Foster Justice (22 page)

Resigned, Riley pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed the California Highway Patrol. He'd done all he could to keep the stubborn son of a bitch out of jail, but this was too flagrant . . .

 

At about the same time in Amarillo, Mary stood in her room looking down at her cell phone screen. She had six missed calls from Thomas and two voice mails. She'd been afraid to call him back because she knew he'd hear the venom in her tone and suspect what she was about to do. Instead, she'd texted him that she'd meet him late tomorrow afternoon at the drill site and explain why it was inactive. She'd had problems with the rig crew, she'd lied, and they needed to come up with a new schedule.

Then she sat at her window and watched the sun go down, feeling the loss of warmth and every hope she'd had for the future go with it. She should head downstairs and get something to eat, but she wasn't hungry.

Sinclair had explained the process to her, but she was still a bit nervous. Wearing the wire wouldn't be hard, but finding just the right words without rousing Thomas's suspicions would be a challenge. He always could talk rings around her, or anyone she knew, for that matter.

But as she stared into the growing dark, she realized she didn't really care if he realized she was wearing a recording device. She looked down at the small pistol she'd purchased soon after arriving in Texas, when she'd realized the deal was coming apart.

“Come on, Thomas, get tough,” she whispered into the darkness. She hadn't told Sinclair she had a gun because she knew how he'd react. Still, big shot Texas Ranger or not, he was a typical cop and didn't care if he endangered her as long as he nailed his man. She cooperated because for once her interests were aligned with the law.

Legal or not, one way or another, Thomas Kinnard would pay for killing Trey.

 

While Mary was vowing retribution, on the I-10 East, Chad pulled onto the shoulder beneath growing shadows. A setting sun peered over sere mountains and lazily whirring Palm Springs wind turbines. It was a Monday, so thankfully traffic was heading out of the Coachella Valley, not in, so eastbound I-10 traffic was light.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself to her fury, Chad unlatched the trailer and peered inside. Jasmine glared at him but looked none the worse for wear. Warily, Chad stepped inside the trailer and gently pulled the gag down from her mouth. It sagged around her neck. “I'm sorry, Jasmine, but you left me no choice. We're outside LA now, if you're ready to come inside the truck.”

“You mean go peaceful-like while you bushwhack me?” She kicked his shin.

Wincing, he moved back out of range. “You don't belong in California. You've all but admitted it.”

“You have no right to decide where I belong, you redneck Ranger. No, I forget, ex Ranger, you couldn't even do that right.... No one's bossed me around since I was sixteen—”

He couldn't help it; he shut her up the way he'd been longing to ever since they rolled around together on her carpet. He kissed her. She stiffened, and for a moment he wondered if he should back up or get a knee in his groin, but she exhaled into his mouth, tasting of peppermints, and sagged against him, kissing him back. He untied her waist, unlatched the cuffs and pulled her into his arms, cuffs and all. It was awkward at first, but she pulled his head down and lifted her wrists behind his head, linking them together literally with bonds of steel. She not only accepted his deepening of their kiss, she welcomed it with an open mouth and shyly inviting tongue.

For an instant, while he could still think, he realized she was no more experienced at French-kissing than he was, Even when they'd made love, their kissing had been elemental, rough, not tender or experienced. A burst of mental elation accented the physical contact. In this way, at least, they could learn together. But then he didn't care about anything except getting closer to her, skin to skin. He tugged her tucked shirt free of the waist of her jeans and inched one hand up her soft, warm abdomen to softer, warmer flesh covered in a scrap of lace. He covered the globe with a tender palm, and then worked a finger inside to stroke the nipple, which tightened instantly under his touch.

She lifted a knee toward his groin, but not to hit. She stroked, slowly and lusciously, at the growing length in his jeans. He groaned into her mouth, removing his hand from under her shirt to cup her head in his hands and tilt her head sideways to better fit her for the deep thrust of his tongue. He'd never known this intimacy before with any woman, feeling the limits of flesh because he couldn't get close enough, reach far enough. He wanted to meld with her, to own her, to keep her forever safe in the embrace of his arms . . . She belonged to him, stripper or not. He'd convince her to quit that soon enough; getting her home to Texas was the first step.

They were both too occupied to notice lights flashing in the growing gloom, but then the rumble of a motorcycle pulled alongside them and stopped. Chad lifted his head, blinking into the twilight in time to see a familiar form approaching the rear of the trailer. His uniform was slightly wrinkled for a change, and when he lifted his helmet visor, Riley O'Connor was as serious as Chad had ever seen him.

Gently, Chad pulled Jasmine's twined arms from around his neck. She blinked into the bright headlight as Chad jumped out of the trailer. “She's fine, Riley. I'd never hurt her.”

Riley looked grimly from the ropes dangling on the rail in front of Jasmine, to the gag still loose around her throat and the handcuffs. “Yes, well, you can explain that to the judge. I don't care what she does for a living, she's still from my precinct and kidnapping is somewhat frowned upon in Beverly Hills.”

Chad frowned. “You don't have any jurisdiction here, Riley.”

“No, but they do.” Riley jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Jasmine stepped down to the pavement, using her cuffed hands to remove the gag and toss it to the ground while they watched two California Highway Patrol cruisers stop behind them, lights flashing.

Four patrolmen got out of the vehicles, approaching aggressively. Chad had time for only one pleading look at Jasmine. He dropped the cuff key into Jasmine's shirt pocket before he was spread-eagled against the cab of his truck while they frisked him.

For a moment, a pleased smile flickered about Jasmine's lips as she watched him get his comeuppance, until one of the patrolmen gibed at Chad, “You'll be real popular in lock up, Ranger Roy. Your first felony?”

Her smile faded. She exchanged a glance with Riley. He looked away, shrugging as if to say it was out of his hands.

Chad didn't help matters as they let him turn around so they could cuff him. He sneered at the patrolman approaching with cuffs and shot back, “At least I don't have to wear those plug-ugly hats.”

They were a bit rougher than necessary as one cop held Chad's arms while the other one began placing cuffs around his wrists.

A distinctive metallic click sounded. All five cops looked over at Jasmine.

Her own cuffs dangled open while she held up the key so it shone in Riley's headlight. “You've got it all wrong, guys. You can't kidnap a willing victim.” She beamed that slow, sensual, stripper stage smile at Chad. “Told you you'd like the handcuffs, darling. Just wait until we try the leather halter . . .” The very tip of her tongue rimmed her lips.

Openmouthed, all six men stared at her. Including Chad.

For the moment, Jasmine was the only one capable of movement, it seemed. She twisted out of her cuffs, sticking them in her back pocket, and then with a
May I?
look at the cop holding the still open cuffs on Chad, she pulled them off his wrists and returned them. His mouth still agape and eyes wide, the patrolman limply accepted them.

Jasmine pushed Chad toward the truck. “We've wasted enough taxpayer dollars for one day.” Coming back to life, Chad for once obeyed and swung up in the cab, still watching her through the window, wide-eyed, as if he were viewing a play.

Jasmine turned back toward the patrolmen. “I'm not a kidnap victim, gentlemen. If you look, you'll see my bags in the back of the truck. And I think Riley will confirm we were kissing when he drove up.” She looked inquiringly at Riley.

He collected his wits and gave a reluctant nod somewhat spoiled by a glare at Chad. He looked back at Jasmine with an
I know what you're doing
scowl, but she only smiled seductively and strolled toward the passenger side of the truck. As she rounded the hood, she paused.

“Thanks so much for the concern, guys, but as you can see, I'm not spindled, folded, or mutilated. I'm here of my own free will. Riley, I'll be in touch.” And she got into the truck.

“Can I go?” Chad asked through his rolled-down window.

Shaking his head as if he suspected he'd been snookered, the patrolman shrugged. “Go.”

And the dually rumbled away. The minute they were out of view, Jasmine took the cuffs out of her back pocket and tossed them into the rear seat hard enough to gouge the fabric. “That's about the sixth time you owe me, asshole, for saving your butt from the fire.”

As he merged with eastbound traffic, Chad glanced at her with a very masculine smile. “True. But I'm more intrigued by something you said.”

When she scowled at him, her sensual mouth now set mulishly, he teased, “When can we try out this leather halter?”

E
arly the next afternoon, at the DPS office in Amarillo, Mary stood still while Sinclair taped the tiny transmitter to her collarbone beneath her undershirt. “These things used to be so bulky it was hard to disguise them, but not anymore.”

Corey went into Sinclair's office, shut the door, and radioed to Mary, “Testing, testing, can you hear me, Mary?”

The wireless listening bud in Mary's ear was so tiny it couldn't be seen through her lush red hair, but she nodded and said back, bending her head slightly toward the transmitter under her shirt, “Loud and clear. You can hear me?”

“Copy that,” Corey agreed. He came back out of the office and gave her a thumbs-up.

Sinclair helped Mary button her shirt over the transmitter, and then walked around her, eyeing her critically. “Can't see a thing. But don't bend your head when you talk—it's not necessary and it might alert him. This is the latest hardware. We got it from the Defense Department.” He stopped in front of her and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to back out. We'll find another way to convict him. The Beverly Hills Police Department and the California Highway Patrol are on the case, too. He has nowhere to run.”

“You don't know Thomas. He's like a rat. He can squeeze himself into the most improbable places and lie low until the rest of us have given up. Then he'll come out and rule the world.” Mary shrugged away from Sinclair's light grip, her voice dull. “I know him and I think I can get him to brag about what he's done to tie up all the mineral rights he needed for the Dorado field. Still, he never would have gotten this far if I hadn't caved to his persuasions. Trey would still be alive.”

“You don't know that. No one made Trey sign that contract. You weren't even there, from what I understand.” Sinclair's bright blue gaze exchanged a worried look with Corey, and then he said lightly, “But just in case, one of us will follow you at a distance, no more than a half mile away. All you need to do is ask for help, and we'll be there.”

“Have you reached Chad Foster yet?”

Sinclair sighed. “No, and he hasn't called in, but he should be back any time if he drove straight through. Riley O'Connor gave me an update.” Sinclair chuckled. “I guess redheads really do live up to their reputation.”

The dullness sharpened in her eyes. “Jasmine's with him?”

Sinclair nodded. “Sounds like Chad was determined to get his woman, one way or the other, and almost got himself arrested, but she bailed him out. For the second time. According to Riley she paid twenty-five thousand in bail money to get him out of the lockup after he crunched a parking attendant's car with his truck.”

Mary smiled sadly. “Sounds like Jasmine. Has anyone told Chad about me?”

“Her phone's going to voice mail, too. They haven't called in because we haven't been in communication with them since they left California.” Sinclair's smile faded. “Trust me, Chad will be set straight, and soon. I don't care what his state of mind is since he lost Trey. There's no excuse for this behavior in a Texas Ranger. Even if I do reassign him, he may be on probation for a while.”

 

At that moment, Chad was passing through the desert that stretched between New Mexico and Texas. He'd driven straight through and he was dead tired. He hadn't trusted Jasmine behind the wheel while he slept. His state of mind was, at best, chaotic.

Jasmine had barely said a word since they'd left Palm Springs. He'd tried to tell her about his land, why he loved it so. She'd listened, nodding, but didn't offer any encouragement when he tried to draw her in. Around Phoenix he switched tactics, talking about the new Texas that was moving away from a ranching, oil, and gas economy to high-tech endeavors. “I don't know if you track what's going on in Texas in the news, but people and businesses are moving to Texas on a daily basis, many of them, frankly, coming from California. Dallas is a telecom hub, Austin is gaining fame as Silicon Hills, and even in West Texas, Midland is close to nabbing a private space exploration company.”

He'd glanced at her, hoping to see some residual pride in her home state. He was desperate to keep her there, even after all this was over.

She yawned. “What are you, head of the Texas tourism bureau? Maybe I'd be a bit more enthusiastic if I'd come with you willingly. Why don't you let me get my cell phone and maybe we can talk.”

He smiled wryly. “I'd rather make it across the state line at least, before you bring in the cavalry.”

“Still don't trust me, huh? If I wanted you arrested, all I had to do back in Palm Springs was keep quiet instead of defending you.”

Chad frowned. True enough. Dammit, would he ever understand this infuriating woman? If she'd decided to cooperate, why the cold shoulder now? He cocked his head as he eyed her from his side of the cab.

A satisfied little smile curved her lips. “You remind me of Chester when you look at me with your head cocked like that. I think he understands me better than you do.”

He took a deep breath to quell the retort he longed to make. He'd swerved a bit out of his lane during their exchange, and by the time he'd rectified that, she'd leaned her head on the window, moved as far away from him as she could get, and nodded off.

Finally, right after they crossed the Texas border, her silence took its toll on him. He was about to fall asleep despite his usual tricks to stay alert. After a full two days without sleep, he knew he needed at least a nap if he was to be clearheaded enough to appeal his case to Sinclair and explain why he'd brought back an unwilling but key witness—without getting himself arrested. Sinclair wasn't by-the-book like Riley, but he was very strict with his men when it came to actually breaking the law.

He pulled off the road into a cutout for a bank of mail boxes, looking around carefully. There was nowhere for her to run, but just in case, he locked the cabin doors and put her door lock on driver control.

“I have to sleep,” he said curtly when she gave him an inquiring look. He lifted the moveable console between them and sprawled his long legs over the floorboard into her part of the truck. He ignored her protest, arranged himself as comfortably as he could against the driver-side door, tipped his hat over his face, and was asleep within seconds.

Jasmine had been mostly pretending to sleep to avoid talking to him, but his deep, even breathing and occasional little snore told her it was safe to study him. Gently, she removed his hat, which was about to fall in his lap anyway.

In sleep, all that arrogant Texan was dormant. He was still not handsome, but so endearingly male and much younger looking. With all the angular planes of his face relaxed, he was somehow harmless. Safe. And since she'd never actually slept with him, despite her residual anger at his snatch and grab, the urge to curl against him was overpowering. It might be her one and only chance to experience that unique bonding experience.

Carefully, so as not to awaken him, she draped herself over his chest, letting her legs dangle down next to his so she didn't have her full weight on him. Turning her cheek against the strong beat of his heart, she took a deep breath of his scent. That too was purely male, a mix of sweat, leather, and spicy deodorant, which he'd used over the last few days to keep himself reasonably decent since he'd had no way to shower.

With the scent of Chad lulling her, and the steady, reliable thrum of his heart, she slept.

A couple of hours later, Chad started awake. For an instant he panicked because he felt constrained by a warm weight against him. Then he realized it was Jasmine, curled against him like the sex kitten he'd always likened her to. His legs were asleep, but for a long moment he stayed still, drinking her in.

Her glorious red mane was tousled and her makeup had long since rubbed away. A smudge of mascara darkened one eyelid, but to him, she was beautiful. She'd always be beautiful, even when gray fingered her hair and wrinkles fanned out from those mysterious green eyes....

Her eyes fluttered open before he had time to shield his thoughts. She blinked up at him, the lucent green going dark as her pupils expanded.

He tried a tentative smile, and for an instant, she smiled back. No artifice, no sex kitten, just the happy smile of a woman glad to be in his arms. He pulled her closer, bending his head, but her shirt had loosened and he could glimpse the tattoo. It had begun to fade, but he couldn't hide the visceral kick to his gut as he stared at the symbol of everything that kept them apart.

She looked where he looked. Then the moment was gone. She reached over him. There was a click and then she'd scrambled back to her side of the truck, her face averted.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was already out the door and rounding the truck. He knew she was going for her cell phone and this time he didn't try to stop her. He got out of the truck and trailed her to the rear of the trailer, where she'd shouldered her satchel and was untethering Chester. She led the stallion out of the trailer and began walking him up and down. After he'd loosened his limbs a bit, she gave him an oat protein bar she pulled from her capacious bag.

Chad's stomach rumbled. “You got another one of those?”

She ignored him, giving Chester a second bar and cooing to him.

Chad felt like an idiot being jealous of a horse, but he complained, “You treat him better than you do me.”

“He's nicer than you. And he smells better, too.”

While she was occupied with Chester, Chad surreptitiously smelled each of his armpits. Rank. Embarrassed, he stepped up into the trailer to check on the ice in the coffin where Trey lay. They'd put it in insulated bags so it was still pretty solid, but he knew he had to cover the rest of the distance without stopping. For an instant, he looked down at his brother's peaceful face. Tears burned his eyes, and the need for retribution ate at him like acid. He was glad he'd kidnapped Jasmine. Even if she proved to be uninvolved in Kinnard's scheme, she couldn't deny the fact that she was the reason Trey had left Texas.

But the volatile emotions only distracted him and he was about to need all his focus. So he gently shut the coffin lid, spread Chester's horse blankets on top to further protect the ice, and turned back outside.

After allowing Chester about fifteen minutes to crop at the grass, Chad took the lead from Jasmine and led his horse back toward the trailer. Chester planted his feet, snorting.

Chad whacked his rear end. “Up, boy. You know the drill.” Chester stamped a rear foot, narrowly missing Chad's boot. He stayed put.

Jasmine took the lead from Chad, patted Chester's neck and whispered into his ear. His ear flickered. He gave a soft whicker and obediently walked right into the trailer. Ignoring Chad, she tied him down, patting him a last time.

Furious, Chad stomped back to the driver's seat and fired up the engine. Damn the woman. Whether directly or indirectly, she'd invaded every aspect of his life: his career, his land, his family, and now she wanted his horse, too?

Jasmine was barely settled, with her belt buckled, before he gunned back onto the highway so fast gravel spit from the rear tires.

“Careful, you'll make him stumble!” Jasmine chided him.

“Woman, if you'd worry a little less about my horse and more about what you're going to say to my boss, we'd both be better off.”

“You can't wait to get rid of me, can you?” She turned her head to look out at the barren desert, but not before he saw the beginning of a tear in her eye.

Feeling guilty, he shut up, but hell, she riled him. Physically, emotionally, even spiritually when he awoke to find her nestled against him. One minute she spat at him like a wildcat, and the next she was curled against him with utter contentment. He tipped his hat back to rub his aching forehead.

Ignoring him again, she pulled her cell phone out of her bag and hit the voice mail button. She listened, her face going even grimmer, if possible.

He glanced at her. “Bad news?”

She clicked off after several messages. “Riley was checking on me. And I had a message from your boss. Ross Sinclair.”

Chad stiffened. “What did he say?”

“He said if I'm with you to please have you call in ASAP.”

“Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead, has been since I left your place and I haven't been anywhere to charge it.”

She offered it without another word. As he listened to Sinclair's office phone ring, Chad tried to marshal the right words. He was half relieved when he got Sinclair's voice mail. “Captain, I'm only a few hours out. I have to stop at the homestead to deliver Trey's body and get Chester into his pasture, but then I'll come straight to the office. I have with me the, ah, witness I told you about. I think with a little persuasion she'll agree to testify against Kinnard if we can catch him. See you soon. I'll fill in all the details then.” He handed the phone back to Jasmine, surprised when she turned it off.

“The battery's almost dead,” she said. “I'll call Riley later.”

Chad let it lie, though he wondered if there was more on that phone message than she was telling him.

 

In Amarillo, Sinclair listened to his voice mail less than thirty minutes later. As soon as he heard Chad's message, he tried his cell. Straight to voice mail again. Then he tried Jasmine's number. Likewise.

Irritably, Sinclair dropped his cell phone in his pocket and checked his watch. Mary's meeting with Kinnard was in a few hours. Sinclair badly wanted to see Chad's face the first time he laid eyes on her, but if he didn't hurry, she'd already be off on her mission. Sinclair still felt uneasy about using her like this, despite her insistence, and so he made an unusual but typically decisive decision. Going to the weapons storage compartment, he unlocked it with his personal key and pulled out a bulletproof vest and pistol, along with a shotgun, just in case.