In Bed with the Enemy (3 page)

“Sure do.” He nodded as they walked across the lawn. “I have it in my office down at the maintenance barn.”

Knowing she could get a court order for the information, but hoping that route wouldn't be necessary, she asked, “Would you mind if I made copies of the last few months' entries?”

“Not at all,” Carl said. “In fact, I have a copy machine in my office, if you'd like to use it.”

Elise smiled again. “Thank you, Mr. Estrada. I think I'll do just that.”

 

Through the window beside the table where he sat with Phillip Westin in the Men's Grill, Cole caught sight of Campbell walking across the lawn with Carl Estrada. What was she up to this time? Didn't she realize he'd already gone through those sheds with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any evidence left behind by whoever put the weapons there?

Cole grinned. She was a couple of days late on looking into that end of the investigation. He'd talked with Carl and inspected the sheds yesterday.

But as he watched her walk beside the groundskeeper, Cole enjoyed the slight sway of her shapely hips, the elegance of her long, slender legs. Damn, the woman had legs that could easily cause a traffic jam.

“Like what you see, Yardley?” Phillip Westin asked, his silver-gray eyes twinkling as he grinned.

Cole shook his head. “Uh…not really,” he lied. “I'm just wondering what she thinks she'll find out there. I combed those sheds for evidence the other day.”

“Ah, a little friendly rivalry between the ATF and the FBI.” Westin's grin widened, indicating that he didn't believe a word of Cole's excuse.

“Something like that,” Cole muttered. He cleared his throat and reached for his beer. “Now, what were you saying about Mercado?”

Westin's expression suddenly turned serious. “I said I believe Ricky. He says he's backed out of the family business. That's good enough for me.”

“What makes you think he's telling the truth?” Cole asked carefully. It was clear the man was convinced of Mercado's innocence. Cole wanted to know why.

“Any commanding officer in the Marine Corps worth a damn knows his men. Nine times out of ten, he knows when they're lying.” Westin took a long draw from the beer in his hand. Placing the empty long-neck bottle on the table with a thump, he looked Cole square in the eye. “Mercado says he's gone straight, and from everything I've seen, he has.”

Cole nodded. “He's been investing in real estate. From all indications, at least that part of the story is on the up-and-up.”

“Like I said, I believe Mercado.”

Deciding it was time to stop beating around the bush, Cole stated what bothered him the most about Mercado. “He was being groomed by his late uncle to assume control of the family, but Frank Del Brio was the one to take over when Carmine died.”

Westin nodded. “But Ricky felt differently about the mob after Carmine died. Hell, I'm not real sure he was ever for it, but it damn sure wasn't long after that before he decided he had to get out.” Westin leaned forward. “Then when Del Brio got killed, John Valente took the reins of the organization.”

“Did Ricky turn it down, or was there a power struggle?” Cole asked, feeling as if he might be on to something. “I know there was bad blood between Del Brio and Mercado.”

“Ricky never talked about it. I didn't ask.” Westin shook his head. “We've always had an unspoken un
derstanding about his family's activities. The less I know about what's going on with them, the better.”

“That's probably the safest way to handle your friendship with Mercado,” Cole agreed. He swallowed the last of his beer. “Speaking of safe, Wainwright said that you haven't had any more notes on slaughtered cattle for a while.”

Westin's expression turned grim at the mention of the trouble he'd had lately. “No, that stopped about three weeks ago.”

“If it will make you and your wife feel any better, I'm pretty sure the heat got to be too much for Gonzalez and he hightailed it back to Mezcaya.”

Westin ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, his eyes burning with pure fury at the mention of Xavier Gonzalez, the young El Jefé terrorist who held Westin responsible for his father's death. “If the bastard's smart, he'll stay there.”

Cole didn't blame Westin in the least for the way he felt about the little jungle rat. Gonzalez had cost him several head of prime breeding stock, as well as running Westin's wife, Celeste, off the road and almost killing her before they were married.

The whole time he'd been sitting at the table with Phillip Westin, Cole had been surreptitiously glancing out the window to see when Campbell started back toward the clubhouse. Westin wasn't telling him anything that he hadn't told him before, and Cole knew the man had said all he intended to say on the subject of Ricky Mercado.

The moment he spotted her coming toward the clubhouse, Cole rose to his feet and extended his
hand. “Thanks for meeting with me, Westin. I appreciate your time.”

“Sorry that I couldn't be more help, Yardley.” Westin shook Cole's hand and grinned. “But I'll tell you the same thing the next time you ask. Ricky isn't involved in any of the Mercados' dealings. I'd stake my life on it.”

Cole nodded. “Time will tell.”

When he reached for the check, Westin was faster. Grabbing the slip of paper, he shook his head and reached for his wallet. “If you stop to pay the tab, you'll miss her.” He looked out the window at Campbell walking across the lawn toward the patio. “And that's one lady I don't think any man would want to miss.”

“You're married. Remember?” Cole reminded tersely. Now where the hell had that come from?

Westin laughed. “Happily married! But I'm not blind.”

The grin on Westin's face caused anger to burn in Cole's gut. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He had absolutely no interest in Campbell. Zip. Zero. Nada.

“You'd better hurry, or she'll be long gone, Yardley.”

Without another word, Cole turned and hurried to the exit of the Men's Grill with the sound of Phillip Westin's hearty laughter ringing in his ears.

E
lise stood on the enormous veranda of the Lone Star's clubhouse, digging through her shoulder bag for the key to her rental car. Why did the dumb thing always sink to the bottom of her purse? Just as her fingers closed around the key ring wedged beneath her checkbook and the leather case containing her FBI shield, she sensed that someone had come to stand beside her.

“Good afternoon, doll.”

The skin along the back of her neck immediately felt as if it crawled at the sound of John Valente's voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Valente,” she said without looking at him.

She'd decided the first time she met John Valente, the new head of the Mercado crime family, that he probably gave his own mother the creeps. He was just that loathsome.

Tall and muscular, with short black hair and an olive complexion, John Valente was a dark, imposing figure, with rough features and a sneering smile. He had a crooked nose, indicating that it had been broken several times, a three-inch white scar running from his temple to his right cheekbone and several deep lines creasing his forehead. But those weren't the traits that bothered her the most about him.

Glancing up, she met his hooded gaze and a shudder of apprehension slithered up her spine. Each time she'd looked into his fathomless, dark-brown eyes, she'd been left with the feeling that the man had no integrity, no conscience, no soul.

“You aren't leaving are you, Ms. Campbell?” Valente asked, his gravelly voice sending a chill shimmering over her skin.

“That's Agent Campbell. And, yes, I am.”

She started to walk away, but his hand at her elbow stopped her. “Please, won't you stay and join me for a drink?”

Even though she had gone through extensive training in self-defense, she had to fight the urge to keep from drawing away from him. “I can't. I'm on duty, Mr. Valente. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“There you are.” At the sound of Cole Yardley's familiar voice, she and Valente both turned to watch him walking through the front doors of the clubhouse. “I've been looking for you, sweetheart.”

Great. Now she had Caveman Cole to spar with as well as fending off this snake. What could she have possibly done to deserve having to deal with these two?

“Yardley.” Valente's voice suddenly held a hard edge.

“Hello, Valente.” Yardley walked up to put his arm around her waist, then drew her to his side.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you think—”

“I see you've met Agent Campbell,” he said, cutting her off.

Valente dropped his hand from her elbow, but she noticed he balled it into a tight fist at his side. “Yes, we had the pleasure of meeting yesterday afternoon. I only wish it had been under different, more pleasant, circumstances.”

“I'm sure you do,” Yardley said, his voice just as terse. His arm tightened around her when Valente sent a leering smile her way. If she didn't know better, she'd think Yardley was sending some kind of proprietary signal to Valente. Turning to her, he asked, “Are you ready to leave, sweetheart?”

“I can't believe—”

“I've got the keys to the car right here,” Yardley interrupted, holding up a keyless remote. Before she could take him to task over using the familiarity, he steered her down the sidewalk, at the same time calling over his shoulder, “See you around, Valente.”

“What was that all about?” she demanded, starting to pull away from him.

“Just play along, Campbell,” he said, holding her firmly against him as he guided her toward the SUV. “Valente's still standing on the porch watching us.”

“And that's supposed to mean something?”

“He's watching to see if we leave together.” Yar
dley pushed a button on the remote to unlock the doors.

“At some point, he's going to discover we aren't.”

“Wrong. He's going to see us get in my car and leave.”

“No, he isn't.”

In definite caveman mode, Yardley had the audacity to take her into his arms. “Yes, he is.”

“What do you think you're—”

“I'm making sure Valente knows to leave you alone,” he said, lowering his head.

She started to tell him that she could take care of herself, but the moment his mouth covered hers, Elise forgot whatever she'd been about to say. Cole's kiss was slow and thoughtful, as if he was acquainting himself with her.

But when he traced her lips with his tongue, then slipped inside to caress the sensitive inner recesses of her mouth, Elise stopped wondering why he wanted Valente to think they were together, and concentrated on the way Cole's kiss made her feel.

A warmth like nothing she'd ever felt began to course through her veins, heating her in a way that made her knees wobble. He lifted the tail of her suit jacket to splay his hands across her back and pull her more fully to him. A fluttering swirl deep in her lower stomach began to form. But when he reached down to cup her bottom and drew her to him the feel of his hard arousal tightened the sensation and caused the most interesting tingling to pull at her lower body.

Her pulse took off at breakneck speed and alarm bells began to clang inside her head as panic began to build. This was Caveman Cole. A man who was
working the same case she was on, and who she might have to work closely with again.

Pushing against him, she managed to put a bit of space between them, but he continued to hold her close as he broke the kiss. “That wasn't a good idea,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded.

The grin he gave her caused her toes to curl in her black pumps. “Sure it was. Now, get in the truck. Valente is still watching.”

“What does that matter?” How was she supposed to think with his arousal still pressed to her lower body? Her mind came to a screeching halt. His arousal?

“I want him to back off and leave you alone.” Cole met Campbell's confused gaze. “Now, smile like you're having a good time and get in the truck.”

The determined smile she gave him wasn't what he'd had in mind. “No.”

“I said get in the truck, sweetheart,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“I said no, Caveman.”

Her defiance irritated the hell out of him. He should have known she'd argue with him. The woman was as stubborn as he was. “I swear, if you don't get in this truck, I'll kiss you again.”

Her pretty, green eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't dare.”

Resting his forehead against hers, he kissed the tip of her nose and pressed his lower body more intimately to hers. “Try me.”

She stared at him for several long seconds, then pulling from his arms, opened the passenger door of the SUV and climbed inside. The glare she sent his
way could have wilted a cactus, and it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud at the colorful phrase she muttered just before slamming the Explorer's door.

Taking a deep breath, he started around the back of the vehicle. He hadn't been prepared for the impact of that kiss. My God, the woman had the sweetest lips he'd ever tasted, and he was still fighting the urge to throw her over his shoulder, find a secluded place and love her senseless.

But when he glanced toward the porch, the last traces of his desire vanished. Valente was still standing there watching, taking in the scene Cole had just staged with Campbell, like some kind of voyeur. Even though Cole wanted the man to get the message to leave her alone, nothing would have pleased him more than the pleasure of burying his fist in Valente's leering face.

When Cole slid behind the steering wheel, Campbell looked as if she intended to take a strip or two off his hide. “Before you get started, hear me out, Campbell. Unless you want to be fending off Valente the whole time you're trying to conduct your investigation, you'll let him think that you and I are more than just co-workers.”

She surprised him by laughing. “You are without a doubt a caveman in every sense of the word, Yardley. Do you honestly think I can't handle a creep like Valente?”

“I'm sure you think you can.” Cole backed the SUV from the parking space, then steered the Explorer onto the country club's blacktop driveway.
“But Valente is a man without many, if any, redeeming qualities.”

“And you think if he has the idea that you and I are—” she paused as if searching for the right word “—involved, it will stop him from interfering in my investigation?”

“Not exactly.” Cole turned onto the main road leading back toward Mission Creek. “But I know his type. He doesn't see you as a federal agent. All he sees is an attractive woman he'll try to manipulate. Every time you turn around he'll be in your face, trying to find out what you've learned so he can try to divert your investigation.”

“Give me more credit than to fall for something that obvious, Yardley.”

Cole glanced over at her. “Do you honestly think that little scene on the porch back there at the Lone Star was a chance meeting? That Valente just happened to be dropping by the clubhouse as you walked out the front door?”

“I hadn't thought about it,” she said, frowning.

“Let me assure you, it wasn't,” he said flatly. “He's got his goons watching every move you make, reporting back to him where you are and who you're with.” Cole pulled the SUV to a stop in the inn's parking lot. “Today was my way of letting Valente know that if he doesn't back off, he'll have me to contend with.”

Elise stared at Cole, not quite sure what to say. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was trying to protect her from Valente as a man protects a woman he's interested in, as well as the integrity of her in
vestigation. Ridiculous. Caveman Cole didn't even like her. Why would he be concerned about her?

“I think I'm capable of handling a snake like John Valente.”

“I know you think you are,” he said, killing the engine. “But what is your specialty with the Bureau?”

“You worked with me two years ago. You know that I have a master's degree in accounting.”

He nodded. “My point exactly. The majority of your time is spent in an office with your nose stuck in computer printouts or some other kind of accounting records.” Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his palm and the warmth from his hand sent a wave of heat straight to her toes. “You don't have the experience out in the field that I have, and you're not used to dealing with vermin like Valente. I am.”

She pulled back from his touch to keep from leaning into it. “And how else am I supposed to gain this invaluable experience if I don't get out of the office and interact with Valente's kind?”

“Dammit, woman! You haven't been paying attention to a word I've said, have you?”

He got out of the Explorer, but before he could round the front of the vehicle, she breathed a sigh of relief and opened the passenger door herself. The caveman was back. Thank heavens. She was much more comfortable embroiled in a verbal battle with Caveman Cole than she was dealing with Cole Yardley, the man whose kiss made her insides feel like warm pudding.

“This is the very reason I won't work with a woman,” he muttered as he walked up to put his
hands on the fender of the SUV, trapping her between his arms. Leaning forward until their noses almost touched, he added, “Female agents think they're just as capable as men in any field situation. They're not. But guess who'll end up getting shot while he's trying to save the woman's ass?”

“Oh, give me a break, Caveman. Do you honestly think that women agents are that incompetent?”

“I didn't say they're incompetent,” he argued. “What I'm saying is that men like Valente don't play by the rules, and women like you aren't prepared to deal with them.”

“I don't think Valente poses that big of a threat to me.”

Anger burned in Cole's hazel stare as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I wouldn't trust him any farther than I could pick the bastard up and throw him.”

She stared at Cole for several long seconds. He was too close for her to ignore how sexy he was, or how handsome.

“For your information, my training at the academy in Quantico covers most of your concerns,” she said, finally finding her voice. “But let me give you a run-down, in order to put your mind at ease, Caveman. I've been trained in both psychological and physical defensive tactics, as well as marksmanship. I was at the top of my class, and I think I can handle Valente just as well as you can.”

When she started to walk away, Cole caught her by the shoulder. “It doesn't hurt to have a little insurance, sweetheart.”

She stepped back. “I do appreciate your concern,
Caveman. But I can take care of myself. I don't need a pretend lover to protect me.”

His anger and frustration close to the boiling point, Cole watched Campbell disappear through the entrance to the inn. This was what he got for trying to be a gentleman and protect the woman from the dangers she was too hardheaded to see for herself.

Shaking his head, he got back in the SUV and spun gravel as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Not only did he need to cool off, he needed to make arrangements to get her rental car back to the inn.

As he drove through town, he thought about how he was going to juggle following his leads, while protecting her at the same time. What he should do is just back off, conduct his own investigation and let her find out for herself just how devious Valente really was.

But even as the thought was forming, Cole shook his head. That would be like throwing a lamb to the wolves. And whether he liked it or not, that was something he just couldn't do.

Whether Special Agent Campbell of the FBI liked it or not, for all intents and purposes, ATF Special Agent Cole Yardley was her boyfriend for as long as they were in Mission Creek conducting their investigations of Ricky Mercado and the infamous Mercado crime family.

 

The next morning, Elise sat in the lobby of the Mission Creek First Federal Bank, waiting to present the new bank president with a court order seizing the banking records of the late Carmine Mercado and the
late Frank Del Brio. As soon as she concluded her business here, she'd serve a similar document on the very much alive Ricky Mercado. Once she'd collected everything, she'd go back to the inn and spend the rest of the day comparing figures to the Mercado trucking and produce business accounts. And if there was even a hint of a link between them, she'd find it.