Harper Allen - Covert Cowboy

“Bourbon, if you’ve got it.” From his waistcoat pocket he extracted a silver dollar, its surface smooth from long handling. Idly he passed it under his index finger and over his middle one, then let it slip under his ring finger. The worn silver gleamed and disappeared as he lazily passed it back and forth in his hand. “He must be quite a man, cher’.”

Her head jerked up and a drop or two of the bourbon she was pouring splashed onto the bar. “I’m sorry?”

Con ignored the warning in her tone. “Your foreman,” he elaborated. He picked up his bourbon and looked blandly at her over the rim of his glass. “He must be good at what he does to have saved your mare’s life and delivered her foal safely. Breech births can be tricky, or so I hear.”

Dark eyes held his a moment longer. “Very tricky,” Colleen said finally. “And I don’t like tricky, Mr. Burke. I presume you’re Wiley’s fabled ‘conscience’?”

“Conrad Burke, Colleen Wellesley.” Wiley had been watching them during their exchange. “Why don’t the two of you start all over again, and this time let’s keep it civil. There’s a child’s life at stake here, people.”

“I hadn’t forgotten that, Longbottom,” Colleen snapped, but before she could continue Con broke in.

“A child’s life?” he demanded sharply. “Like when you’ve asked my advice about cases in the past, Wiley, your e-mails on this one just dealt with details. You never gave me the whole picture. What child?”

“Schyler Langworthy.” Wellesley barely glanced at him. “He’s the six-month-old son of Holly Langworthy, and in this state the name Langworthy carries a lot of weight. By election day I guess we’ll see just how much weight, since Holly’s brother’s running for governor against the incumbent, Todd Houghton.” She exhaled tightly. “Sky was kidnapped almost four months ago. Colorado Confidential took on the case a few weeks later, when the police and the feds ran out of leads.”

She drained her scotch. “But that’s not your problem, Burke. You and I agree you’re not team material, so don’t worry about it.”

Take the pain away…

He’d known the Langworthy baby was still missing, and his private opinion had been that Sky had been snatched by someone desperate for a child of their own. There’d never been a ransom demand. So for three months he’d tried to shut out the memory of the agony in Marilyn’s voice when she’d spoken of her kidnapped nephew, since unless and until the U.S. Marshalls were called in on the matter his hands were tied.

That was still the case, Con thought heavily. As the oldest federal law enforcement agency in America, the mandate of the Marshalls was primarily centered on federal fugitives, money-laundering prosecutions and the witness protection program. They cooperated with other levels of law enforcement, but only when specifically requested to.

He frowned. Knowing all that, why had Wiley sent for him?

“It’s got everything to do with you, Con.”

Wiley had shaken his head at Colleen’s earlier offer of a drink. Now he hesitated, and pulled the bottle of scotch toward him.

“My ulcers are going to play me hell for this,” he muttered as he poured himself a shot and swallowed it neat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But then, my ulcers have been giving me hell lately anyway. Ever since Helio DeMarco’s name cropped up in this investigation,” he added, his suddenly grim gaze fixing on Con.

“Helio DeMarco?”

Con felt as if the blood in his veins had suddenly turned to ice. He heard something strike the floor, and looking down, he saw the silver dollar had slipped through his fingers. With a swift movement he bent to pick it up, grateful for the chance to avert his face.

“You know of him?” Colleen’s tone was still barbed. His own was flat as he answered her.

“You could say that. A year ago in New Orleans a protected witness in a case the Marshalls were building against DeMarco on money-laundering charges was killed by him. Then DeMarco contacted Roland Charpentier, one of our agents, and said he wanted to cut a deal.”

“But instead the Marshalls obviously let him get away, since he’s surfaced here in Colorado,” the ex-cop said disgustedly. “Was Charpentier on the take?”

“Colleen—” Wiley began warningly, but Con didn’t let him finish.

“No, cher’, Roland wasn’t on the take,” he drawled. He met her eyes. “I’d have known if he was. Charpentier’s my best friend—in fact, I visited him earlier today, just before I caught my flight to Denver.”

Her gaze wavered. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” she muttered. “So how did the Marshalls lose Helio, or Lio, as he now calls himself?”

Instead of answering her question, Con asked one of his own. “Everyone’s heard about the Mardi Gras celebrations in New Orleans, but do you know what our other big day is, cher’?”

Annoyance reappeared on her features. “The name’s Wellesley, Burke. And no, I don’t know. I also don’t care.”

“You should,” he informed her. “Because there’s a kind of poetic justice involved you might appreciate. Our other big observance is November the first. Today,” he added softly. “The Day of the Dead, when we visit the graves of our loved ones and remember how much they meant to us.”

He glanced down at the yellow flower in his lapel. “The custom is to lay chrysanthemums by the headstone and have a little chat with the deceased.” He shrugged. “Some families even bring a picnic lunch, make a day of it. I didn’t have time to do that so I just laid my flowers down and made the same vow I always do.”

“Charpentier’s dead, isn’t he?” Belated comprehension filled Colleen’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Burke, I didn’t know. What’s the vow you make?”

“That I’m going to take down the bastard who killed him. That I’m going to take down Helio DeMarco.”

Con flipped the silver dollar into the air. It flashed upward and then tumbled down again, throwing off glints of light before he one-handedly caught it. Slapping his palm and the coin in it flat against the pine bar, he looked at her.

“Call it,” he said tonelessly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Heads.”

He lifted his hand. “Tails. I’ll work with Colorado Confidential, cher’, but on my own terms. No boss, no partners, no rules.”

“No deal,” Colleen riposted. She turned to Wiley. “For God’s sake, Longbottom, this is the maverick you’re considering to head the New Or—”

“I think you should take him up on his offer.” Con heard a hint of steel in the DPS director’s normally mild tones. “If Burke says he’ll deliver Helio to Colorado Confidential he will. Right now that’s all that matters—especially since this whole thing could blow up in our faces if it’s not taken care of quickly.”

“How’s that?” Con frowned at his friend, but Colleen answered him before Wiley could speak.

“We think one of the Langworthys has gone over to the other side,” she said coldly. “There was always a possibility Sky’s kidnappers had help from a member of the family, and with what we’ve found out about Helio’s involvement, that now seems to be a certainty. A former intern of a certain Senator Franklin Gettys, Nicola Carson, came close to being killed by a DeMarco hit man when she discovered a link between the senator, the mobster and a mysterious chemical mist that was being tested on sheep at Gettys’s ranch, the Half Spur. Fibers found in Sky’s crib after his abduction came from the type of sheep on the Half Spur. And Gettys’s ex-wife, Helen Kouros, gave us information she copied on a disk from the Half Spur’s computer that backs up our belief that some kind of bio-weapons research is being done there.”