Tag, You're It! (19 page)

"But not all of them."

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

Tag looked over his shoulder and sighed. "I'll go off and plant misdirection. What are you going to do?"

"I'll get the supplies."

"I have the money," Tag reminded her.

"You heard Matt, the merchants around here are scalping."

"But they won't overcharge you?"

"When this thing is over, we all have to live in this town together. I have a better chance of getting them down to reasonable prices than you do. Besides, I know what to buy and how much we'll need." Alex held out her hand. "And I don't have much time before the stores close."

Tag reached into his front pocket and pulled out the wad of cash Harper's goons had given him when they took his wallet on the plane. He was careful to keep his back to the crowd so no one got the idea of making a fast killing. Literally.

He handed about half to Alex; she stuffed it in her pocket and held her hand out again. Tag gave her about half of what he had left, shaking his head and muttering, "Women."

"You should say that with a little more gratitude," Alex said. "Without women you wouldn't get away with half the stuff you pull."

"Present company excepted."

"Unfortunately," Alex muttered as she walked away, "that remains to be seen."

"YOU'RE LATE."

Pierre Dussaud plucked a paper napkin from the table-top dispenser and fastidiously wiped the chair across from Tag before taking a seat. "In Europe, we understand the imof making a fashionable entrance. We also consider it unforgivable to go where one is not invited."

Tag rolled his right shoulder, reassured to feel his pack slung over the back of his chair. He'd chosen a corner table in the diner, and taken the side that put his back to the wall, but there was something about Dussaud that made him wish he had eyes in the back of his head.

It might be seen as a less than intelligent decision to bring the map to a meeting with the man he'd liberated it from, but there really hadn't been any other choice. Alex was already a target, and the only other potential safe harbor in town was the sheriff, hardly the best person to entrust with stolen property. "I hear you go where you're not wanted plenty."

Pierre waved that off. "Rumor, innuendo. If there was at any time proof that I had done as I was accused, I would be in prison."

"I could say the same." Tag kept his voice down. He'd needed some place neutral to meet with Junior, a public place where it wouldn't matter if he had backup because Junior and his goons couldn't pull anything in front of witnesses. The downside? Word of the summit between the two top treasure hunters was bound to get out in no time flat; everyone in town would flock there, including Alex. What Tag had to say to Junior, however, wasn't going to take that long. "Why didn't you go to the sheriff?"

"I do not need a… a country
gendarme
to handle my problems."

"That sounds like a threat."

"It was intended as such."

"I guess that means there's no hope we can find some common ground—other than the fact that we're both workfor Bennet Harper."

"
Pour quoi
? Who is this man… Harper?"

Tag didn't move a muscle, but his mind was racing, and the headline was Pierre, telling the truth. Dussaud might delude himself that he played his cards close to his chest, but a man who traveled with five enforcers really didn't need to cultivate a poker face.

So who was he working for?

"Clearly, this is a surprise for you."

"I'll get over it," Tag said.

"Will you?" Pierre looked around the diner.

Tag didn't need to do the same to catch his meaning; he already knew two of Pierre's goons were in there with them, and two more were outside. The fifth was awol, probably lying in wait for him. Or Alex. Tag hoped to hell she was staying in plain sight, that she hadn't found a way to ditch the crowd following her around, and that Matt was anal enough to keep an eye on her, like Tag had counted on him to do.

"The map," Pierre said. "I want it back."

Tag's gaze swiveled back to him. "Tell me who hired you."

"I think not. I was instructed to keep that information private."

"I never took you for a bootlicker."

He could all but hear Junior's teeth grinding, but he didn't take the bait.

"So this guy who hired you," Tag said, "is he going to understand that you kept his name a secret at the cost of finding the Lost Spaniard?"

Pierre shrugged, very continental, totally unconvincing.

"I guess you could use that line about how it's fashionto be late in Europe."

"The map for information?" Pierre fired back. "You must want this man's name very badly."

"About as much as you hate coming in second."

Pierre made a purely Gallic, purely derisive sound in the back of this throat. "Do not offer a bribe you are not prepared to pay, Donovan. And do not make the mistake of counting me out so quickly. I had the map in my possesfor some time. I have already managed to re-create a good portion of it from memory. And let us not forget that ownership can change hands with very little notice."

"You don't think I'd be stupid enough to carry it on me."

"I think you would be stupid enough to care about your partner."

"Alex is perfectly safe."

"For the moment."

"I think we're done with each other," Tag said.

"No, Monsieur Donovan, we are not." But Pierre pushed away from the table and walked out, his goons following along behind him like the trained apes they were.

Tag stayed put and finished his coffee. On the surface it might seem he hadn't learned very much. Truth was, the only hard fact he'd come away with was that Junior hadn't been hired by Bennet Harper.

Junior was afraid of whoever had hired him, though, afraid enough to keep the man's identity a secret, even after he'd been insulted. It didn't follow that it was one of Harper's investors, or that it was the same investor who "knew how to deal with law enforcement." But it was a hell of a coincidence otherwise, and Tag didn't believe in coincidences.

Besides, why else would Harper make it look like he'd hired Junior, unless he was scared of whoever had?

Tag stood, dragged a bill out of his pocket, and dropped it on the table, angry and frustrated. This case was supto be child's play, but he was tired of taking baby steps.

He fought his way across town to the Casteeley Inn and went straight to the bar. Alex had suggested he find a woman and slip in some bogus treasure hunting tips among the flirtand flattering. That was too risky; he might stumble on a woman who wasn't prone to gossip, probably a long shot in this town—or the solar system for that matter. The way his luck was running, it was more likely he'd choose a woman who wanted to keep her inside information to herself. Not only would that be a waste of his talents, it wouldn't get them anywhere.

If he was going to sow the seeds of misdirection, he needed the most fertile ground possible. For his money, that spelled bartender. Since the bartender also owned the inn, he was likely one of the few people in Casteel who wouldn't be going after the treasure personally. Why would he when he was making a fortune selling cheap booze and basic rooms at five star prices?

From what little Tag gathered in the few minutes he had to observe before the man took his order, Hooker—that was his name—wasn't very discriminating about what he repeated, or to whom. Tag ordered Bushmills, straight up, double, putting enough of a slur in his voice so it would appear he'd gotten a head start before he walked into the inn. And he pretended not to notice when Hooker substituted something that only resembled Irish whiskey because it was brown and wet.

It was no surprise when Hooker started asking quesor when the nearest barflies inched closer so they could hear the answers. And it was pathetically easy to pretend he thought his answers were clever while at the same time appearing to be confused about what lies he'd told. After about a half hour he wobbled his way to the door, betting himself that the word would make it up one side of the street and down the other before he'd walked the four blocks to the stable.

Unfortunately that meant he had to continue pretending to be drunk. He stumbled through the big stable doorway, laughing his ass off at all the hicks who'd bought his act— and then he was grabbed from behind. There were two men. One ripped the pack off his shoulder, and both of them dragged his arms back. He fought to get free, knowing it was hopeless. But before darkness closed in, he had a split second to congratulate himself on one more accomplishment; coming back to Casteel had been about smoking the cockroaches out of the woodwork.

It looked like he'd been successful.

ALEX PICKED UP MOST OF WHAT SHE AND TAG would need in the way of nonperishables. A tarp for tentif the weather turned bad, bedrolls—two—a coffeepot, a fire grate, a couple of pans, water purification tablets. Picks and shovels. Each time she made a purchase a few more people would be convinced she was actually leaving town and her entourage would shrink, competitors going off to make their preparations. That was a nice side benefit, but she was pretty proud of the fact that she hadn't overpaid— much—for anything.

She'd already dumped her supplies at the stable, and she was at the market waiting for her order to be filled when she decided to call her mother. It wasn't exactly a sudden decision. There'd been moments of guilt over the past five days, and moments of dread. She'd been pretty abrupt to her mother on the phone; Cassandra hadn't called back, but even a thousand miles away Alex could feel her stewing, and that was never good.

She stepped outside, looking for privacy and spotting Matt instead, for the third time. Keeping an eye on her, she figured, and waved to him. He waved back and turned away, pretending it was just a coincidence that he hadn't been more than a half block away from her since she'd left his office. Good old dependable Matt. Why couldn't she fall for someone like him, she wondered? Someone sweet and steady and predictable, who'd be home for dinner every night, never forget her birthday. Someone who thought of her before he thought of himself?

Because she was an idiot, the kind of idiot who went for jerks like Bennet Harper. And Tag Donovan. Okay, she didn't want to label Tag a jerk, but she couldn't deny there were similarities between the two men. They both lied, for one thing, and that was a pretty big thing. But there was also a major difference; she'd stepped into this relationship with Tag Donovan eyes wide open. He wasn't feeding her any garbage about commitments, and he wasn't going after her family. But he wasn't telling her everything, either, and she knew firsthand that ignorance might be bliss, but it also added a layer of foolishness to the hurt and betrayal that would come along with the truth.

Yet here she stood making excuses for him, trying to put him in the best light. If that didn't spell trouble, she needed a new dictionary. With a sigh she dug the satellite phone out of her satchel and dialed her mother, the queen of giving men the benefit of the doubt.

One of the household staff answered, of course, and went to fetch her mother—apparently in Antarctica since it took a while for Cassandra to answer, and when she came on the line the temperature seemed to drop fifteen degrees.

"Alexandra, how lovely of you to call."

Alex rolled her eyes. "If I apologize now, will you stop talking to me like that?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"The battery on the phone isn't going to last long enough for you to get a guilt fix, Mother."

"Oh, all right then," Cassandra said. "I can never stay angry with you anyway, darling, but I must say it was cruel of you not to call me back and tell me your cabin burned down. I was positively sick with worry."

"How do you know my cabin burned down?"

Silence.

"Battery, Mom."

Cassandra heaved a windy sigh. "Bennet called me."

Alex didn't say anything for a full thirty seconds. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out.

"Battery, darling."

"How does Bennet know my cabin burned down?"

"He calls every now and then to find out how you're doing," Cassandra said in her fiddle-de-dee voice, like she'd admitted to cheating on her diet. "I told him about our conversation the other day, and he knew how worried I was so he made some calls. It was very sweet of him."

"He calls every now and then?" Alex repeated slowly. "And you talk to him?"

"Alexandra…"

"After what he did?"

"Oh, well now, that was just business, darling. And he's really very sorry about it, you know. He apologizes to me each time we speak."

"Mother!"

"He thinks it's his fault you ran off to that godforsaken place," Cassandra plowed on.

"I didn't run anywhere, I went to college," Alex said through clenched teeth, "and I have a feeling if God was to forsake any place it would be wherever Bennet Harper was."

"You wouldn't say that if you didn't still care."

"You're right, Mom. I care that he's still butting into my life. All I want is to be left alone, and you should feel the same way. He tried to rob you and Preston blind."

"Nonsense. Your stepfather lost very little money, what with the tax deduction. And you ruined Bennet for it."

"I didn't ruin him. I broke our engagement—"

"You know how class-conscious people are, Alexandra. Bennet was cut from our social circle—"

"Not because of me. You swept the reasons for our breakup so far under the carpet the dust mites had trouble finding them."

"I saw no point in making a spectacle of ourselves…"

Alex tuned her out. She could recite the rest of the argument from memory—not airing dirty laundry, putting on a brave face, keeping up appearances—Cassandra had enough platitudes to keep even Tag-Donovan happy, and there was nothing worse in her book than giving her friends fodder for gossip.

Beep.

"What, darling?"

Alex checked the readout. "The phone is going dead."

"If talking to me is such a trial, I suggest you hang up," Cassandra said irritably.

"The phone is really going dead."

"Oh."

"I don't want to argue, Mom. I just called to let you know I'm all right."

The grocer poked his head out the door and said, "Your order's ready, Alex."

She nodded and looked around for Matt. If he was going to follow her around anyway, he might as well play pack mule. But he was busting up a fight between two of her faithful followers. She watched him grab the combatby the back of their shirt collars and quick-step them off in the direction of the sheriff's office. So she covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said to the grocer, "Can you pack it for horseback and send it to the stable?"

He nodded and ducked back inside.

Alex checked back into the phone conversation and disthat her mother was relaying the latest about Muffy Van Amstettler's face-lift. And the phone beeped at her again.

"Mom," she said, "I have to go. I'll call you again when I can."

"All right, then. Good-bye, Alexan—"

The phone died. Alex made a mental note to charge it at the stable and went inside to pay for her supplies, coming out the front door just as they went out the back. She was only a few steps behind the delivery boy, and for once she was alone, her small entourage having been lured away by the prospect of a fistfight.

"Leave the packs there." She pointed to a spot just inside the stable door, handed the delivery boy a five, and waved off his thanks. It was Tag's money, and Jackass was making a ruckus inside.

Somebody was messing with him, was her first thought. Trying to get him drunk again. Or worse. She didn't think twice, picking up a shovel and heading back to his stall.

She didn't get ten feet before the shovel was torn from her hands, her arms were pinned from behind, and something that felt like burlap and smelled like manure was tied over her eyes.

Jackass was still kicking at his stall. Now that her eyes were out of commission her ears were all she had left, and in between blows she thought she heard someone groaning. And she was helpless. She hated helpless. But at least her brain was still working, and if she could convince her attackers not to knock her out maybe she could find a way out of whatever she was being dragged into now.

Jackass let out an equine scream, rage or pain, and there went any hope of staying calm and using her brain. Her feet were so much more satisfying. She lashed out, twisting and fighting to free her arms.

"No you don't," her captor said. "I ain't getting kicked again."

Alex went still. "Franky?"

"Christ, Franky, can't you ever keep your mouth shut?"

"And Mick." Absurdly that made her feel better. They hadn't wanted to hurt her before; she doubted they would this time, especially since she hadn't kicked anyone in the balls. Yet. "I should have known."

"We're real happy to see you, too."

Alex's voice had quieted Jackass for a few seconds; as soon as Mick spoke he started to make noise again.

"He'll have the whole town in here if we don't shut him up," Mick said.

Alex didn't like the tone of his voice. "If you let me go to him, he'll be okay."

"No."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"We're taking you for a guide."

"Then I'll need a horse."

There was a whispered exchange, one of them swore, and she heard the cock of a gun.

"You shoot him and I won't cooperate."

"Fine," Mick said. "You cooperate or we shoot him."

She clenched her jaw, but she nodded. The blindfold came off, and she saw Franky jump back. That would have been pretty satisfying, not to mention amusing, if she hadn't seen Tag slumped against Jackass's stall. He wasn't blindfolded, but his hands were tied and he didn't look too good. Nobody was holding a gun on him, so Alex figured he'd come out the worse in whatever confrontation had ocbefore she arrived. Knowing Mick and Franky's affection for surprise attacks, probably they'd hit him over the head. "Are you all right, Tag?" she asked, clamping down on another surge of violent tendencies.

"Yeah," he said, sounding a bit groggy and definitely in pain. He still had to be a smart ass. "I tried to tell them you're nothing but trouble, but their minds are made up."

"What minds?"

Franky took a step forward, but Mick stuck his arm out and stopped him. "The boss wants you two looking for the treasure."

"The boss?" Alex asked.

"You just do what we tell you and everything will be fine."

"You're going to ride horses?" Alex looked them over, shaking her head. "It takes more than a pair of cowboy boots and some brand new Levi's to get along in this country."

"We aren't doing nothing but following the two of you around until you find the treasure."

"Right." Like she was going to lead them anywhere near the Lost Spaniard—not that she knew where it was, but she wasn't taking Frick and Frack out to the middle of nowhere, digging a bunch of nice, convenient holes, and ending up in one of them when they got tired of the search. "What are you going to eat and drink?" she asked them. "Where are you sleeping?"

"We'll use your stuff," Franky said.

"No you won't," Alex told him. "There's only enough for two, and we're not sharing."

"We've got guns."

"If you shoot us, your boss will probably be unhappy."

"She's got us there, Mick."

"Stop thinking," Mick said to Franky. "We got some stuff. We'll make do."

Alex crossed her arms. "You can force me to be out here, but I won't look for the treasure."

"Then—"

"Then what? You'll kill me?"

They traded a look.

"We do this my way or not at all," she said.

"If I were you, I'd listen to her," Tag put in.

"Nobody asked you," Franky said.

"Fine, but she can out-stubborn a mule, and if you have any patience left when she's through with you that animal of hers will use it up. If you want to get out of here some time this week, and without the entire town on your ass, you'll do what she wants."

"Thanks," Alex said to Tag.

"Just trying to help."

"I can see that."

"What? They hit me over the head, and all this arguing is making my headache worse."

"So you're taking their side?"

"They have the guns. I was trying to save time."

"Nice to know what your priorities are."

IN THE END IT WAS A COMPROMISE. ALEX AND TAG retained ownership of their supplies. Mick and Franky kept the guns, including Alex's Winchester and Tag's Ruger.

Tag's misdirection seemed to have worked, or maybe anyone watching for him and Alex wouldn't expect a party of four leaving in the middle of the night. Franky made a point of telling them how many people had cleared out of Tent City while they were waiting for Alex to show up at the stable, and then he went over and stole as much as he could carry. He was sadly misguided when it came to what would be useful where they were going. Alex didn't see how it would help her to set him straight.

And the fun didn't end there. Mick wasn't happy about being on horseback. Neither was Tag.

Franky
really
wasn't happy. 'The only good horse is under the hood of a gas-guzzling American car," he grumbled. "Preferably one made in the eighties."

"The kind that gets about six miles to the gallon?" Alex scoffed.

"The kind with a nice big trunk to carry around mouthy, obnoxious broads."

"Jackass has never complained, and he travels on grass and water. Those are free."