In Bed with the Enemy (4 page)

Checking her watch, she wondered what could possibly be taking the bank president so long. It had been a good half hour since one of the tellers had informed him that she was waiting to see him.

Just as Elise was about to get up to ask the woman to remind the man that she was waiting, the door to his office opened and out strolled Caveman Cole. She could have bitten nails in two. What was he doing here? His investigation certainly didn't include reviewing financial records.

As he walked up to her, her pulse fluttered. Now why on earth had that happened? And why was his smile so…friendly? But more importantly, why was she smiling back?

“Good morning, Elise,” he said pleasantly. “I see you found your car.”

She nodded cautiously. What was he up to this time? He'd used her first name. He'd never done that before. “I assume you were responsible for seeing that it was returned to the inn last night?”

He grinned and her temperature rose a good ten degrees. “I figured you'd need it today.”

“Agent Campbell, Mr. Harling will see you now,” the teller said, standing beside the open office door.

“I'll be right there,” she told the woman. Thankful to be escaping Yardley's disturbing presence, she
turned to him. “Thank you for returning the car. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting.”

“See you later, sweetheart.” His voice seemed to echo throughout the bank lobby.

When several bank patrons turned to look their way, Elise felt as if her cheeks were on fire. “Why on earth did you say that?” she asked, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “Now these people think there's something going on between us.”

Nodding, he grinned. “That's the plan.”

“Why?” Shocked beyond belief, she couldn't seem to do anything but stand and gape at him.

He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Remember, I told you that your every move is being watched. That's one of Valente's men standing over by the new-accounts window.”

Elise looked around, but the only man she saw, other than the bank guard, was a little old man of about seventy leaning on his cane. “Yeah, right, Yardley.” Fuming, she shook her head. “I don't have time for your silly little games. I'm late for my meeting. But this isn't over. As soon as I have the time, I'm going to set you straight on a few things, Caveman.”

Grinning, he turned and headed for the door. “I'll be looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

 

Cole stood, propped against the fender of Elise's car as he waited for her to come out of the bank. He had no doubt that the first chance she got, she'd give him a tongue-lashing for that little scene in the lobby. But that couldn't be helped. The sooner that word got
around about them being together, the safer she'd be from Valente's tactics.

Not that he thought she'd fall for one of Valente's lines. Elise had a lot more intelligence than that. It was John Valente's persistence that bothered him. The man wasn't used to having people tell him no. Coupled with Valente's complete lack of scruples, and Cole had a feeling that the man embodied the kind of trouble he didn't even want to think about.

No, it was much safer to listen to her call him a caveman and read him the riot act every chance she got than to let her take her chances with a viper like Valente.

Once Elise collected all the records she needed for her investigation, and she was safely tucked away in her room at the Mission Creek Inn crunching numbers, Cole would resume his investigation and solve the case.

He smiled when he looked up and saw her shouldering her way through the bank's tempered-glass doors with a big file box. “Need some help, Campbell?”

“I can manage.”

He watched her struggle for a moment before stepping forward to take the box from her. “Where do you want it? The trunk or the back seat?”

“Trunk,” she answered, pushing the button on the remote to release the latch.

When he placed the heavy box inside, then slammed it shut, he looked up to find her glaring at him. “What?”

“Why were you waiting for me?”

He smiled. “You're welcome.”

“Oh…yes, thank you.” She frowned. “Don't change the subject.”

Shrugging, he walked around to the passenger side of her car and opened the door. “I thought I'd ride out to Ricky Mercado's place with you.”

Her vivid emerald gaze narrowed as she stared at him across the top of the car. “How did you know that's where I'm going next?”

“I talked to Sheriff Wainwright yesterday when he helped me get your car back to the inn.” Cole lowered himself into the passenger seat at the same time she opened the driver's door. He wasn't giving her the chance to leave without him. “I told him I'd ride along with you when you go to serve Mercado with the court order for his financial records.”

She slid in behind the wheel, then turned to stare at him. “Let me get this straight. You decided all of this for me, without even asking if I was agreeable. Is that correct?”

“Well, it wasn't exactly like that,” he said, buckling the shoulder harness.

“Then why don't you tell me
exactly
how it was?” Her eyes sparkled with anger, fascinating the hell out of him.

Cole shrugged. “Wainwright mentioned that he had to make a trip up to Austin after he accompanied you out to Mercado's and I volunteered to take his place.”

“And why would you do that?” she demanded, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Why aren't you running down your own leads?”

He had to fight the urge to reach out and run his
fingers through her auburn curls. “I am following a lead. Ricky Mercado is my prime suspect.”

She shook her head, surprising him. “I think you're wrong.”

“What makes you think he's not involved?”

“For all I know, he may be involved to some degree,” she said, starting the car. “But I don't think he's the mastermind of the operation.”

“The gun smuggling didn't start until after Mercado came back from Mezcaya.” Had she already discovered something in Valente's accounts to indicate otherwise?

“That's true. The smuggling wasn't discovered until after he returned. But I have a feeling it was set up to look that way.”

“Women's intuition, huh?” he asked, laughing out loud. Instead of insisting that he get out of the car, she pulled from the parking space. Apparently, she'd been distracted by arguing with him about the case.

Her expression anything but amused, she glanced over at him. “Never underestimate the accuracy of a woman's instincts, Caveman.”

“I'll try to remember that while putting the cuffs on Mercado and reading him his rights,
sweetheart.”

A
t the sound of a car slowing down on the main road, Ricky Mercado looked up from the board he'd been measuring. What now? he wondered, watching the red sedan kick up the dry south Texas dust as it started down the lane leading to his new home. He couldn't tell who was in the car, only that it had two passengers.

He shook his head. It had to be more of those damn government agents, coming to harass him. They were the only visitors he seemed to have these days. Most of his friends were either too busy enjoying their first few months of wedded bliss, or avoiding him because they'd heard he was being investigated by the feds.

Slamming the tape measure on top of the board, he marched down the steps, then folded his arms across his chest as he waited for the car to stop. He was
getting sick and tired of answering the same questions over and over, and he had every intention of telling whoever got out of the car that if they couldn't cough up some solid evidence against him, to leave him the hell alone.

But when a tall, slender, auburn-haired woman got out of the driver's side, he grinned. Maybe his luck was changing for the better. Whatever agency she was from, it sure as hell had better-looking operatives than the ATF.

“Mr. Mercado?” She held up a leather-encased badge. “I'm Special Agent Elise Campbell with the FBI.”

“What can I do for you today, Agent Campbell?” Smiling, he gazed at the attractive woman walking toward him. She had a set of legs on her that wouldn't quit, and that slim black skirt emphasized how slender and shapely she was.

He appeared to focus his full attention on her, but years of military training and a lifetime of being a Mercado had taught him to always be aware of what was going on around him. It was what had kept him alive for thirty-five years. That's why he knew immediately when the passenger inside the sedan moved to open the door. Ricky tensed, ready to take whatever defensive action was needed, until he realized it was Yardley stepping out of the car.

Nodding his acknowledgment of the man, Ricky never took his eyes off the woman in front of him. “Yardley.”

The ATF agent walked up to stand beside the Campbell woman. “Anything changed in the past couple of days, Mercado?”

“Nope. Anything new with you?”

Yardley tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he glanced over at the woman, then shook his head. “Same old, same old.”

Ricky studied the man who had harassed him nearly every day for the past week with questions about being in Mezcaya and the gun-smuggling ring operating in Mission Creek. But there was a tension about Yardley today that Ricky hadn't seen before. His stance, the way he kept glancing from the very pretty Agent Campbell to Ricky, spoke volumes. Unless he missed his guess, Yardley had the hots for the FBI chick.

“Mr. Mercado—”

“Call me Ricky,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. From the corner of his eye, he watched Yardley frown.

Yep. He'd been right. Yardley had it bad and probably didn't even realize it. Oh, he was going to have fun with this.
Payback time, brother.

“Agent Campbell, whatever you need, just ask.” He purposely turned up the wattage on his smile. “Would you like to go inside where it's cooler?”

“No, thank you, Mr.—”

“The name's Ricky,” he said, lowering his voice to add intimacy.

She nodded. “All right…Ricky. I'm sorry, but this isn't a social call.”

“That's a shame.” He almost laughed out loud when Yardley's frown turned to a deep scowl. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Agent Campbell?”

Her smile was almost apologetic as she handed him
a paper. “This is a court order freezing your assets and requiring you to turn over all of your financial records for the purpose of an ongoing investigation.”

Anger burned at Ricky's gut. Why couldn't the feds get it through their thick skulls that he wasn't involved with the Mercado crime family any longer? Why couldn't they accept that he'd stopped living his life on the other side of legal, and gone straight?

But to the attractive woman in front of him, he gave what he hoped was an understanding smile and nodded. “I'll be more than happy to cooperate in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Ricky.” She looked relieved, and he'd bet every dime he had that she wasn't sent to work cases out of the office very often. “I really appreciate your willingness to make my job easier.”

“It's my pleasure,” Ricky lied. He thought he heard the man beside her mutter an oath. “What was that, Yardley?”

Yardley rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “I didn't say anything.”

Placing his hand at Agent Campbell's back, Ricky smiled down at her. “Why don't we go inside and you can take whatever you need for your investigation.”

As they ascended the steps and walked across the porch, he wasn't at all surprised to hear Yardley close on their heels. The man wasn't going to let the very attractive FBI agent out of his sight.

The only consolation Ricky found in the otherwise intolerable situation was the knowledge that he was frustrating the hell out of Yardley—first by turning on the charm with a lady that Yardley had the hots
for, then showing a willingness to cooperate with her that Ricky had never shown him.

If circumstances had been different, he might have laughed out loud. But there was nothing funny about this latest turn of events. They were focusing too much attention on him, and not looking for the real perpetrator of the gun-smuggling ring. And he was damn tired of waiting around for them to figure it out.

It was time to take some action. As soon as Yardley and his FBI chick left, Ricky had every intention of doing some investigating on his own.

 

Elise looked around the dining room of the Mission Creek Inn as she waited for the kindhearted innkeeper, Mrs. Carter, to seat her. She wouldn't have bothered coming down for dinner, but the last six hours had taken their toll and she needed a break. From the time she'd returned to the inn around noon, she'd holed up in her room, going over pages and pages of computer printouts and adding endless columns of figures on balance sheets.

“Honey, you look like you could use some good old-fashioned home cookin',” Mrs. Carter said, motioning for Elise to follow. “How does a chicken-fried steak, red-eye gravy, a big old heap of mashed potatoes and some sourdough bread with homemade butter sound?”

“Fattening,” Elise murmured. To the grandmotherly Mrs. Carter, she said, “I'm really not that hungry.”

“Nonsense,” the woman said, pointing to a table with a red-checkered tablecloth. “You have a seat there and I'll fix you right up.”

Elise started to protest that she'd prefer a salad, but one look at the woman's face and she knew it would be pointless to argue. Some women were just the mothering type. Mrs. Carter was one of them.

Resigned to having to run an extra mile the next morning in order to work off the extra calories, she nodded. “That will be fine, Mrs. Carter.”

Apparently satisfied that she'd get to feed Elise, Mrs. Carter started to walk toward the kitchen, then turned back. “I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to seat another guest at your table this evening.”

Looking around, Elise frowned. There were ten tables in the tiny dining room and only three were being used. “No, I don't mind, Mrs. Carter. But—”

“Oh, there's your dinner partner now,” Mrs. Carter said, bustling off toward the entrance. When she returned, the woman had Caveman Cole in tow. “I think you've met Miss Campbell, haven't you, Mr. Yardley?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Cole answered, looking as confused as Elise felt. “We're acquainted.”

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Carter pointed to the empty chair. “You have a seat and I'll be back in just a minute with your meal.”

As the woman hurried off to the kitchen, Cole looked even more confused. “But I haven't ordered yet.”

Elise shook her head as Cole seated himself across from her. “Don't bother. I tried to tell her that I'd like a salad, but she's bringing me a fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy. And I suspect you'll get the same.”

His deep chuckle sent a tremor coursing through her. “Did you ask her to seat me at your table?”

“Hardly.” Taking a sip of water, she tried to ignore the sudden quickening of her pulse as his knees bumped hers beneath the small table. “Did you ask to sit with me?”

He shook his head. “I think—”

“We're being set up.”

Grinning, he nodded. “I do believe dear Mrs. Carter has a romantic streak.”

“Oh, great. She's not only trying to fatten me up, she's trying to fix me up.”

“And with a caveman, no less,” he added, his charming expression curling her toes.

“Well, I do suppose it could be worse,” she said, unable to stop her own smile.

“Sure it could. I could be a caveman with lousy table manners.” His grin widened as he held out his hands for her inspection. “But, as you can see, my hands are clean. I only dragged my knuckles a couple of times on the way down here for dinner.”

Elise stared at his large hands. They were strong-looking and masculine, with a light sprinkling of dark hair across the backs. How would they feel caressing her bare skin? Touching her as he—

Shocked by her wayward thoughts, she reached for her water glass and took a sip to keep from coughing. Caveman Cole was the very last man she was interested in. He was not only a fellow federal agent, he also had an attitude toward women that she found completely intolerable. But as she stared at him across the rim of her glass, she had to admit that she'd learned something about him in the last couple of
days that she hadn't realized before. Cole Yardley's caveman tendencies didn't stem from a male-superiority complex as she'd first thought. She suspected his opinion concerning female agents not belonging in the field was due to a protectiveness he felt toward women, not because he viewed them as inferior.

“Here you go, kids,” Mrs. Carter said, setting two heaping plates of delicious-smelling food in front of them. “I'll be right back with your loaf of bread, a crock of sweet butter and two glasses of iced tea.”

Thankful that Mrs. Carter had interrupted her disturbing revelation about Cole Yardley, Elise inhaled the rich aroma rising from her plate. “It smells wonderful.”

“Is this the first time you've had Mrs. Carter's cooking?” Cole asked.

Nodding, she placed her red linen napkin in her lap. “Last night I grabbed a package of cheese crackers and a bottle of mineral water and stayed in my room going over the Mercado Trucking accounts. And the night before that, I picked up a pepperoni pizza to bring back to my room. Remember, you helped yourself to some of it.”

He sliced into the steak with his knife. “That's right. It was just before we butted heads.”

“We seem to do that a lot.”

Looking up, he grinned. “Until the other night, it had only been figuratively.”

As they ate the scrumptious food, they talked about his lack of siblings and her two older sisters; his being raised by a single Marine Corps father and her being raised by a single, independent mother.

“What happened to your dad?” Cole asked as he polished off the last bite of his steak.

“He was killed in a car accident when I was six months old.” She smiled sadly. “All I've ever really had are pictures of him and stories that my mother shared. I always wanted a father, but my mother never remarried. She said that he was the love of her life and she refused to settle for less.”

Cole nodded. “That sounds like my dad. Gunny met my mom the summer he finished boot camp. He always said that he took one look and knew that she was the one. They married two weeks later.”

“They didn't know each other very long,” Elise said, wondering how anyone could be sure of something that important so soon after meeting.

“You'd have to know my dad.” Cole chuckled. “Once Gunny decided on something, that was the way it was.”

“Why do you call him Gunny?”

“He was Marine Corps through and through and that's what he preferred. Gunny always said there were two loves in his life—my mom and the corps.” Looking wistful, Cole leaned back in his chair. “After Mom died, Gunny devoted himself to raising me and going wherever the corps sent him.”

“How old were you when—”

“My mom died?” When she nodded, he stared off into space as if trying to remember the woman who had given him life. “I had just turned four. Gunny had received orders to go overseas, so he sent my mom and me to stay with my grandparents on their ranch in Nevada. Mom was helping my grandmother store some things in the attic and fell off a ladder.
She was about two months pregnant at the time. As soon as she started hemorrhaging, my grandparents started for the hospital with her, but the ranch was so far from the nearest town with a doctor, they couldn't get her there in time. She died on the way.”

Elise reached out to cover his hand where it rested on top of the table. “I'm so sorry, Cole. That must have been very hard on you and your father.”

“It wasn't the best of times,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “But having to move every year or so, we had to rely on each other for so much, we worked it out.”

She could tell it hadn't been as easy on him as Cole tried to let on. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze “I can't imagine not living in the same house all of my life. It must have been upsetting to get settled in somewhere, then have to move again.”

“It was pretty tough for a while. Just when I'd start to make friends, Gunny would get orders to move on to another base.” Shrugging, he gave her a noncommittal look. “I finally gave up trying to get acquainted with other kids and occupied myself with learning all about guns and explosives.”