Caught Up Page 15

  “Yes, I was.” She said it slowly, not liking the way Jase pushed away from the dresser.

  “No problem there. Problem is, you were somewhere on his property you weren’t supposed to be.” He spoke to her in a chastising tone, eyebrows raised, chin dipped and all, like she’d just been caught cutting eighth grade algebra.

  She didn’t confirm or deny the allegation.

  “Now I didn’t go out there,” Slick continued, and she concluded that he was just as smarmy in person as he was on TV. “Didn’t file a complaint or anything like that. I’m only here to let you know that Mr. Lucas doesn’t want you on his property again.”

  Jase took a step toward the deputy. “I own half that property.”

  “I understand that. You want to take her out there, Jase, that’s between you and your brother, but she doesn’t go alone. Clint explained he was workin’ on a lease with her, but apparently that’s off the table after the detour she made.”

  “I understand,” she said, surprised to hear Clint had been “working” with her.

  “I have my hands full right now,” Slick said. “Don’t really have time to be chasin’ down things like this, but due to the nature of your job, Ms. Mitchum, I understand it’s not uncommon for you to find yourself on a large tract of land. Recently, we’ve had two…incidents…occur in relatively isolated areas. That’s why I’m makin’ it a point to not only relay Mr. Lucas’s message, but to advise you to use good judgment from here on out.”

  Cassie rubbed her clammy hands together, not daring to meet Jase’s eyes. “I understand,” she repeated.

  Slick reached into his front pocket. “Here’s my card. You call me if you need anything.” The deputy took in the messy bed, Jase, and finally, her.

  “I will,” she croaked.

  Slick palmed the crown of his hat before placing it on his head. “All right then.”

  Jase yanked the door open, and as Slick passed, Cassie noted a tension between the two she sensed had nothing to do with the deputy’s little visit.

  Jase slammed the door and turned. “You made a detour on your way out?”

  “I can explain—”

  “And now I have to hear about it from Slick?” He reached the bed in two strides.

  “I have a job to do.” She crept backward as Jase loomed above, that hint of danger from earlier now more than just a hint. She didn’t think he would hurt her, but then she hardly knew him. That reality washed over her in waves of alarm, and her voice trembled when she spoke next. “You can’t tell me not to do my job.”

  “I didn’t tell you not to do your job.” He planted his fisted hands on the bed, one on either side of her hips. “I told you not to go there without me.”

  “That’s like me telling you not to go to a well site.” She swallowed, staring into his blazing eyes as she leaned back on her elbows. “That would be crazy,” she whispered.

  “If you told me not to go to a well site because you knew it was gonna blow, I’d appreciate the fact that you were trying to protect me.”

  “What are you trying to protect me from?”

  Jase clenched his jaw, and his pulse jumped at his jugular. Her own pulse hammered. She could feel it in her neck, in her wrists. Fight or flight kicked in.

  Fight won.

  “Tell me.” She surged up, forcing him back.

  He didn’t respond; he just stared down at her through stray locks of dark hair.

  “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

  He cupped her jaw, and his face softened. “Baby—”

  “Don’t ‘baby’ me,” she said, jerking away. “Not when you won’t tell me what you know about Neely and Culberson’s deaths, about Willoughby’s disappearance.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Willoughby, too?”

  “Jase, please…”

  “Just to put this to rest once and for all, Slick wasn’t looking for me in relation to Neely’s murder,” he said finally. “It was something else.”

  “What?”

  “It was Daphne.”

  Well, that kind of stung. And in a heated rush, she realized it was because she didn’t like the sound of the woman’s name on his lips. Daphne had hurt him badly, that much was clear, and Cassie didn’t want to think about how much he must have cared for her.

  “I don’t know if you know this, but she doesn’t even live around here anymore. She disappeared from her place near Beaumont week before last, and her mother finally called the sheriff’s department down here. Slick thought I might know where she was. And yes, he told me about Neely.”

  “What about Neely? I know there’s still something you aren’t telling me,” she pushed, glossing over the Daphne element. Whatever happened between them happened before her arrival on the scene.

  “Cassie, I… Fuck.” He tore off the bed, leaving her trembling.

  He made a tight circle in front of the dresser, clenching and unclenching his hands before sweeping them roughly through his hair.

  “At least tell me about the house.”

  He stopped. “What house?”

  “In the woods.”

  “That’s where you went?” he asked, voice rising. “On your detour? Damn it, you have no idea how dangerous that was!”

  Her words rushed out. “Kyle saw it from the main road, and we pulled in to check it out. The ground was wet, so I’m sure that’s how Clint knew we were there.”

  “Who the hell is Kyle?”

  “A friend of mine. A colleague.”

  “He was with you today.” It was more of a statement, but there was a definite question there, a possessive one, one she knew Jase would soon revisit.

  “Yes, he was with me. I should have put it together myself, but Kyle’s the one who pointed out the connection to the Neely property.”

  Confusion turned to alarm on Jase’s face. “What?”

  “The civil suit from the seventies. The land where the house sits…it used to belong to the Neelys.”

  “Christ…” His wide eyes searched her face. “Why did you have to walk into this?”

  “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Did you go inside?”

  She nodded.

  “And?”

  “And…and I don’t know! It was weird. Run-down outside, clean inside. Really clean. Kyle said it reminded him of a vacation rental with all the beds and—”

  Jase turned sharply away from her. “Did you see anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  He shook his head, and she watched him breathe into the heavy silence, his shoulders rising and falling and full of anger. She’d never seen such a display of contemplative rage. And she couldn’t even see his face.

  “I have to go.” He turned from the wall. It was worse than she’d imagined. Seeing his face was like bearing witness to the dead calm in the eye of a Cat Five hurricane.

  “Please…I need to know what’s going on. You said there are things that go on in this county…” She shook her head, not sure if she should approach him. “What are you involved in?”

  “It isn’t me,” he said fiercely, making up the ground she’d been scared to cover.

  “Convince me of that then, because I—”

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait—”

  He pressed his lips so hard to hers she could feel his teeth behind them. She made a strangled noise as he forced her mouth open, and all she could do was curl her hands around his wrists, clinging, as his tongue invaded her mouth. He trembled as hard as she did while their mouths fought without words. It was angry. It was desperate and possessive, and damn her, damn her, it was one of the best kisses she’d ever had. Her breasts tingled, her toes curled, and parts of her body she didn’t know existed ignited and caught fire. But it wasn’t her body’s reaction that had her shaking in his grasp. Something inside her, something beyond the physical, coiled tight, threatening to consume her, and she grasped him tighter, as if this would be the last time they touched. The mere thought
of that wrenched a sob from deep in her chest.

  Jase tore his mouth away, panting, his hands still clenched in her hair. He held her face an inch from his.

  And then he was gone.

  Again.

  …

  Jase flicked on a flashlight, and years of horror wavered in its glow.

  He’d parked near the Highway 35 boat ramp—all too conveniently located across the river from the ranch—and made his way to the house with the aid of night-vision goggles, knowing all the while his nemesis possessed the same technology.

  I haven’t seen him in months.

  Oh, but Oscar had been on his way. The clusterfuck that was the abandoned FedEx truck would be laid at their feet on Judgment Day. Him and Clint both. And that was just the latest tragedy to involve the Lucas Ranch.

  It would, by God, be the last.

  Clint didn’t believe it was about money, but Jase knew better. War was always about money and assets. And after waiting in the shadows for way too long, he was about to launch an offensive strike.

  He stood in the center of the living room. Just as Cassie had described, the old homestead had been swept clean, the cobwebs cleared, the wild creatures relegated to the woods outside. Clint had known they were coming. But he’d gone a step further and cleaned the damn place for them. That part rankled, and a long-suppressed memory surged forward. His father’s face. Bloody, beaten. Defeated.

  “He’s got to be here,” Clint said, shoving aside a clump of yaupon. “We’ve looked everywhere else.”

  Jase had his doubts, but when their father failed to show up for dinner, the brothers had gone searching for him.

  “I don’t know, Clint. No one ever comes here.” Even at fourteen, Jase was convinced the house was haunted.

  “Where the hell else could he be?”

  Jase wasn’t sure, and darkness descended quickly this time of evening, compounding his apprehension.

  “Look!” Clint’s hiss tore at Jase’s gut. A split second later he spotted a form slumped against the moldy house his great-grandparents had abandoned half a century ago for the high ground above the river.

  “Boys…” It was no more than a croak, and Jase couldn’t believe his eyes. His father—belt-whipper, horse-breaker, and the toughest man Jase knew—cowered against the green-slimed slats of the old house.

  “Daddy!” he shouted, unabashed in his concern. “What happened?”

  “A…a bull got after me.”

  A bull? What bovine busted lips and blackened both eyes?

  “Boys,” his father rasped. “Help me up. He…he might still be around.”

  He was still around.

  The same house had been transformed into a more enticing stop than any illegal could expect. And he knew what they expected. Oak motts and mesquite clumps across South Texas were littered with discarded water bottles and sweat-stained clothing, ripped to shreds from the brush. Which made Oscar’s little setup on the ranch all the more intriguing. But there was a method to Oscar’s madness, and this one screamed psychological manipulation. Perhaps the comforts of the homestead lulled the coyote’s mules into a false sense of security before they were given el eleccion.

  Most chose to break up the marijuana between them and transport it the last hundred miles up one of the most patrolled stretches of highway in the state. The ones who chose freedom right then and there sacrificed a child. Oh, the kids made it to Houston all right. The boys disappeared into the cartel’s ranks and the girls…

  He now knew Houston to be one of the nation’s largest sex trafficking hubs, but even as a kid he knew it was wrong. It was all wrong, and his meticulously crafted plan to sneak off three teenage girls and two young boys awaiting transport ended with him on his mother’s kitchen table. She’d shaken and cried while she stitched his stomach back together herself, too scared to take him to the hospital. He’d enlisted two months later, fulfilling the vow he’d made to his parents as he hovered near death from blood loss and shock. He’d almost punched the recruitment officer in the face when the crew-cut bastard came to the house at his father’s invitation. He’d raged and fought and refused to turn a blind eye. But in the end he’d gone.

  What do you believe in, Jase?

  He’d wanted to tell Cassie he believed in freedom. But the words in his head rang false, and he’d bitten his tongue that night outside the dance hall. And then she’d asked him if he’d ever killed. How could he tell her he couldn’t protect the innocents at home so he’d done it on the world stage? That he’d left Marian County a boy and returned a battle-hardened Marine who’d gone hunting for Oscar the second he’d returned? That he’d lost both his parents and his brother as a result?

  The cellar, which she apparently hadn’t discovered, lay just beneath him, and he gave the floor a good soaking of gasoline before throwing open the hatch door. The smell almost knocked him over. The drop-off had already been made. Good.

  He ripped a yellowed lace curtain from the nearest window. Balling it in his fist, he doused the curtain with gas before draining the rest of the can into the cellar. Then he threw the empty can onto the pyre, a clear indication of his arson. He struck a match, pretty sure the entire county was about to get high as hell, and decided a hasty retreat was in order.

  He threw the burning curtain atop the bricks of marijuana and let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Fuck you, asshole,” he whispered. Then he headed for the door.

  Just like he’d always done.

  This time it felt good. It felt right. God, why had he waited this long?

  Oscar’s safe house glowed from the inside out as the fire found more and more fuel, and Jase knew with certainty the coyote would come for him this time. He stood on occupied land. He’d done the same on three separate continents. But he’d “liberated” more oil refineries than villages. And here? At home? He’d used that same greed-fueled industry to lay his own plans for liberation. And yet he’d known, in the deepest hollow of his being that he’d never truly escape until Oscar was dead.

  It was time. Beyond time.

  Smoke filled the air, heavy and smelling like burning houses do, and Jase wondered what side his brother would come in on. In the end, it didn’t matter. This was about more than Clint.

  Cassie…

  …sauntering into his life with her lease offers and bedroom eyes.

  Cassie…

  …lying beneath him on her bed tonight, those eyes wide with fear. It had hit him hard. Men don’t go to war because they give a damn about the economics. They fight to protect what’s theirs. He hadn’t felt that in a long time—that rush, that lay-it-on-the-line intensity, and he couldn’t deny it. It was about the land and Clint, about the families who made their way north, looking for a better life.

  But Cassie had been the spark.

  Staring into the flames, he knew he wanted more out of life than some quickie fling. And he wanted to try it with her.

  This time, he’d have his land, his brother, and his woman. On his terms. And as the fire raged before him, a battle fever crept through his veins, a bloodlust that had more to do with a woman than the enemy. He felt convicted. Finally. And couldn’t stop his grin as Oscar’s base burned to the ground.

  Chapter Eleven

  One week later…

  “You’re off the Lucas tract.”

  Cassie whipped her head from the prospect map covering Marshall’s office wall. “What?”

  Something under Marshall’s big leather chair squeaked as he leaned backward. “Got that verbal you promised?”

  “Not exact—”

  “That was five days ago. I’m giving it to Jim, he’ll bring it home. I know it hurts to lose the override, but…”

  She didn’t hear what he said next. She’d promised her mother a signature, a means to move her into a facility that actually monitored their residents in the shower, and the override’s loss hit her hard, screwing her gut into nausea. In fact, she’d reiterated that promise just the day
before.

  Jason Lucas had gone stone cold after leaving her a hot mess in her hotel room, and after a flurry of unreturned calls, Cassie fled to the piney woods to check on her mother, whose dramatic loss in appetite had reduced her to skin and bones. That, right there, had been enough to drive Cassie back south with a newfound sense of urgency, just to have Marshall tell her it was a no-go.

  “…Neely tract.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “In exchange, I’m giving you a chance to earn an override on the Neely tract.”

  Yes…yes. The tract might not be as large, but at this point, anything would suffice.

  “I expect an update on your progress by the end of the week.”

  Oh…no. “It’s been less than two weeks since Joel Neely died. It’s a little soon to be hounding his widow, don’t you think?”

  “We’ve only got a few more weeks here, Cass. No, it’s not too soon. Not for you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Marshall steepled his fingers, tilted his chin down, and gave her a “look.” For once, his eyes didn’t flick all over the place.

  “Really, Marshall? My mother isn’t dying, and Mrs. Neely, who lost her husband last week, isn’t going to bond with me over coffee and leftover banana bread a neighbor brought by after the funeral. You’re overreaching here. And it’s pissing me off.”

  “Cassie—”

  She gritted her teeth. “I cannot believe you’d use my mother’s illness to sign a lease.”

  It’s what she wanted, but as she stared into Marshall’s beady little eyes, it just seemed…low.

  “End of the week.”

  Great.

  She jerked his door open, and it slammed against the wall. She stalked down the hall but decided not to glare at Jim as he passed. It wasn’t his fault. It was hers. She was a better negotiator than this. Or had been until she’d met Jason Lucas.