Luke (Armed and Dangerous Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Luke: Armed and Dangerous

  Copyright

  Beginnings

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Excerpt...Hidden Prey

  Excerpt...Branded For You

  Excerpt...Silk and Spurs

  Also by Cheyenne McCray

  Cheyenne writing as Jaymie Holland

  Cheyenne writing as R.S.Collins

  About Cheyenne

  CHEYENNE MCCRAY

  LUKE: Armed and Dangerous

  Copyright © 2015

  Luke: Armed and Dangerous by Cheyenne McCray

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-Book may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  E-book conversion by Bella Media Management.

  Cover by Scott Carpenter from http://www.pandngraphics.com.

  Published by Cheyenne McCray LLC.

  13-Digit ISBN: 978-1-939778-64-2

  Beginnings

  Luke: Armed and Dangerous was published in print only with St. Martin’s Griffin. Luke has its foundations in a novel titled Wildcard that I wrote years ago for Ellora’s Cave. If you read that short novel, you will find this endeavor different. This novel is almost twice as long as the original book and richer with more action, adventure, and mystery.

  You will be glad to know that you’ll find “hot” scenes just as memorable as before (yes, that hot tub scene and Luke’s chaps are as sexy as ever!), and you’re in for a lot more danger and intrigue.

  Along the lines of change, much has changed within the government since I originally wrote the shorter novel, Wildcard, referred to above. Under the Department of Homeland Security, agencies and departments have been reorganized and restructured. I hope I have accurately reflected some of those changes in this novel.

  Thanks to all of you Armed and Dangerous fans—the cowboy in the hot tub and the cowboy in chaps are for you.

  Chapter 1

  “Three kids with penny-ante possession charges across the last year. All from Cochise College—and not a one of them over nineteen.” Clay Wayland’s voice was harsh and tight over the phone. The county sheriff sounded way rattled, and way past pissed as he continued. “We found the remains on a tip, in an old warehouse. The place has been shut down for two decades, but the vat of lye was new.” Wayland paused, and Drug Enforcement Agency Special Agent Luke Denver gripped his miniature secure cell so forcefully he was afraid he’d crack the battery. Most of the road between Douglas and Bisbee was reasonably straight and flat, which was a good thing, since his mind had gotten stuck on three dead teenagers who would never come home for Christmas break.

  No doubt the kids were running drugs, probably small stuff, maybe to the campus or even to local high schools. It was a common way to make extra bucks these days—stupid as hell, but they didn’t deserve to get murdered and left to dissolve in a vat of lye like exterminated rats.

  “I think we’ve got ourselves a turf war,” Wayland said. “But who in Christ would be stupid enough to poach on Guerrero’s territory?”

  Denver guided his classic turquoise-and-white ’69 Chevy truck west as fast as he dared to push the limit. “We must have weakened Guerrero when we took down the cattle rustling part of his operation near the MacKenna ranch. Had to hurt when we wiped out their inside contact in local law enforcement. Now some other group thinks it can move in while Guerrero’s cartel is distracted.”

  “Perfect.” The sound of Wayland smacking something with his fist made Denver wince. “Fucking perfect. This little Christmas charity bash you’re headed to better turn up some good intel, or a shitload more people are gonna get dead in Douglas before New Year’s Day.”

  “I’ll call Rios when it’s over, and he’ll be in touch.” Denver punched off and tucked the small cell into its hiding place in his black duster. His gut churned as he covered the last few miles into town, then drove the truck up the winding rain-soaked street and into the last remaining parking spot below Nevaeh’s Bed-and-Breakfast.

  Nevaeh’s was situated just off Main Street in Old Bisbee, on one of the sloping hills that reminded him of San Francisco. He’d heard that at one time, Bisbee had been called little San Francisco. Under normal circumstances, he’d enjoy the view.

  He shifted into first, cut the engine and the lights, and firmly set the parking brake—he sure as hell didn’t want that truck taking a journey of its own. The old Chevy had been his grandpa’s pride and joy, and shortly before he died, the old man had given it to Luke. He didn’t have much that mattered to him other than his job and that old Chevy.

  Luke sat for a second or two, reminding himself of the basic details of his cover ID of Luke Rider.

  Rider. Who the hell came up with these undercover names?

  Had to be some soap-opera-obsessed technician in Accounting.

  For better or worse, whoever named him, he was Luke Rider, ranch foreman on the Flying M. He worked for Skylar MacKenna Hunter and her new husband, Zack Hunter. Zack was an Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—agent who recently moved back to Douglas, his hometown.

  Thanks to the cattle rustling bust, Zack and Skylar knew about Luke’s real identity and purpose, but they were one hundred percent on board with helping him continue in his role. With any luck, the ongoing and intense joint efforts of just about every local and federal law enforcement agency in the region might yield enough intel, leads, data, and arrests to bring down Guerrero’s operation.

  As he reached for the Chevy’s door handle, Luke caught the familiar vibration of his phone. It was powerful enough that he felt it from within the hidden pocket in his specially designed gun holster sewn to the inside of his duster. He reached under the black duster, slipped the phone out from below his firearm, and checked the caller ID.

  It was his partner, Cruz Rios, who’d managed to get himself hired on as a ranch hand at Coyote Pass Ranch about a week ago. Rios was busy getting info on Wade Larson, owner of Coyote Pass, among others in the area—rancher, lawman, and cowhand alike.

  Coyote Pass Ranch bordered the Flying M, and after that came a short string of border ranches also owned by longtime Douglas ranchers. All of them would eventually have to be investigated.

  “Denver,” Luke answered in his slow and easy Texas drawl. Luke’s and Rios’s cell phones had such sensitive reception that he could hear, as clear as day, cows lowing in the background and the chirrup of crickets.<
br />
  “Trouble at Larson’s,” Rios said.

  Luke pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got cut fences and footprints,” Rios said, “but get this— the tracks lead onto the ranch, not off it. It’s not illegals. Wrong direction. And it’s not Guerrero mules, either. These guys didn’t seem to know where they were going, or maybe they weren’t sure about what they were doing.”

  Rios coughed, and Luke heard him spit on the ground. Not a good sign. Rios only spit when he was worried.

  Luke’s partner continued. “When I followed the trail, I found blood—a lot of it, but no body.”

  “Shit.” Luke clenched his free hand. “Larson?”

  “Safe in his house. All the hands, too.” Rios paused, and Luke could almost smell the man’s frustration over the encrypted digital connection. “Looks like the bastards turned on one of their own. We may never find what’s left of him—or her. But I think this makes Larson a less likely target for our investigation. Even an idiot wouldn’t kill somebody on their own spread and leave the evidence in plain view.”

  Luke didn’t like Larson, especially after he’d watched the man try to possess Skylar MacKenna when she didn’t want him, but he knew Rios was right. Skylar had been a suspect, too, way back before the rustling investigation exploded, but Luke knew she was clean. Larson had helped them bring down the cattle-rustling operation along with bringing down the rogue deputy running it— and Larson was probably clean, too.

  Luke gave Rios the short on the dead kids the sheriff had discovered in Douglas, and listened to Rios swear for a full thirty seconds before the words came out of his mouth. “Turf war.”

  A shitload more people are gonna get dead before New Year’s Day... “Call the sheriff’s office and our field office—get some extra officers out there to search Larson’s ranch and the surrounding area,” Luke said. “See if you can find where they dumped the body. We need some clue who’s moving in, and why they think they can start a war with Guerrero’s cartel and win.”

  “We need to take down the rest of Guerrero’s operation, and right now,” Rios said. “That’s the fastest way to find out who the new players are. You get into that charity party and make nice with Francisco Guerrero. And don’t shoot the fucker unless he draws on you first.”

  Rios punched off.

  Luke glanced through the rain-speckled windshield, to the upper story of Nevaeh’s B & B, and saw a woman’s curvaceous silhouette pause in front of the sheer curtains. Two floors below, in the living room window, a second outline appeared, this one tall and heavily muscled, topped with an unmistakable hat. Luke couldn’t see the hat, but he could call the make and model—O’Farrell, a Cheyenne Pinch, probably black, pure beaver, and with a beaded edge.

  That hat cost more than most people made in a month.

  And Luke Rider had been helping to investigate the bastard wearing it for the better part of a year.

  Francisco Guerrero.

  The youngest son of the worst drug lord ever to cross the border.

  Francisco Guerrero was a relatively new player in the family operation, brought into the fold by his two older brothers a little over three years ago, when the old man died.

  Guerrero, the youngest, had a pre-law degree from Cornell, an impeccable set of American manners, and a thin but glossy patina of respectability thanks to owning a string of auto dealerships throughout Cochise County. He was slowly buying up businesses and property in the Douglas-Bisbee area, digging himself and his family operation so deep into Douglas that it would be pure hell rooting him out.

  Since Guerrero had come to Douglas, the drug trade volume had doubled, never mind the body count. New ideas, new methods of illegal operation all the law enforcement agencies were just beginning to sort out—the bastard was a real game changer.

  Luke got out of his truck, all too aware of the weight of his Glock against his leg.

  “Look out, sugar,” he said to the woman in the upstairs window, then glanced back at Guerrero’s outline. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

  Chapter 2

  Trinity MacKenna peeked through the bedroom’s filmy curtains and stared out into the drenched December evening. Goose bumps pebbled her skin, the colorful glow of Christmas decorations on each of the power poles somehow mesmerizing her.

  The sight brought back countless memories of her childhood, of celebrating the holidays with her sister, Skylar, and of her parents before their mother died.

  There were some not-so-happy times after cancer stole their mother away from them. Then there had been some worse times in her teen years when she tried—and failed—to live up to her beautiful, popular, older sister’s reputation and successes, but Trinity preferred to think about joyous days, or at least the warm and happy moments.

  Below the B & B, the door of a classic pickup truck swung open, and Trinity watched as a man climbed out. In a fluid athletic motion he put on a dark cowboy hat and shut the door of the truck. With his long black duster swirling around his legs, he looked dark and dangerous, like an Old West gunslinger who’d come to town to track down his prey.

  The man tilted his head up, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat, and for a moment she could have sworn he was looking right at her. It was as though he could see through the curtain and straight through the tiny dress her friend had talked her into wearing. Trinity’s heart pounded and heat swept across every curve and swell of her body.

  She swallowed hard, knowing she needed to back away from the window, to break the electric current that seemed to connect her to the mysterious cowboy, but she couldn’t move.

  “Trinity, are you ready to come downstairs and join the party?” Nevaeh’s voice sliced through that charged connection, snapping Trinity’s attention away from the man and to her friend.

  “Just about.” Trinity cut her gaze to Nevaeh, her gorgeous friend who was peeking through the bedroom door. “I need to fix my hair and that should do it.”

  Nevaeh came in, her blue evening dress shimmering in the light as she shut the door behind her with a thump. “Here, let me help.”

  “Are you sure?” Trinity moved away from the window and to the old-fashioned vanity mirror. “You already have guests.”

  “These people are party veterans.” Nevaeh—whose name was “heaven” spelled backward even though she liked to tell people hell forgot to come looking for her—gave Trinity her locally famous grin. “They’ll amuse themselves.”

  “Thanks.” Trinity frowned at her reflection while she yanked down on the very short lipstick-red dress. “But this thing is ridiculous on me.”

  Nevaeh rolled her eyes. “You look fabulous.”

  Trinity cut her friend a skeptical glance. The darn dress barely covered her ass, and her nipples poked against the silky material like mini-torpedoes, especially after her sort-of-encounter with Mr. Tall-and-Gorgeous Cowboy when she caught sight of him through the gap in the curtains. The neckline plunged halfway to her belly button, showing the full curve of her breasts from the inside for cripes sake. “I can’t wear this to your Christmas Charity Extravaganza, Nev. They’ll think I’m a high-class call girl.”

  “Hey, with this bunch, you could make a fortune.” Nevaeh’s grin was mischievous in her reflection.

  Trinity turned from the mirror to glare at her best friend and pointed to the three-inch heeled sandals on her feet. “And where did you find these? If you had a better memory, you’d remember I’m a bit of a klutz.”

  “You’re not a klutz. Well, maybe you used to be.” Nevaeh’s blue-green eyes glittered mischief. “And I’d say that dress was made for you. Those long legs, cute little butt...”

  Trinity snorted. “Stop looking at my butt.”

  “Can’t help it.” Nevaeh backed up, propped her hands on her full hips as she checked out Trinity’s figure. “I just can’t get over how much you’ve changed in the last four years. No more glasses, and you’re so... tiny. I didn’t even recognize
you when you first came to the door, even though we talked on the phone through every five-pound increment. Those pictures you e-mailed me don’t even come close to doing you justice.”

  With a self-conscious smile, Trinity studied her best friend since her first year at Cochise Community College, and on up through their fourth year at the University of Arizona.

  Before Trinity had taken off for Europe, she and Nevaeh had been tighter than sisters... certainly closer than Trinity had been to her real sister, Skylar. Those last few years, anyway, when Skylar’s heart was broken, from her breakup with Zack, she just stopped talking to everyone—even the little sister who needed her more than anyone.

  “It’s all still kind of weird to me.” Trinity raked her fingers through her hair as she spoke. “Having IntraLASIK performed on my eyes was the best thing I’ve done for myself.” She smiled. “Other than losing those ten dress sizes, that is.”

  Nevaeh cocked her head. “And you took it off in a great way. Healthy eating, all that kickboxing. You really changed your habits. Your whole life. Sweetie, you’ll never be Meaty MacKenna again.” Trinity shrugged and tried to smile again, but that old nickname stabbed deep. God, how she hated the mention of it. It was one reason she had ditched her first name, Madeline, the minute she left home and started going by her more unusual middle name. A clean break. Leaving behind that life, that sadness, this place...

  “That’s my goal,” she said, feeling more absurd than ever in the tiny dress. “All the exercise makes a world of difference for me.”

  “And what a difference.” Nevaeh grinned. “Can’t wait for our old classmates to get a load of you now. They’ll flip—never mind all the major money of Douglas and Bisbee that’ll be at this party.”

  “You’d think I’d be used to it.” Trinity smoothed her hands over the silky material of the dress and glanced down at her hips. “I’ve never had hip bones—well, not that I could ever see.” She cut her eyes back to Nevaeh and pointed to her own shoulder. “And look at this. Shoulder bones!”

  Nevaeh laughed and hugged Trinity, her friendly embrace and soft baby powder scent bringing back memories of their college days. “I’m so proud of you, Trinity.” Nevaeh pulled away and smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve always been gorgeous. But now... wow. You’re a knockout.”