Cassie Miles - Undercover Colorado

“I don’t have to pick you up,” he pointed out. “You followed me.”

There was no point in pretending she had come to the Sundown Tavern by coincidence. It had been difficult for Julia to arrange the logistics for this trip while still keeping the other safe house agents in the dark about Abby’s true identity. Though Abby didn’t see the agent who had acted as her chauffeur, she knew he was nearby.

“I didn’t come here because of you,” she said. “I just wanted some fun.”

“But you’re interested in me,” he said.

“What an ego!”

Across the table, Jess and Paul seemed to be observing their interaction with approval.

“When a woman follows a man into town,” Mac said, “there’s usually a reason.”

“What do you know about women?”

She heard snickers from Jess and Paul, but Mac didn’t crack a smile. “I know this,” he said. “Women are good at manipulating. They have these secret agendas. Clever little plans. What’s yours, Vanessa?”

“You know, there’s a word for that attitude. Men who don’t like women. Misogynist.”

“Big word.”

She tossed her platinum curls. “Just because a girl is pretty doesn’t mean she’s dumb.”

“Ouch,” Jess said. “Score another point for Vanessa.”

“Thanks.” When she stood, her knees were a bit rubbery. “I need to visit the little girls’ room.”

She’d made this trip before they’d started drinking, and Abby wished she’d left a trail of bread crumbs to lead her back to the restrooms. The route led past the bar and a small dining area, which was empty, into a hallway. By the time she got to the door marked Gals, she was walking steadily.

But her head was spinning. Mac seemed to suspect her of ulterior motives. Somehow, he’d seen through her cover story. A smart man. And attractive. She was dangerously close to wanting more from him than information.

She had to stop thinking that way. She was a professional and had worked hard to climb through the ranks in the FBI. Mac was her target. There could never be anything between them.

When she placed her hand on the restroom door, she felt someone clutch her shoulder. Acting on instinct, she whirled in her high-heeled boots to break his hold. At the verge of a karate chop, she checked herself. She knew this man. “Leo.”

“I like the hair. You make a sexy blonde.”

When he reached up to touch her curls, she slapped his hand away. Leo Fisher was no longer her fiancé; he had no right to touch her. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

He gestured with a carved ebony cane. “No broken bones. I need some ligament repair on my knee, but it’ll wait.”

“My sympathies,” she said coolly.

His voice lowered. “How long has it been, Abby?”

“Fourth of July. Last year.” The moment when she broke up with him was still vivid in her memory. There was no way she’d ever forgive him. “Tell me why you’re here. And make it fast. I need to get back to the table.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on your boy, Mac Granger. If he’s one of the dirty cops, he might contact the guy I’ve been looking for.”

“This is my assignment.”

“I’ve been working this case for six months, and I’m close to getting enough evidence on the man at the top of the drug distribution chain. He owns a place in Vail. If your friend, Mac, tries to get in touch, let me know.”

“Forget it,” she said.

“Come on. For old times’ sake?”

He was almost pleading, and that worried her more than if he’d come on strong. “Are you supposed to be on this investigation? Does anybody know what you’re doing?”

“I’m undercover. You know how it gets.”

“Yes, I do.” She worried that Leo had come unhinged and was acting on his own as a rogue agent. “I suggest you go back to Denver and get that operation on your knee. Take some time off. Schedule a visit with a counselor.”

He handed her a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it. “Call me on my cell phone if Mac Granger goes to Vail.”

She crumpled the paper and threw it on the hardwood floor. Then, she turned away from him. “Finding your drug lord isn’t my problem.”

Her assignment was Mac.

In a shabby little diner in Denver, three people hunched around a small circular table. Though it was late and nobody was seated nearby, they spoke in low, secretive tones. The topic of their conversation was Mac Granger.

“If he figures this out, he could screw up everything.”

“Forget about him. He’s stuck in the mountains.”

“My point exactly.” The speaker took a long drag on a Marlboro Light. “He’s close to Vail. If he gets suspicious, he could start making connections.”

Nervous tension wrapped around them like a gloved hand. For the moment, they were safe and warm. At any moment, the hand could open, and they’d be exposed.

“Well, what do you think we should do about Mac? Kill him?” A strangled laugh underlined the absurdity of that idea. “We’re not murderers.”

But the thought had been planted. To kill Mac Granger was the simplest solution. Better him than us.

“I don’t know him,” the smoker said. “You both do. Is he the kind of guy who gives up easily?”

“Never.”

“Then he should be eliminated. I’ll take care of it.”

The other two stared down at their coffee mugs, unwilling to acknowledge the decision, but knowing they had no other choice. Having Mac alive and probably investigating was dangerous.

“Make it look like an accident. I don’t want an investigation.”

“Don’t worry.” The cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray, leaving a wisp of smoke. “I’m a cop. I know better than to leave clues.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Mac stood on the deck behind the safe house finishing his second mug of coffee. A crisp breeze stirred the dry grasses of the valley and quaked in the golden aspen leaves. The clear blue skies offered the fresh promise of a brand-new day. A new start. He should have felt optimistic.

Instead, a series of dark questions played across his mind. Why had he been sent to this safe house to recuperate? Why wouldn’t Vince Elliot, the undercover cop who had been at the warehouse shooting, talk to him? Was Mac under suspicion? Of what?

Last night, he’d called his partner, Sheila, on her cell phone. Though Sheila had all the perceptiveness of a goldfish, she was his partner. She owed him. And she was a good source for gossip. If all her bragging was true, she’d slept with half the Denver P.D. which was probably how she’d gotten promoted to detective so quickly. Without betraying the location of the safe house, Mac had arranged to meet her later today near Redding.

His frustration level rose. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was a good cop. His actions at the warehouse were unfortunate but appropriate. Why the hell would he come under suspicion?

He looked to the mountains for solace. When he was younger, he had loved this land. He and Paul and Jess had taken a blood oath to always stay together in the Rockies. When they were kids, they’d called themselves the Three Trolls, Keepers of the Treasure, and they had ceremoniously buried a shoebox filled with crystal, pyrite and pine cones.

Paul and Jess had lived up to that boyhood oath. Both of them were still here—flourishing and happy.

But not Mac. His vision of life was different. He preferred the in-your-face threat of city life where the scene was constantly evolving and there was a reassuring undercurrent of static noise. All this fresh mountain air was choking him. Last night in bed, he couldn’t sleep; the mountain silence weighed down on him.

After less than twenty-four hours here, he was itching to get back to Denver, back to work. The only thing keeping him here was his suspicion of Vanessa. As soon as he understood what she was doing, everything else would become clear.