’t even think of telling me El Jefe never called.”
Linc leaned back on the sofa. “You’re right. He called not long after we talked to you Tuesday night . . . or should I say Wednesday morning?”
Fortunately the drug lord had been polite enough to wait until after they’d had a round of steamy, very satisfying sex.
“You should have phoned,” Taggart said, “brought us up to speed. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Maybe we would have called if we were sure we could trust you.” Linc leaned forward and set down his drink, ice clinking against the sides of his glass. “El Jefe knew we’d been in contact with the FBI. He knew he was being set up—that’s the reason his men didn’t show. How the hell did he know, Taggart? You got a leak? Or were you just careless? Because either way, we’re out. That’s what we told El Jefe and that’s what we’re telling you.”
Taggart leaned forward so they were face to face. “You don’t get it, do you? You aren’t out as long as El Jefe’s in business. You think he’s just going to let you walk away?”
“Yeah, I do. You see, we made a deal. He leaves Carly and Drake Trucking the hell alone, takes his business elsewhere, and we tell you guys to go fuck yourselves.”
Taggart’s mouth thinned. He just stared. So did Linc.
“You’re the one who screwed up, Agent Taggart,” Carly said, breaking the pissing contest he and Taggart were having. “If you hadn’t told half of two counties what was going on, this might have turned out differently. As it is, we’re out, just like Linc says.”
Taggart swore softly. “You need to think this over.”
“We’ve thought it over,” Carly said.
“And you’re sure this is the way you want it?”
“Damn sure,” Linc said.
Taggart rose from the sofa. “You’re making a mistake. Surely you can see that. Let me know when you come to your senses. I just hope it happens before someone else gets killed.”
Linc rose and so did Carly. They walked the agent back to the elevator, waited till he stepped inside and the doors closed, blocking him from view.
“Looks like our strategy might actually have worked,” Carly said, clearly relieved.
“We just bought some time. We’ll bring the feds back in as soon as we’ve got what we need.” Or at least that was the plan. But plans had to stay fluid. He had learned that a long time ago.
Most important was keeping Carly safe. That had been his priority from the start and it hadn’t changed.
But he was no longer doing it for Joe.
Linc was doing it for himself.