She crossed her arms, struggling to ignore the frisson of pleasure from his compliment. “Probably that I hate labels. Stop calling my father amobster. Does he circumvent laws that make doing business far too difficult? Maybe. But he’s not a drug dealer or a human trafficker. He doesn’t go around shooting people or bribing officials. He’s a businessman. He pays his taxes, gives millions to charities and does tremendous good in his community to take care of those in need.”
He stared at her as if he thought she’d lost her mind. “Do you honestly believe all that?”
“The FBI’s been after him for years, hounding him, raiding my father’s homes, all in the name of justice. And what do they have to show for it? A big fat zero. He’s never been arrested, not once. Don’t you think if he was as horrible as they believe him tobe that they’d have been able to make some charges stick at some point? It’s not for lack of trying.”
“Remind me to share the files I’ve seen about your father someday, if I’m ever able to access those files again.”
She rolled her eyes. “All lies I’m sure, made up by the FBI.”
“If your father is so wonderful, then why not ask him for help finding out what may or may not have actually happened to your brother?”
“I need someone cool-headed to help me, not my father.”
“The law-abiding, misunderstood dad? That one?”
She stomped her foot in frustration and railed at him in a flood of Spanish.
When she stopped to catch her breath, he grinned. “You spoke too fast for me to catch all of that, but I’m pretty sure you called me a host of nasty names and questioned my legitimacy.”
“At least you caught the important parts.” She whirled around to head into the kitchen for a cold bottle of water when he suddenly grabbed her hand, stopping her.
“What?” she demanded, ready to rant at him again, this time in English to make sure he understood every insult.
“Those monitors over there. Is that a live shot from security cameras out front?”
“Yes, they’re—wait, who is that?”
“Good question.” He watched the white pickup that they’d seen earlier stop halfway up the driveway, as if the driver was debating his next move.
“We should have gone to my house first to get one of my pistols. I had to turn in my police firearm.”
“No worries.” She crossed to one of the desks in the enormous room and pulled open the middle drawer. “Is a .357 Magnum okay? I have others.”
He took it and checked the loading. “Was this purchased legally?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
He shook his head. “Wait here. Lock the door behind me.”
He jogged across the family room with her hurrying to catch up. Then he was out the door and disappeared behind some bushes.
Chapter Five
Beau crouched behind a thick shrub and peered through the branches at the white pickup. It appeared to be empty. But the window tint was so dark, it was hard to tell. Definitely darker than the legal limit. If he was still wearing a badge, he’d write the driver up for that.
After he found him.
He scanned the trees and other shrubs that blocked far too much of his view. What was it with people? Didn’t they realize that planting vegetation so thick near their homes was a safety hazard? They could walk out the front door right on top of a bear without even seeing it or, worse, some thug with a gun bent on causing them harm.
Like the one creeping around the Jeep in the carport, looking in the windows right this minute. Except that it wasn’t a thug.
It was Officer Collier.
Beau shook his head and pocketed the huge pistol that he had no intention of returning to Sierra until he was certain it was legal. He walked up behind his former officer—as of less than an hour ago—and tapped him on the shoulder.
Collier whirled around, scrabbling for his weapon.
Beau grabbed it and jerked it away from him. “Good grief, you’re slow. I could have shot you dead before you even got it out of your holster.”
