Tag, You're It! (7 page)

In a small-town diner like this, breakfast conversation ought to consist of work, the weather, whose cow had strayed into the wrong pasture, and the stranger in town. Those topwere pretty popular, but one by one every conversation eventually made its way around to the Lost Spaniard, and the talk gave Tag a pretty good idea what the sheriff had meant when he said "wait and see."

No one had the slightest notion where the treasure was, but everyone had a plan to find it. He wasn't shaping up to be the most popular guy in the room, either. It seemed the idea of an outsider finding their treasure made the Castil a bit touchy. By the time Alex showed up at the door he was thinking of her as the only friendly face in the town, even if her expression when she spotted him was a few degrees south of polar.

Tag gestured to the seat across from him, but she looked around, took her time assuring herself there were no other empty places. Even then she remained reluctant, but he could see the moment when hunger got the better of her.

She made her way to his table, dropped her satchel on the bench seat opposite his, and slid in next to it without hesitation or complaint—or greeting for that matter. But he caught the way she scoped out the place again, taking the pulse of the crowd, much like he'd done when he first arrived. She might not be a pro, but she seemed to have an instinct for reading situations. And people.

"Deputy Dawg was right," Tag said to her, "I wouldn't've believed the news would get around this fast if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

Her gaze circled the place again; when it got back to his face she didn't look encouraged. "A lot of these guys are unemployed, and every one of them wants to find the Lost Spaniard for himself. I'd watch my back if I were you."

"I'd rather watch yours."

"My back's not the one with the target on it," she said. "The treasure isn't the only part of the story they've heard."

"Then they know you came into town with me, and they're probably wondering what part you're playing in all this."

They'd kept their voices down, but it didn't do them much good because a man appeared at her shoulder, a man about a hundred years old. Faded blue eyes peered out of a seamed face with so many age spots they'd blended together into a natural suntan. He had a slight palsy, no teeth, and ears big enough to pick up a sneeze in Reykjavik. He stood there, looking at Alex, twisting an ancient hat around in his hands.

"It true you're looking for the Lost Spaniard, Miss Alex?" he asked in a voice that sounded like it had come from someone half his age and twice his strength.

She looked up at him, her expression softening. But not her attitude. "No, Jess," she said.

"Because you'd tell us, right? I know you keep to yourout there, and we understand when somebody wants to be let alone—"

"Not everybody understands that." She looked around the room, a familiar hard light in her eyes. More than one man fidgeted and looked away.

So that was why she carried a gun, Tag thought, and why she didn't trust strange men. It must have been a hell of a culture shock for a woman like her, educated, refined.
Blue blood and old money
.

Something had driven her out here, and not just studying mountain lions. Tag stuck with his first guess that it was a man. And then a couple of the bastards around here had finished the job by deciding to try their luck with a woman on her own seventy-five miles from anyone who gave a damn. And more than one of them looked like they wouldn't take no for an answer—if they even bothered to ask. That thought almost took him out of his chair, his hands clenching with the urge to beat somebody to a bloody pulp.

He stopped himself, regulated his breathing, and unknot his muscles one by one. He didn't waste a minute delibover the emotion burning through him, either. He'd learned a long time ago that emotion was dangerous. All emotion. He wanted Alex, even bruised and groggy he'd wanted her. But that was lust and lust could be dealt with. What he felt when he looked at her now was respect. Respect was acceptable, and in this case it would also make his life a hell of a lot easier. She could take care of herself, so he wouldn't have to waste time watching out for her.

That would make up for the time he'd need to spend convincing her.

He checked back in to her conversation with Jess, figuring he hadn't missed anything since they were talking about someone named Maudey, who needed braces and wanted to be a zoologist, just like Alex.

"He thinks the treasure can help him put his granddaughter through college," Alex said after Jess shuffled off. "The treasure could help a lot of people in this town. If it was ever found."

"You still don't believe it will be."

"If it is, it probably won't be anybody from Casteel. Matt's right about news traveling fast," she said. "Most of the people in here are local, but the ones waiting in line outside aren't. They're drifters, itinerant cowboys, opportunists. They won't waste the effort of looking for the treabut they're more than willing to take advantage of the nutcases who will."

The nutcases, Tag decided, were the ones approaching Alex. They came to the table in ones or twos, to ask her about the Lost Spaniard.

Tag recovered his coffee and sat back, feeling pretty smug until Alex stood up, raised her hands, and said into the sudden hush, "I don't know anything about the Lost Spaniard, and I don't want anything to do with it."

"C'mon, Alex," somebody called out, "Trankey said you and that fella you're with was talking about some new clue—"

She stood up again, meeting the speaker's eyes, then doing a slow visual survey of the room. "This fella is Tag Donovan. Neither of us has eaten or slept in thirty-six hours. We'd appreciate being left alone to have our breakfast—if we can ever order it," she added, glancing at the counter where the lone waitress stood glaring at her, arms crossed. "After that, feel free to ask him your questions." More grum"Or maybe you'd like him to announce what he knows to the room at large."

That did it. The crowd went completely silent. Then the whispering began, people huddled together over their tables, wanting to pick Tag's brain but not in front of everyelse. Alex knew it was only a matter of time before someone worked up the gumption to approach him. The waitress broke the ice by sashaying over, steaming coffeepot in one hand, order pad in the other.

"I'll have a ham and cheese omelet, hash browns, wheat toast, and orange juice," Alex said before she could ask Tag what he wanted, "and coffee."

The waitress gave her a dirty look, so Alex stood up and yelled her order to the cook. She looked at Tag, he shrugged, and she added, "make that two of everything," then sat down, pulling Tag's freshly refilled coffee over in front of her.

"Let me guess," he said as the waitress flounced off, "that's Annabelle, the sheriff's new girlfriend."

"You're smarter than you look."

"I generally like conversation with my meals, but if you're going to be nasty…"

Alex smiled and tipped her head toward the line that was forming. "I don't think you're going to lack for conversation."

Tag retrieved his coffee cup. "I don't know if you can call it a conversation when I'm expected to do all the talking."

"Don't worry, they'll be asking questions. Lots of questions."

"I have a feeling there's going to be a common theme."

Alex laughed. It was almost worth the ordeal ahead to see her guard drop. Almost.

"I don't suppose there's any chance they'll believe me if I deny it," Tag wondered. "It's just a rumor anyway."

"Rumors are gospel in this town," Alex said, waiting until Annabelle set their plates on the table with a cranky litsnap and walked away before she continued.

"That leaves me with two choices, misdirection or silence."

"Lie," Alex said. "You're good at that."

"Thanks. What do you suggest I tell them?"

"You'll figure it out," she said around a bite of omelet. "You seem to be very resourceful."

Okay, she was challenging him to handle this without her running interference. It should have ticked him off, but he was still smiling. "I'm sure you understand why I'm keeping what I know to myself," he said loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Alex's gaze lifted from her plate, her eyes narrowing on his face.

"I will tell you that I'm hoping Alex will be my guide," Tag finished.

"Her?" one old man scoffed. "She's from Boston." Which might as well be Mars, judging by his tone. "Hell, Harp Santiago knows these valleys like the back of his hand."

"Really?" Tag said. "Where can I find Mr. Santiago?"

"In the cemetery," someone called out, and the whole restaurant erupted in laughter.

Tag joined in, but he was thinking, great, I finally found people who don't laugh about the treasure and they're all as crazy as a three-dollar bill. And apparently he was one of them. It didn't say much for his chances of success. "Anyone else who could help?"

Names were called out, but those who were present in the diner immediately supplied a reason they couldn't guide Tag. Some of the reasons were pretty lame, and as people realized they'd gotten all they were going to get out of him, they began to leave.

"I guess it's you as my guide or no one," Tag said to Alex.

She pushed her empty plate aside and drank some more of his coffee. "You know all those people who couldn't guide you?" she said. "They're going out to look for the treasure themselves. Within a week the hills and valleys around here will be so crowded they'll be tripping over each other. They'll all be carrying guns, and some of these people shouldn't have passed the three-day waiting period to own one. They're harmless most of the time, but I wouldn't want to be wandering around with armed men all over the place."

"You think they're going to shoot at me?"

"I think they're likely to hit you. Hunting accidents happen all the time."

Tag thought about that, and while he was mulling, Matt came in and stopped at their table.

"Is it as bad as we thought it would be?" he wanted to know.

"Worse," Alex said. "A lot of these guys are from out of town."

"I was kind of hoping the people around here would keep this to themselves."

"Word got out a lot sooner than you expected."

"Yeah." Matt gave Tag a hard, warning look, and wandered off to the counter. Annabelle was there almost before he got his butt on the stool, pouring him coffee and batting her eyes.

"Isn't he going to do anything about these lunatics?" Tag asked.

Alex shook her head. "From what I understand this happens about every ten years and blows over in a few months. Your best bet is to wait it out."

Except he didn't have a few months, Tag thought. He had to figure out what was going on. In order to do that he needed Alex's cooperation, and she was still refusing to come on board. Things could probably get worse, but he didn't see how.

"There's some sort of commotion outside." Alex stood up so she could see out the windows.

Tag retrieved his coffee and racked his brain for a way around the dead end.

"Looks like more newcomers," Alex said, "in black SUVs. And the guy in charge is really… short."

She headed for the door. Tag kept his seat. The dead end had just grown another wall. Shit.

BY THE TIME THEY GOT OUTSIDE, A HUMMER, A Land Rover, and a Jeep were parked in the middle of the street. All three of the vehicles were shiny, unadorned black, and all were equipped with tire chains. The rear license plate on the Hummer read "Eureka 1" Alex figured the others were "2" and "3," since the overall theme was "private army" and armies generally encouraged uniformity.

The Hummer was dragging the kind of trailer workers used to transport a lot of tools, shiny black and completely enclosed. Keeping its own secrets. The Land Rover and the Jeep were keeping their secrets, too, the drivers staying inside, behind dark tinted windows.

The Hummer driver was standing on his running board, one hand on the open door, the other on his hip, surveying his surroundings like Bluebeard on the poop deck of his pirate ship. Hilary atop Mount Everest. Pee Wee Herman in his playhouse.

His head barely reached the top of the Hummer's winand Alex caught herself craning her neck to see if he used a booster seat. She was having a hard time taking him seriously, but she was the only one holding back her merriment. The rest of the crowd was speechless—which was saying something in Casteel—huddled together like a herd of wildebeests sharing their water hole with a leopard.

Alex was puzzled about the fear until she looked into his hard black eyes, and then she understood. Cold was the word that came to mind, along with unfeeling, cruel. Ruthless.

He peeled off a pair of leather driving gloves, one finger at a time, and took off his Ray-Bans to look around the town, ending with a slow and disdainful perusal of the people crowded along the sidewalk. They recoiled like basefans doing a reverse wave. Since Alex and Tag had chosen to remain by the diner's door, the disdain passed them by. Alex still couldn't suppress the sudden urge for a shower.

"What's he compensating for?" she asked Tag from behind her hand.

"Nothing," Tag said, "the guy is good at what he does."

"What does he do?"

"He finds things for people."

"Sounds like you know him."

"Mercenary," Tag said grimly. "I ran across him a few years back." Tag had been undercover working for one side of a mob turf war, the Hummer driver, at his mercenary finest, on the other. Tag could have said a lot of things about the guy—all of them bad—but he had great instincts, great enough that somehow he'd smelled the end coming and had gotten out before it came down to handcuffs and mug shots. Good for Tag, since his FBI affiliation hadn't been discovered. Bad because a criminal was free to roam the world doing anything he wanted, for anyone. And apparently he held a grudge. "Name's Pierre Phillipe Francois Dussaud II."

"Nooooo," Alex said. "The second? As in junior?"

One corner of Tag's mouth quirked up but his eyes stayed on the Hummer driver. "I wouldn't say that within earshot."

"His name is bigger than he is."

"So's his ego. From what I hear, he lives up to all your expectations of men."

"He's not the only one."

Tag grinned at that. "I have some surprises left."

"I'll take your word for it." She would have walked away, but things had started to get interesting. Just because she enjoyed her own company so much didn't mean she couldn't appreciate what other people got up to.

"We are looking for the Lost Spaniard treasure," Junior announced in a pronounced French lisp. "We would be grateful for any help that can be provided, and then if you would kindly keep out of our way, we would be most appreciative."

"Does that usually work for him?" Alex wondered.

"I don't know, but I'm not impressed," Tag said.

He wasn't the only one. It started with one lone voice Alex didn't immediately recognize, probably Jess or one of his cronies. The voice sounded old, and the tone of it was senior-citizen-with-a-right-to-know. The effect on the crowd was the Little Dutch Boy pulling his finger out of the dike.

Junior was peppered with questions. The crowd surged forward in a mad panic to establish a pecking order, threatening to flatten him against the side of his vehicle. Death by Hummer. Hummercide.

"What are you grinning about?" Tag asked her.

"Nothing." But she kept grinning. It was the only entertainment she was likely to get, because the intended victim lifted a hand and crooked a finger.

The Land Rover and the Jeep vomited out a passel of black-clad knuckle-draggers who locked arms and shoved everyone back so there was an island of personal space big enough for the Hulk.

The crowd subsided verbally, too, relegated to threatening looks and angry mutterings, and subjected to some pretty fierce body odor, judging by the grimaces of the people in armpit proximity.

Junior looked down his nose at everyone, very French aristocrat. Then he caught sight of Tag. And he smiled.

"That's not a nice smile" Alex said, apparently too loudly.

Junior shifted his gaze to her, held her eyes long enough to give her the creeps, then went back to supervising crowd intimidation.

"Is that sulfur I'm smelling?" she asked.

"He's small, but potent," Tag said. "Not somebody you want to mess with."

"There's no love lost for you, either."

"He considers me competition."

"What do you consider him?"

"A loose cannon. And a pain in the ass." A dangerous one, but Tag could see she'd already figured that out. What she hadn't clued in to was the possibility she was in Dus sights right along with him.

"A loose cannon and a pain in the ass. That sounds like something you'd say about me," Alex observed. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you have."

"Not yet. I was saving those for the next time you ticked me off."

"I wouldn't want you to overwork your vocabulary," she said. "I think you're going to need all the words you can come up with, and maybe a few weapons, to deal with Junior."

Tag didn't have a response for that. She was in the same boat, but telling her that wouldn't do him any good. She was more the actions-speak-louder-than-words kind of woman, a philosophy that, if she wasn't careful, might get her killed.

"I'm going to my room, and I intend to sleep for about a week," Alex said. "Hopefully when I wake up this will all be over," she pushed away from the wall where she'd been leaning next to Tag, adding for his benefit, "and you'll all be gone."

The crowd had begun to thin out, Junior apparently having grown tired of flexing his hired muscle for the benefit of the entire town. Unfortunately, he'd decided on a private showing. Alex's forward momentum ground to a halt behind what she thought was a pedestrian traffic jam. Turned out the obstruction was one of Junior's flunkies. The people in front of her went either way around him. Alex tried to do the same, but he shifted to block her. Not so much an obstruction as a brick wall with an IQ just high enough for him to follow orders. And the orders were to keep her from leaving.

"Mademoiselle Scott."

She turned, but not toward the voice. She knew who the voice belonged to, but she was looking for Tag. She found him standing where she'd left him, leaning a shoulder against the diner wall. Watching.

Alex squashed her irritation. She wanted him to leave her alone, and he was leaving her alone. Even when it wasn't convenient for her.

Three more of Junior's flunkies lined up with the first one, and she thought maybe it would be in her best interest to deal with Junior now and Tag later. If there was a later. "
C'est dommage"
she said, shifting her attention sideways—and down—to Junior.

"What is a pity?" Junior asked.

She looked over her shoulder at the no-neck brigade.

"You mistake me, Miss Scott. I feared you would not want to talk with me, and I am right,
nest-Cephas pas
? I wished only for a chance to… how do you say, talk my piece."

"You could have asked."

"You would not have listened." Dussaud looked over at Tag.

He straightened away from the building—he stayed where he was, but something dangerous came over his face, and it wasn't aimed at her. These two were definitely communicating, Alex thought; there was a whole subtext she wasn't clued in to. And didn't want to be, she assured herself. In fact, the subtext ticked her off. It was bad enough to be dragged halfway into some stupid treasure hunt, but add in a couple of alpha males intent on butting heads, and she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

This time, when she tried to walk away, Dussaud was the only one who stopped her, with a hand on her arm.

"I really do not mean you any harm, Miss Scott."

She brushed his hand off. "How do you know my name anyway?"

"I make it my business to know as much about a predicament as I can, before I go into it."

"I'm not a predicament."

"I have a feeling you will be. If you continue to keep company with Monsieur Donovan."

"Your feeling is wrong this time," Alex said. "I'm not going after the Lost Spaniard," her gaze swiveled to Tag, "no matter what you hear."

Dussaud gave Tag a long, disdainful look. "Mr. Donovan can be very persuasive, especially where the ladies are concerned."

Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not a lady." She attempted to leave, but it was hard to make a classy exit when you couldn't actually exit. She tried to stare down the goon in front of her. His lip curled and he sort of growled at her—very junkyard dog, trained to mindlessly guard his territory, considered eye contact a challenge, possibly rabid.

"Do you really think you could leave if I preferred you to stay?" Junior asked her, the French accent making the question condescending. Even at his most irritating, Tag had never talked down to her. It would have been a point in his favor, if she'd ever intended to subject herself to his good points again, let alone the bad ones.

"Do you really think it's macho to turn three hundred pounds of muscle—three-ten with his head—loose on a woman less than half his size?" she said to Junior.

"I have a feeling you can take care of yourself, Miss Scott."

"Damn right she can," someone in the crowd called out. "Drive his gonads up into his armpits, Alex."

She was still staring at the flunky, so she raised an eyebrow. He hunched automatically, but she had to give him credit; he didn't budge. He looked at his boss, and after another minute of torture, Junior the control freak inclined his head and let his hireling step aside.

Alex started to walk past him, but there was something she really needed to know. "Tell me you're not the one who burned down my cabin," she said turning back to Junior.

"
Mais non
. Of course not." He even seemed genuinely surprised. "In fact, I had hoped I might convince you to work with me."

"No."

"I will pay you, of course. I will even give you some of the money up front. You will be able to rebuild your cabin and return to your studies."

"I have insurance."

"That will take time. With my help, you could order the things you require, and by the time our search is over everything will be in readiness." He spread his hands, all benevolence. "I will even leave one of my men here to put things in order for you."

Alex perused the choice of potential worker bees and concluded they didn't have one good brain between them. "Tempting, but I have a feeling traveling with you would be detrimental to my health."

Junior took a moment to digest that, not happy about being refused but doing his best to play along. Clearly it wasn't an easy task for him, which made Alex wonder why he was making the effort. She might have asked if she'd thought it would ever matter.

"I am sorry you feel that way," he said after a moment. "If you change your mind…" He held out a card.

Alex shrugged and took it, tucking it in her pocket without looking at it. "We won't be crossing paths again," she said.

"In a town this small, Miss Scott, we can hardly avoid it."

THERE WERE SOME PEOPLE WHO WERE BETTER OFF alone. Alexandra Scott was one of them. It wasn't that she didn't like people as a rule, and it wasn't that they didn't like her. It was the disappointment.

Alex had grown up in Boston, where blood was blue, money was old, and those who had both stuck together like a big, inbred dysfunctional family. Alex had tried to fit in. She'd never quite managed it, swallowing her disappointment when she begged to go to science camp but instead was enrolled in finishing school in hopes she could be pressed into the vapid, mall-haunting, socialite-in-training mold. Breeding would tell, her mother insisted, then set out to prove it. No matter what it took.

It turned out her mother was right. Unfortunately the only thing Alex had inherited was the knack for disappointment, beginning with the four years she'd spent in a tiny sub-Ivy League dorm room with three red-blooded, nonmonied roommates, and ending with a bachelor's degree in the history of American settlement on the indigenous animal species of the West, then a PhD in zoology, and finally a grant to study mountain lions and a one-way ticket out of Boston.

Okay, so there'd been a detour, a major detour. She'd been young and she'd wanted to please her mother. One thing had led to another, and she'd actually wound up engaged. That had been a mistake, or rather he'd been a mistake. And a liar and a cheat and a minuscule excuse for a human being. But she'd fixed that, and come out the other end with a rock-solid determination to never again let other people's expectations dictate her life to her.