He shrugged. “I was spec ops. Amazing how those skills carry over into civilian life.”
She caught her breath and sipped coffee. “Amazing,” she agreed. “And here I thought I was doing so well at keeping my identity undercover.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he murmured. “You’ve got our visiting vermin foxed, at least.” He stared at her as he lifted his sandwich. “Dangerous game you’re playing. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“Guess again,” she said under her breath.
“They don’t pay us enough,” he added as he took a bite.
“You can put sugar on that,” she agreed. She sipped more coffee. “There’s a sick woman near a bar just over the border at El Paso. The bartender killed her father in cold blood.” She put down her cup. “She’ll die.”
His pale eyes glittered. “I have a contact with ties to the government over there. He’ll find her.”
“I can’t be involved,” she murmured. “And if the bartender is arrested, it will blow my investigation.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks.”
“Nasty business,” he said.
“Very.” Her own eyes were glittering. “I’ve got a dead woman and two dead little kids. They’re why I’m here.”
“I know.” He sipped beer and finished his sandwich just as she finished hers. “Thanks for looking after JJ.”
She looked up. “You know him?”
“Knew his dad. We were together overseas.”
“JJ is a good kid.”
He nodded. “And the Everetts are good people. He’ll have a family to take care of him. I told his dad I’d find a way to help him keep his place if he’d just be patient.”
“You see how that worked out,” she sighed.
“Proud man,” he said. “Hated handouts. But several of us would have chipped in.” He sipped beer. “Damned shame. Kid’s got no relatives in the world. It was his lucky day that you decided to go to a rodeo.”
She smiled. “I love rodeo. I used to do barrel racing.”
He nodded. “I did, too, in my teens. Your dad’s selling your ranch out from under you. Going to let him do it?”
“Good grief,” she exclaimed, breathless as she gaped at him.
“Oh, I’m psychic,” he said with a shrug. “Comes in handy sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.”
He chuckled. “Your boss says you really are.”
“Intuition,” she lied. “That’s all it is.”
“Not quite,” he replied. He leaned back in his chair. “These vermin are wasted skin. Jorge Vega killed a man for spilling coffee on his sleeve.”
She shook her head. She’d read the file on Vega. “He’s nuts,” she said. “Too many years sampling his own product.”
“And getting more paranoid by the day,” he added. He stared at her. “I don’t like having a woman involved in this.” He held up a hand when she started to protest. His eyes narrowed, glittered. “There are things that can be done to a decent woman that can’t be done to a man. One of my... assignments... was to retrieve a package from a group of insurgents overseas. When I found her, six men had been using her. She’d been kept for almost a week. Twenty years old. Sang in the church choir. Sheltered and protected by her people.” His face hardened. “While I was taking care of her captors, she grabbed a pistol and blew her brains out. I had to tell her father, who was a company commander in an infantry unit... several miles away.” His teeth ground together and he looked away. His voice had almost wavered.
She swallowed. Hard. She’d seen similar things in raids. She stared into her coffee.
