Showdown in West Texas Read online

  He didn’t know her name, but he had a pretty good idea where she lived. Walsh had said he was on his way to Jericho Pass to see a man about a job.

  Cage drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. So what should he do?

  Just get to El Paso and figure out the rest when you arrive. Only thing you can do. This isn’t your problem.

  Besides, Walsh could have been lying about Jericho Pass. Would a hit man really be so brazen about his destination?

  Maybe, if he hadn’t planned on Cage outliving him.

  Earlier, Cage had put the Caddy’s top up because it made him feel less exposed. Now he turned on the radio, hoping some music would take his mind off that photograph.

  But it was hard to get a woman like that out of his head. Whoever she was, she was a damn fine-looking woman. Not that appearances mattered, but Cage couldn’t help admiring all that black glossy hair, those shiny full lips. And her eyes. Man, he’d always been a sucker for dark, soulful eyes.

  And someone wanted her dead. Ten-thousand-dollars-worth of dead.

  When Cage finally saw the exit for Jericho Pass, he wondered if it was an omen, good or bad, that the song playing on the radio was ELO’s “Showdown.”

  BY THE TIME CAGE LOCATED the sheriff’s office, he’d formulated a new plan. He’d leave the briefcase and everything inside—the guns, money and photograph—in a prominent spot at the station, along with a note that he’d already composed in his head.

  There’s a photograph of a woman inside this briefcase. Someone hired a hit man to kill her. He’s dead, but they might send someone else. Better find her and warn her ASAP.

  Cage was still a cop at heart, so leaving a note and then slipping away like a thief in the night went against his grain.

  But he didn’t know how else to handle the situation. He couldn’t afford to show his face inside a police station, let alone be interrogated by whoever happened to be on duty. He knew how that would work. He’d face a barrage of questions he mostly couldn’t answer and then they’d throw him in a holding cell until they could check out his story.

  And once they ran his prints and started making official inquiries…good night, Irene. The dirtbags from San Miguel would know exactly where to find him.

  So, the warning had to be issued anonymously. There was just no way around it that he could see.

  Besides, he didn’t know anything more than what he’d tell them in the note. His message, along with the guns, money and the note that spelled out the transaction should be enough to convince the authorities that the woman in the photograph was in imminent danger.

  After he scribbled the warning on the back of a receipt he’d dug out of the glove box, Cage got out of the car, opened the trunk and grabbed the briefcase.

  The parking lot in front of the one-story brick station was nearly empty. This time of night, he’d counted on a scaled-down force. He’d be able to leave the case and note near the entrance, then hightail it out of town—

  “Hey, you!”

  At the sound of the male voice behind him, Cage hesitated but didn’t turn.

  “Hey, I said wait up!”

  Cage glanced over his shoulder. A uniformed deputy came hurrying across the well-lit parking lot toward him.

  Cage’s first instinct was to climb back in the car and try to take off before the guy caught up with him. But the last thing he needed was a nasty confrontation, especially one in which the outcome might not be in his favor.

  The deputy had at least a couple of inches and twenty pounds on him, the kind of fellow who would have looked downright menacing even without the huge firearm strapped to his thigh. Cage was exhausted and his knee hurt like a son of a bitch. But even on a good day, he wasn’t so sure he’d able to take this guy in a fair fight.

  “Are you talking to me?” he asked in the most nonthreatening tone he could muster.

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

  But the deputy grinned when he said it and not in a puffed-up, arrogant, I’ll show this out-of-town clown who’s boss kind of way, either. He seemed genuinely pleased to see Cage.

  Which was…strange.

  When the deputy drew closer, he said, “Dale Walsh, right? I would have known you anywhere!”

  Cage was completely taken aback. Before he could say anything, the deputy thrust out his hand. “Sam Dickerson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Charlie Dickerson’s my uncle. Man, he’s been singing your praises ever since y’all met at that San Antonio conference a while back.”

  “Good to hear,” Cage muttered as he shook the man’s hand.

  “I guess you’re wondering how I recognized you,” Deputy Dickerson said, still with that idiotic grin on his face.

  “Thought did cross my mind.”

  “This baby right here, is how.” The beaming deputy nodded toward the Cadillac. “Uncle C said you had the best-looking Eldorado Biarritz he ever did see, and, man, oh man, he wasn’t lying. This thing is a work of art.” He ran his hand lovingly over the mile-high tailfin. “Looks just like a damn rocket. Less than fifteen hundred of these beauties were built in 1959. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

  “Yeah, she’s something, all right,” Cage said.

  The deputy chuckled. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. You’ll have to pardon my drool, but I’m a classic car buff from way back. Me and Uncle C both. He’s got a ’57 Corvette he’s been working on for years. Me, I’m more of a Thunderbird man.”

  Cage thought of the car he’d had to abandon in the desert. Not a classic by any means, but he was still sorry to let it go. It was highly doubtful the vehicle would still be there if and when he ever ventured back that way.

  Sam Dickerson rubbed his hands together. “I’d dearly love to take a gander at that 345 under the hood, but I imagine the sheriff’s expecting you inside, right?”

  Cage murmured something unintelligible as he glanced toward the front of the station. His encounter with Deputy Dickerson was playing hell with his plan.

  “I guess you heard about Uncle C.” Dickerson started walking toward the station and Cage didn’t know what else to do but follow. “Throat cancer. I guess that’s what happens when you chew tobacco for as long as he did. I can’t ever remember seeing him without a chaw.”

  “Well, here’s hoping he makes a speedy recovery,” Cage said. Even though his knee was on fire, he gritted his teeth and made sure he didn’t limp.

  “Oh, he’ll pull through all right. He’s a tough old bird. But he’s got a long row to hoe, that’s for damn sure.” The deputy opened the glass door to the station. “Maybe I should warn you about something. The acting sheriff is female,” he said. “I hope you’re not bothered by that sort of thing.”

  “Nope, not a problem.” Cage couldn’t care less about the sex of the new sheriff. His only concern at the moment was how best to disentangle himself from this latest complication. “Male chauvinism is so last century.”

  The deputy laughed good-naturedly at the lame quip. “We may be a little behind the times out here, but nobody can deny this gal has some serious chops. She used to work for the TBI. That’s basically the state version of the FBI.”

  “I’m familiar with the TBI,” Cage said. “Impressive credentials.”

  He had only a brief impression of a large room divided into cubicles and filled with desks before Deputy Dickerson ushered him over to a glass-fronted office to the right. Cage didn’t see anyone inside, but the deputy knocked anyway, then opened the door.

  “Sheriff Steele? Dale Walsh just got here. Detective Walsh, I should say.”

  Detective Walsh?

  Cage was thrown for another loop. Had Dale Walsh been both a lawman and a hit man?

  Well, that just figured, didn’t it?

  Cage mentally berated himself for his stupidity. Had he really expected just to breeze in here, dump the briefcase and its problems in someone else’s lap, then blow town before anyone caught on to him? That would have been too e
asy. And it would have taken no small element of luck.

  Of course, Dale Walsh was both hit man and cop. Of course, Deputy Fife over there had had to drive up at precisely the same moment that Cage had picked to dump the case. Of course, the guy’s uncle, the sheriff, had told him all about Walsh’s Caddy. And of course, OF COURSE, Dale Walsh was expected here in Jericho Pass, apparently on some kind of official business.

  Which, no doubt, would have provided excellent cover while he located his target and carried out the hit. But what it did for Cage was make it near impossible for him to walk out of this place without coming clean. And the moment he did that, he was likely a dead man.

  This was all starting to seem like a bad joke, he decided. The whole bizarre setup reeked of divine retribution. He’d been no angel in the past, but this? Come on.

  The deputy moved back from the door so that Cage could enter the office. He stepped inside, then froze as the chair behind the desk rotated and a woman got up to greet him.

  He took one look at the glossy hair and shiny lips, those dark, soulful eyes, and his heart gave a strange little flip.

  She was the woman whose photograph was in the metal briefcase he carried at his side, along with the guns, the cash and a note which read: 5 grand now, and the other 5 when the bitch is dead.

  Cage shot a glance skyward.

  You gotta be kiddin’ me.

  DALE WALSH WASN’T EXACTLY what Grace had been expecting. From Charlie Dickerson’s description, she’d thought he’d be a little older. Early forties, at least. This man looked only a year or two older than she.

  Not that it mattered. And not that she had to speculate. If everything worked out, Grace would learn all she needed to know about Dale Walsh from the paperwork he’d be required to fill out and from the background check she’d order on him.

  But from Charlie’s notes alone, she’d already gleaned that Walsh had an impressive record with the Galveston Police Department. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d have the right stuff for what he’d be dealing with out here. The counties and communities along the border had their own special set of problems.

  The official story on Walsh would come later, but for now, Grace wanted to rely on her instincts. She’d always been a big believer in first impressions, so she tried to size him up in the split second it took for her to round the desk and offer her hand.

  He was tall and a little on the lean side, though she suspected there might be some serious muscles hidden by the long sleeves of his shirt. He looked strong and capable, and she appreciated the way he gripped her hand as he looked her straight in the eyes.

  “I’m Grace Steele,” she said. “We were expecting you a little earlier, Detective Walsh.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Sheriff. I apologize for being so late. And for my appearance.” He brushed off his dusty pants. “I ran into a little trouble out on the road. Had some cell phone problems, too, so I couldn’t call ahead and let you know when to expect me. I hope you didn’t wait around on my account.”

  “I’m almost always here this late, so no harm done.” She waved toward the chair across from her desk. “Have a seat.”

  Deputy Dickerson said from the doorway, “Catch you later, Dale.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” he said with a brief wave.

  Grace noticed that Walsh waited until she’d taken a seat behind the desk before he sat. Carefully, he placed his briefcase on the floor beside his chair.

  “You heard about Charlie Dickerson, I suppose?”

  He nodded. “Sam and I were just talking about that. It’s a real shame. Charlie’s a good guy.”

  “He sure thinks highly of you.”

  “Well…that’s always nice to hear.”

  Now that she’d had time to study him, Grace realized he was a little older than she’d first thought. Probably not yet forty, but getting close to it for sure. His brown hair looked to be receding at a pretty good clip, and the lines in his face had deepened to grooves at the corners of his eyes.

  Despite his age, he had a boyish charm about him, and his old-world courtliness intrigued Grace. But it was his eyes that held her attention now. They were the most vivid blue she’d ever encountered, and that piercing color gave the directness of his gaze a pretty powerful punch.

  Grace’s stomach fluttered as they regarded one another across the expanse of her desk, and she thought, Oh, damn. Not now. Not with him.

  Her first inclination was to nip that little ripple of sexual tension in the bud, even if it meant she had to cut the meeting short and send Dale Walsh packing. The last thing she needed or wanted was any kind of awkwardness between her and one of her subordinates.

  But dismissing Dale Walsh out of hand after he’d come all this way at her predecessor’s request was totally unprofessional. The department was shorthanded and from everything Charlie had told her, Walsh was a good candidate. If she found him attractive, well…that was her problem, not his. Why deprive the county of a good deputy and Dale Walsh of a steady paycheck just because that nasty business in Austin had left her feeling stupid and gun-shy?

  What she really needed to do was get a grip, Grace told herself.

  She cleared her throat and broke the gaze. “Charlie tells me he’s been after you to come in for an interview for quite some time now. Mind telling me why you finally decided to take him up on the offer?”

  For the first time since he’d entered her office, Dale Walsh looked unsure of himself. Then he shrugged. “It’s no big mystery, really. Sometimes a man just needs a new challenge. New scenery. That’s all there is to it.”

  Grace could appreciate the need for new scenery. After her humiliation before the review board, she hadn’t been able to get out of Austin fast enough. But there had been nothing simple about her decision to come back to Jericho Pass, and she wondered if Dale Walsh might have an ulterior motive as well.

  “One word of caution,” she said. “If you think a rural police department like ours is a place where you can coast, think again. We’re seeing a high level of violence down here these days. West Texas is no place for the faint of heart.”

  “I’m not looking to coast. That’s the last thing I want.” Walsh leaned in a bit, his expression earnest. “I’m a cop. It’s what I do and it’s who I am. If I wanted to coast, I’d go off and work for my brother-in-law or something.” He smiled, and the commas at the corners of his mouth deepened.

  Grace found herself smiling back at him, and she hadn’t felt like doing that in a long, long time. Dale Walsh’s manner was open and engaging, and she couldn’t help responding to him. “I’ve found that working with family is not for the faint of heart, either,” she said.

  “I hear that.”

  She cleared her throat again. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the situation down here, but if you’re really looking for a new challenge, you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got ranches right across the border that are being used as paramilitary camps by the drug cartels. Their recruits are being trained in the use of all manner of weaponry, including AK-47s, AR-15s, grenade launchers, you name it.”

  “Sounds like they’re planning for a war,” he said.

  “They’re already at war,” Grace replied. “Once the cartels started hiring army deserters and ex-members of the Guatemalan Special Forces to militarize their operations, they turned the occasional turf battle into an all-out Armageddon. We’ve got assassins and narco-terrorists operating on both sides of the border, and so far we’ve not seen much concern from Washington or the news media. We’ve been doing what we can on our own, but with limited resources and manpower, it’s like taking a pellet gun to a bazooka fight. I’m not trying to scare you off,” she added. “I’m just trying to give you a realistic rundown of the situation.”

  “I appreciate that,” Walsh said. “Sounds like you’ve got a real mess on your hands.”

  “To put it mildly.” Grace studied him for a moment. “I’ll be honest. If everything that Charlie told me about your r
ecord is true, we’d be lucky to get you. We can always use someone around here with your kind of experience. The pay’s lousy and the hours are even worse, so I don’t see how you can possibly turn us down,” she said with a half smile. “But before either of us makes a final decision, I think you should take some time to think it over. I understand you’ll be here for a few days, so why don’t we meet back here tomorrow morning and I’ll show you around the station, introduce you to some of the staff. I also think it would be a good idea for you to do a bit of exploring. See what a town like this has to offer a guy like you.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  As soon as Grace rose, he stood, too.

  “I assume you already have a place to stay while you’re here?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s not a problem.”

  “Then I guess there’s only one other thing we need to talk about before we call it a night.” She came around the desk and propped a hip against the edge. “When you were first contacted about this position, you had every reason to believe you’d be working for Charlie Dickerson. His return is up in the air at the moment, and for the next several months at least, I’ll be in charge of this department. Do you have a problem answering to a female superior?”

  Again, he looked her right in the eyes and said without hesitation, “No, ma’am. That’s not a problem for me.”

  Grace appreciated the conviction she heard in his voice. She thrust out her hand and they shook again. “Thanks for making that long trip. I’m glad you didn’t cancel once you heard about Charlie.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning—let’s say, nine o’clock. Is that good for you?”

  “Nine o’clock sharp,” he agreed, and turned to leave.

  “Detective Walsh?”

  He hesitated a fraction of a second at the door before he turned. “Yeah?”

  She nodded toward the chair he’d just vacated. “You forgot your briefcase.”

  Something flickered in his eyes before his gaze dropped to the floor. “So I did.” He went over and picked up the case, then paused again at the door. “Well, good night.”