Zack (Armed and Dangerous Book 1) (5 page)

Since Coyote Pass Ranch bordered the Flying M, Zack didn’t have far to drive. Just as he was about to pull onto the road that would take him to Larson’s place, he spotted two men, a truck, and an Appaloosa gelding alongside the southern fence of the ranch. Taking care not to stir up too much dust, Zack slowed and pulled off the side of the dirt road and parked behind the truck.

After he climbed out of his SUV he slapped on his Stetson and strode across the road to where one of the men was working on the fence. A late-afternoon wind picked up, stirring the grass and causing dust to swirl on the road. It was the tail end of summer and still plenty warm, and would be for at least another month yet.

One of the men was on the other side of the fence, facing Zack, but the man had his head down. Zack didn’t recognize the other man.

“Larson,” Zack said when the man repairing the fence looked up and Zack realized the man was the owner of Coyote Pass Ranch.

“Hunter.” Wade Larson stood, pulled off his leather work gloves, and stuffed them into the back pocket of his jeans along with a pair of red-handled wire cutters. Larson had his Remington handgun in a holster at his hip, the holster secured with a strap around his thigh, in a way a lot of Arizona modern cowboys still wore their unconcealed weapons.

Larson was close to Zack’s height, but wiry and athletic. By the way the man was eyeing him, and by the way his mustache curved down into a serious frown, Zack had the impression that Larson was none too pleased to see him, either.

Zack extended his hand to the man he didn’t recognize. “Zack Hunter.”

“Gary Woods.” The big man took Zack’s hand and shook it. “Sheriff’s deputy.”

“No doubt we’ll be running into each other,” Zack said. “I’m with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”

Woods gave a nod and a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Agent Hunter, and I’m sure we’ll be talking soon. In the meantime, I’ve got to head out. It’s about time to get back on the job.”

Zack returned Woods’s nod before the man walked across the dirt road, climbed into his truck, and drove off.

Zack turned to Larson. “Sounds like rustlers are picking off cattle left and right.”

Larson spit into the dirt at his feet, then glanced down the road toward the MacKenna Ranch and back to Zack. “What the hell are you doing in these parts?”

Zack studied Larson. The man had ignored Zack’s statement outright.

“I’m working.” He pulled out his card and handed it over the fence to Larson. “Stationed in Douglas now.”

Zack studied the lines of Larson’s frown as the man took the card, glanced at it, and slid it into the pocket of his work shirt.

“ICE. Yeah.” Larson nodded. “So, tell me, Hunter. What ICE business took you out to the Flyin’ M?”

Zack held back a sudden burst of anger as he pushed up the brim of his Stetson and eyed Larson squarely. The moment Larson had glanced from Zack toward the MacKenna Ranch and back, Zack figured out the lay of the land. Larson obviously had a thing for Sky again. Zack cursed under his breath. Did every man within a five-mile radius want Sky MacKenna?

Can you blame them?
a voice inside asked.

Shut the hell up.
Zack growled in his thoughts.

Damn.
One kiss, and twenty minutes later Zack wanted to take on every man who even looked at Sky.

Was his past coming back to take hold of him again? Christ, but he’d been sure he had his anger fully under control.

Still, he clenched his teeth before he said, “I’m working this area. You have my number if you need anything.”

Larson grabbed the top strand of the barbwire fence, his hands between the barbs, his smell of sweat mixing with dry grass and dust. The rancher’s shirt was soaked at the armpits and around the collar, and a dark ring stained the crown of his hat. He flexed his fingers and narrowed his green eyes. “You had your chance with Skylar MacKenna and you blew it. Don’t think you can come back and start where you left off.”

Zack glanced down at his dusty boots. A muscle in his face twitched. That familiar pulse of darkness coursed through him like he hadn’t felt for years. Dark anger he’d grown up with as a child with a sonofabitch for a father. Zack, his brother, Cabe, and their mother had known nothing but abuse until the bastard was killed when the boys were teenagers.

Once Zack and Cabe were grown, their mother had married a man she’d met in Douglas. He’d seemed like a good guy—until Zack caught him kicking and slugging Molly.

That darkness Zack had grown up with exploded and he beat the shit out of his stepfather, putting him into the hospital.

Things were different now. Over the past years Zack had proven to himself he could keep it in check, and damned if he was going to let Larson bring it out of him.

Looking from his boots to the rancher, Zack kept his tone even, his expression blank. “Like I said, I’m working the area.”

“Uh-huh.” Larson spit into the dirt again and then fixed his gaze on Zack. “Is that all you need?” The rancher gestured toward the fence. “Damn rustlers cut through and I’ve gotta fix it before more of my cattle get through.”

“That about does it.”
Other than wanting to kick your ass.

Zack pulled the brim of his Stetson down and walked back to his Ford Explorer.

As Zack strode away, Larson called after him, “You just remember what I said about Skylar MacKenna, you hear?”

Forcing himself not to acknowledge Larson’s parting shot, Zack climbed into his SUV and headed on out.

After meeting with Sky, Larson, and a few other ranchers, Zack returned to the Douglas ICE HQ.

He sat at his desk in front of his laptop computer, surfing the Net for recent articles relating to Mexico.

A tremor in Mexico City, corrupt government exploits— nothing new there—famous Mexican artist dead from unknown causes.

Zack studied the next headline and he came to a halt.

MAD COW EPIDEMIC HITS SOUTHERN MEXICO.

He leaned back in his chair. Sonofabitch. Someone involved in the case should have seen that one coming a mile away.

Zack had that feeling in his gut he always got when he was on to something. He’d bet untainted beef was going for top dollar.

He did a little more research on the Internet on commodities. Sure enough, the price of beef in Mexico had skyrocketed.

He rolled his chair back, got up, and headed to his supervisor’s office.

When he reached Denning’s office, Zack shook his head as he watched the man tear into a junior special agent. Zack had met the young agent, Eric Torres, this morning.

How the hell Arnold Denning had landed the position of group supervisor Zack had no idea. The man had the management and social skills of a javelina. No, the wild pig was probably better in that department than Denning was.

Denning stood next to his desk, bracing both hands on his hips. The smell of chewing tobacco lingered in Denning’s office along with his sweat and stale coffee. He paused in the middle of his rant long enough to spit a wad of tobacco into the waste can.

“Now get on the hell out of here,” Denning said to Torres.

Torres gave a short nod and left the room, his face nearly expressionless. Yet by his stiff posture and the spark in his dark eyes Zack could tell Torres was pissed. The junior agent had backbone, no doubt about it.

“You should have some goddamned leads,” Denning said to Zack before he could get in a word. One side of Denning’s mouth bulged from the tobacco. Made him look like a friggin’ squirrel.

Zack didn’t bother to point out that this was his second day at this ICE station and first day on the case. Denning was a dipshit.

“What the hell did you find out, Hunter?” Denning said.

“Got a better idea of which ranchers are losing the most cattle.” Zack eyed Denning head-on as he started with the facts. “The ranches being hit the hardest are closest to the Chiricahua Mountains.”

“Tell me something that everybody and his dog don’t know,” Denning said in his thick country accent as he waved a bony hand in an irritated gesture. “If you did your homework you’d know the range is used for smuggling narcotics, arms, and undocumented aliens.”

Zack didn’t bother to respond to that—he had more than done his homework by researching the area and the smuggling problems before he arrived in Douglas. He knew the details of the issues backward and forward.

With Denning up his ass from the first day, though, the investigation was going to be a bitch.

“There’s one thing that wasn’t in the reports,” Zack said as he watched Denning’s expression. “I believe there’s a connection between the rustling and the epidemic of mad cow disease that’s wiped out a good portion of southern Mexico’s herds. Beef is going for top dollar in the places hit hardest.”

Denning narrowed his eyes. Zack could tell the man was trying to find something to get on Zack’s ass about. “Did you find anything to back this up?”

“It’s just a theory right now,” Zack said. “Once I build a case, we’ll cut this cattle-smuggling ring off at the roots.” He kept his tone even as he watched Denning.

“You damned sure better,” Denning said before spitting more tobacco into his waste can.

Zack left Denning’s office without bothering to give more than a nod, like the junior agent had.

Just my luck I’d end up with an asshole group supervisor like Denning.
Any moron knew it took time to build a case, and Denning expected it overnight. Investigation, tracking, finding a snitch or two, surveillance, and catching the bastards in the act.

That little bit of info Zack had gleaned online from the newspaper article-—he was sure it was one piece of a good-sized puzzle.

Zack stopped by the assisted-living center to check in on his mother, Molly, and spent some time with her.

After Zack’s stepfather had beaten Molly that final time, she’d never been quite right. It was as if something snapped inside her after dealing with years of beatings from her first husband and then her second.

At the time Zack left for FLETC, Molly seemed fine. Zack’s older brother, Cabe, had said he’d check in on her frequently.

Over the years she’d deteriorated mentally and her health had taken a nosedive. Even though she was only sixty-one, she looked and acted more like she was in her seventies. Her hands and head trembled like she had Parkinson’s disease, but the doctors said her condition was due to repeated blows to the head.

Molly hadn’t married until she was in her late twenties. Each time, their father had beaten her for getting knocked up, claiming she’d screwed around on him.

Not that Carter Hunter needed an excuse to pound on Molly.

That was just a way of life for them all until Cabe and Zack were old enough to start fighting back.

Yet even after all these years Zack could still hear the echo of his father’s constant refrain, “You’ll never make it. You’ll never be anything. You’re a worthless piece of shit. ”

As Zack left Molly at the assisted-living center, she smiled and blew him a kiss like she had when he was a boy. “Night, Zacky,” she said, and Zack forced a smile and told his mother good night.

In the early days of her deterioration, he had to fight not to pound walls every time he saw how disabled she was. It felt like a personal failure. In his head, Zack knew a teenage kid didn’t have a real prayer when it came to protecting a parent, but in his heart...

Yeah, well, that was a little different.

Now, Zack just hated how frail she was in every way, and wished her life could have been different.

Zack headed to his temporary home—an apartment not too far from the county fairgrounds. He shut the apartment door behind him, tossed his hat onto the coffee table, and went into the bedroom.

Once he reached his bedroom, he shucked off his boots, shirt, and jeans. It only took him a few moments to change into a pair of shorts, a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and workout shoes. He strode into the extra bedroom where he’d set up a small gym and tugged on a pair of fingerless weight-lifting gloves as he headed toward the barbell set.

Zack warmed up, then lay back on his workout bench, figuring some good bench presses ought to bring some relief to the tension in his muscles from the day. He gripped the barbell and raised it before bringing it to just above his upper chest. He started pumping the barbell over and over and over with more reps in each set than he normally did, and he barely rested between sets.

The protective, jealous urges he’d felt with Sky since he’d seen her again—shit. He increased the pace of his reps as the memory of those feelings rushed over him. Was he wrong for Sky? Just maybe he had done the right thing by leaving ten years ago.

The barbell clattered as he racked it before climbing off the bench and adding more weight. He lay back down on the bench. Zack gave a loud grunt as he raised the barbell. Brought it to his chest again. Raised it. Lowered it. Again. Again. Again. The longer he pumped iron, the more satisfying the strain in his muscles.

But hell, today was his first time seeing Sky after all these years, and the need to stake his claim on her was so strong he didn’t think anything would ease his feelings until he had her.

What did he want from Sky?

A lifetime.

“Get a grip, Hunter,” he growled as he racked the barbell, got up, and added even more weight.

At this point, he had so much weight on the damn thing, safety dictated he should have a spotter. He didn’t care. The more weight, the better the burn.

He continued working out for at least another hour before he quit. He tossed his weight-lifting gloves on the bench and made his way to the kitchen, sweat soaking his hair and clothes. The workout had eased his tension and his anger. Ever since he’d started pumping weights when he was at FLETC, he put in a good workout most weeknights, especially at the end of a stressful day.

Zack splashed cold water on his face from the kitchen faucet. Without bothering to dry his face on a towel, Zack braced his hands on either side of the sink and stared at the stainless steel without really seeing it.

“No, Ellis, no!” Molly screamed as Ellis slammed his fist into her face, causing her head to snap back and hit the brick wall. He followed his punch by ramming his boot into her gut as he twisted her arm and snapped it.