Chapter 3
Three
Josie checked her watch. Her contacts were late. She paced the floor of her motel room. She worried too much, her mother always
used to say. That was probably true, but so much rested on this meeting and her ability to stay cool and project the right
image.
This was more than a job. She kept seeing the faces in the morgue, of the three-year-old boy and the six-year-old girl, whose
father had ended up in prison for life. And the face of the mother, the pretty young woman who’d been cut up like a chicken,
had added to the horror. All three deaths had been to get even with the husband and father, who’d tried to cheat his partners
in crime out of their share in the drug trade, a vivid reminder of how dangerous it was to go against the drug lords.
The father had been devastated by the results of his bad decision.
He’d lost his wife and children, his job, his house, everything, and he’d ended up in federal prison for his part in the huge drug operation.
So many people thought get-rich-quick schemes were worth the price.
There was one man who now knew better. Tragically, he knew better too late to save his two children.
And his much-loved wife, who’d also paid the price for it.
Josie had turned down easier jobs in the past. This wasn’t out of her experience. At least, not much. But it was a great deal
more dangerous than the others, and the consequences could be devastating. She didn’t dare think about how far-reaching they
could be.
She paced some more. John Everett had been a surprise. She hadn’t actually planned to meet him. She’d only wanted information,
and any of his cowhands could have supplied that without endangering her work.
She smiled, remembering her shock. She’d heard of him, of course. He was well-known in cattle circles for his charisma as
well as his uncanny business sense. His father was almost a legend. And his mother . . . !
She’d met Heather Everett once, at a Grammy Awards show when Heather and Desperado had won their first Grammy for best song.
That had been some years ago, and she hadn’t remembered it until John presented her to his mother. But Heather hadn’t recognized
her, thank God. That had been a close call. She had to hope that recognition wouldn’t come later. She didn’t want the former
singer to recall that she’d been seated with the whole group because their lead singer was one of her best friends.
She’d dodged a bullet there, for sure. But even if she did remember, it had no bearing on what Josie was doing now. People
changed. Even the kindest person could turn to lawlessness given the right reasons. If Heather remembered her, it would only
be that she was at the awards. She wasn’t certain that Heather even knew she was friends with the group. She could have been
a groupie. She’d been much younger at the time.
That was a relief. Of course, John was suspicious of her, and very antagonistic. But then, she had told him she wanted to eat one of his prize bulls. Not the best character reference. She laughed, recalling the look on his face.
He seemed to be a kind person. After all, he could have turned her in, had her arrested. That would have been interesting.
But he hadn’t. He’d taken her home to his mother, to feed her. And a man would have to be kind to feel sorry for a down-on-its-luck
rattlesnake. Most people would have just shot it.
He hadn’t. He’d even had a cage built for it. It would live with him, so that he could protect it.
Men like that were rare. She felt a twinge of regret that they’d met at the wrong time, the wrong place. She was pristine
in her private life. Her job kept her free of any entanglements. Even in college, she’d been shy and withdrawn. Raised by
a churchgoing mother, whom she’d adored, she’d never been wild. In fact, she’d preferred films and books to boys. Most of
the ones around home were either too unsophisticated or too wild, with none in between. She’d had a crush on one good-looking
boy who’d married a good-looking local girl. So much for unrequited love, and she hadn’t lined up for a repeat.
In college, she was the girl who didn’t give out, and word got around. Not that she really cared. By then she was already
working and going to school on the side, and she loved her profession. She felt that she was making a real difference in the
world, and it was far and away better than wild weekends with some boy who had two other girls on the string, like her philandering
father, who drank himself into a stupor every chance he got. Not to mention the equally career-minded men who only wanted
the occasional one-night stand and had berated Josie for being old-fashioned and backward.
Josie had a better life in mind for herself.
She’d lost her mother a year earlier and she was still trying to adjust. She and her mother had been very close.
It was a hard loss. Her dad took it in his stride.
She was certain that he’d never really cared for his wife.
He’d cheated during their whole marriage.
The two of them had never been really close.
Josie had resented her father for his treatment of her saintly mother.
And he was never at home, not even on holidays.
But her visits were few and far between; even fewer when she moved East. He never asked about her job, and she never volunteered information.
Her mother had been able to keep a secret.
Her father’s loose tongue could have gotten Josie killed. Her specialty was undercover work.
She never asked about his life. With his best friend, who visited occasionally, he was always forthcoming and happy to discuss
whatever new woman he’d found to court. While his poor wife and Josie were in the room. It was as if he had enjoyed tormenting
her mother, who put on her usual stoic expression and ignored him.
He mentioned once, and only once, that if Josie’s mother hadn’t gotten pregnant, in a small town where everybody knew everybody,
he’d likely have remained a bachelor. It hadn’t served to bring him and Josie closer. Even when her mother died, it was up
to Josie to pick out a coffin and make the arrangements—her father remarked that it was her job, because, after all, he wasn’t
a relative. Just the husband. It had caused a hot and violent argument, during which Josie poured out years of silence at
the abuse her mother had suffered. And this torment toward a mother who worked in social services, who was always there for
people in need, people in danger. Sometimes even at the cost of her own family.
Her father had growled that his wife loved everybody except her own family.
That had put the final wall between them.
Josie had left and she’d never gone back home after the funeral.
It had been well attended, too. Her mother was loved.
Flowers covered the small country church and, later, the grave.
Neighbors and friends had made up for what was lacking in Josie’s father.
He stayed just until the graveside service.
Then he’d gone to the waiting car where a pretty young woman not much older than Josie was waiting impatiently.
Josie and the onlookers had given them a look that could have fried eggs as they drove away.
With that tragic background, it had made her feel warm inside to hear John talk about his parents. He obviously loved them.
It was even more apparent that they loved one another. She’d heard so much about the Everetts from her friend who was in the
Desperado band. The Everetts had been a true love story, one with the happy ending that most people only dreamed of having.
The Everetts had lived it, were living it even today.
Josie wondered what it would be like, to be loved like that, to spend a lifetime together with shared memories, shared pleasures.
Her own example wasn’t conducive to marrying.
But then, the Everetts were a rare example of a happy marriage. The only other happy ones Josie knew about were Desperado’s.
Only one member of the band had been divorced, Hank Shoeman, and he’d married a veterinarian not too many years ago. Like
the rest of the group, they had kids and from all she heard, all the men in the band, and their lead singer, Amanda, and her
husband, Quinn, a fellow Wyoming native like Josie, had happy marriages.
She was wondering if something was wrong with her. She’d never really been enthusiastic about being tied down with chores
and cooking and kids. She’d loved this job from the first day she’d signed on. Perhaps she was just too young still to find
it appealing. She was twenty-four now, going on twenty-five. If she ever decided to find someone and settle down, she had
plenty of time. There was no rush. Meanwhile, she was having the time of her life, not only living an adventure that saved
lives, but at the same time avenging a family that had perished at the hands of a nasty drug lord.
The fly in the ointment was trying to get her erstwhile contacts to trust her enough to tell her their real goal in Branntville, and it wasn’t rustling a few purebred bulls.
She’d researched far enough to learn that her two contacts were much more involved in trafficking fentanyl than they were in rustling cattle.
She was an unknown and they’d sent her off to Big Spur to see what sort of security was in operation there, and to check on a particular lot of young breeding bulls that would go to auction in December.
But it didn’t seem to be for the purpose of rustling. Raines had bigger plans.
It was a big ranch, and semis came and went regularly on the ranch to deliver supplies. Raines said that if they could bribe
their way into one of the delivery operators or even scout out an outbuilding that was empty and unobserved much of the autumn
and winter, they could hide a semi full of fentanyl in a place where it would be unlikely for anyone to expect to find it.