Loaded

  "I'm staying with you."

  Shelly couldn't have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn't put himself out for a prospective employee. But then she wouldn't have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight, either.

  "What did you say?" she asked.

  "You shouldn't be alone until we know why someone tried to kill you today."

  "And you're planning to serve as my bodyguard? That isn't necessary."

  "Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger."

  He'd walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA and here to put him and his family away for life. She should be thanking her lucky stars for this entree into the inner sanctum of the world she'd come to infiltrate. But only one word came to mind, and it seemed to be shouting inside her head and echoing through every cell of her body:

  Help!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  ISBN-13: 978-0-373-69332-0

  ISBN-10: 0-373-69332-X

  LOADED

  Copyright © 2008 by Jo Ann Vest

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com

  Printed in U.S.A.

  To all my Texas friends who so willingly share their family stories with me. To my husband for putting up with me when I'm so lost in one of my stories I forget to cook dinner or come to bed. And a special thanks to all my readers who love a cowboy tale the way I do.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her first novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

  Now, dozens of published books laterjoanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestselling list for romance and won many industry awards. She is a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

  She currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star state. You may write Joanna at P.O. Box 265, Montgomery,Texas 77356.

  Books by Joanna Wayne

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  795—A FATHER'S DUTY

  867—SECURITY MEASURES

  888—THE AMULET

  942—A CLANDESTINE AFFAIR

  955—MAVERICK CHRISTMAS

  975—24/7

  1001—24 KARAT AMMUNITION*

  1019—TEXAS GUN SMOKE*

  1041—POINT BLANK PROTECTOR*

  1065—LOADED*

  *Four Brothers of Colts Run Cross

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Matt Collingsworth—Second oldest of the Collingsworth brothers. Ranching is all he needs, until Shelly Lane turns his world upside down.

  Shelly Lane—CIA operator.The last thing she needs is to fall for someone she's investigating.

  Langston Collingsworth—The oldest of the Collingsworth brothers and the president of Collingsworth Oil.

  Bart and Zach Collingsworth—Matt's other two brothers.

  Lenora Collingsworth—Matt's mother and the CEO of Collingsworth Enterprises.

  Becky and Jaime Collingsworth—Matt's sisters.

  David and Derrick Collingsworth—Becky's twin sons.

  Jeremiah Collingsworth—Matt's grandfather and Shelly's physical therapy patient.

  Juanita—Beloved family cook.

  Ben Roberts—CIA mole inside Collingsworth Oil.

  Melvin Rogers—Langston's right-hand man at Collingsworth Oil and family friend.

  Billy Mack—Neighboring rancher.

  Angelique Dubois—Famed Houston artist.

  Brady Owens—Shelly's supervisor.

  Leland Adams—Cowboy who shows up at the big house with Jaime.

  Frankie Dawson—Known for his expertise with explosives.

  Chapter One

  Shelly Lane walked into the Country Cafe at one-forty on a Friday afternoon in the middle of June, following on the heels of Matt Collingsworth. Smells of fried chicken, cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee greeted her. It looked like the sort of place you should seat yourself, but a short, plump woman with a knot of graying curls on top of her head was smiling and sashaying toward her.

  "Hi, there," the lady said, her charming Texas drawl pulling her words into extra syllables. "You can just sit anywhere, and Jill will be around to take your order in a jiffy."

  "Thanks." Shelly glanced around and noted that she was the only one eating alone. Most of the customers were family groups, though there were a few tables with just lone cowboy types. Several looked her way. Most grinned and nodded. A few waved. Colts Run Cross was a very friendly town.

  Shelly located Matt—he'd joined a group of men and one super-cute young lady at a table near a window—then chose a spot where she could observe him without making it too obvious. Actually, she didn't mind him seeing her now that she was about to make contact with his mother.

  The chair wobbled a bit as she slid it closer to the square wooden table covered in a blue plaid cloth. A simple vase holding two silk daisies sat in the middle, flanked by inexpensive salt and pepper shakers and a bottle of catsup.

  Her attention returned to Matt. He was far more handsome in person than in the likenesses she'd studied of him. His hair was short, dark brown and only slightly rumpled by the Western hat he'd been wearing before entering the restaurant. His jeans were worn, but clean, and though she couldn't see it now, she knew from stealthily following him about town that they showed off his lean, hard frame to perfection.

  He glanced her way and smiled. A treacherous skip of her heart forced her to take a deep breath and regroup. Even the slightest attraction on her part could compromise her mission.

  Jill stopped at Shelly's elbow. "The special today is fried chicken, m
ashed potatoes, gravy and pinto beans. That comes with corn bread or biscuits and a dish of peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert. Or you can order off the lunch menu. It's on the back."

  The waitress turned the menu over and tapped the offerings with her index finger. "What would you like to drink?"

  "Just tea, please, with lemon."

  "Sure thing."

  Jill stopped off at Mart's table, flirting shamelessly with him and his cohorts. Not that Shelly blamed her. They all had that sexy cowboy mystique about them. It was even more potent than Shelly had expected, but she knew that Matt Collingsworth was no simple cowboy. Nor was he your everyday Texas rancher.

  Not only did his family own the second-largest spread in Texas, but they were sole owners of Collingsworth Enterprises, which encompassed the operations of Jack's Bluff Ranch as well as Collingsworth Oil and its related subsidiaries. Which meant they had ties to some of the most high-ranking businessmen and politicians in this country and in other key parts of the world.

  The waitress arrived with the tea and Shelly ordered a grilled chicken salad, which arrived in short order. She lingered over her food, finally leaving though Matt was still engaged in a very animated conversation with the others at his table.

  The sun was blinding when she stepped out the door of the small cafe. She fished in her handbag for her sunglasses and put them on as she crossed the street to her dark blue, nondescript sedan. She was opening the door when she spotted a black car rounding the corner, speeding toward her.

  Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a revolver as it slid through the open window. Her instincts and training kicked in at the speed of light. She searched the empty streets for someone to warn, then crouched behind the car door as the sound of gunfire and bullets pinging against metal shattered the quiet afternoon.

  Even if she'd had time to retrieve her weapon from the car, she wouldn't have had time to fire back. The car had roared past and she could hear the footsteps and voices of people rushing from the nearby shops, before she realized she'd been hit by a ricocheting bullet.

  The keys slipped through her fingers and it felt as if a dozen wasps had all found the same spot on the back of her upper arm. Blood soaked the sleeve of her blouse. She stared; the incredulity of the situation made the facts difficult to register. This couldn't have happened. She was CIA and deep undercover. Not even her own mother knew she was in Texas.

  "She's been shot," a female yelled.

  But when Shelly looked up, she was staring right into the dark, piercing eyes of Matt Collingsworth. Trouble had never been more ominous—or looked so good.

  Chapter Two

  My name is Shelly Lane. I'm a physical therapist who's just arrived in Colts Run Cross and has no idea why anyone would be shooting at me.

  Shelly worked to keep the lies firmly implanted in her mind as she fought to overcome the effects of pain and unexpected vulnerability.

  "Some fool fired at me from a passing car and I think a bullet ricocheted into my arm," she said, as Matt crouched down beside her.

  "Is that the only place you were hit?"

  "I think so."

  "You're damn lucky. Your car wasn't so fortunate."

  She only nodded, wondering if he was as innocent in all this as he seemed. Her experience told her to doubt him. Her instincts said differently.

  "Hope this isn't your favorite blouse," Matt said, wielding a pocketknife and staring at the bloodied mess.

  "No, cut away. Not the arm—just the sleeve."

  "Picky, are you?" He cut away the fabric and then helped her to the sidewalk where someone had brought out a chair for her to sit on.

  "The ambulance is on the way," a bystander announced.

  "Who shot her?" someone else yelled.

  "Some guy in a black Ford. Skidded around the corner. He's long gone now."

  "Son of a bitch!"

  "Probably stings like hell," Matt said, shifting so that he could get a better look. "The bullet tore into the flesh of your arm, but there are no exposed bones. A few stitches should put you back together."

  He applied pressure to slow the bleeding as she dealt with the bizarre irony of having him come to her rescue. His touch was strangely heady—probably from the rush of adrenaline and the loss of blood. Still, his take-charge attitude was impressive. It was easy to understand why the ranch he coman-aged with his bother Bart was so successful.

  But then, organizational skills and money were exactly what was making the Collingsworths' ties to terrorists so difficult to trace. She could not let down her guard for a second.

  "Who shot at you?" Matt asked.

  "I have no idea."

  "Do you have that many enemies?"

  "I don't have any that I know of. All I know is the car came from nowhere and someone started shooting at me."

  "Are you saying this was just a random drive-by?" There was no mistaking the suspicion in his voice.

  She tried to move her arm so that she could see the wound.

  "Probably best to keep it still," Matt said. "The ambulance will be here soon."

  "I don't need an ambulance."

  "Maybe not, but you have to go to the emergency room and that's as good a way as any to get there."

  "Are you a doctor?"

  "Nope, just a rancher. Name's Matt Collingsworth."

  "Of Jack's Bluff Ranch?" She hoped there was ample surprise in her pain-laced tone.

  "That's right. Have we met?"

  "No, I've only been in Colts Run Cross a few days but I have an appointment with Lenora Collingsworth tomorrow at the ranch."

  His eyebrows arched.

  "I'm the physical therapist she hired for her father-in-law." That much was true. She'd been a physical therapist, before going back to school for a degree in criminal psychology and going to work for the CIA. Her PT background was the only reason she'd drawn this kind of major assignment so early in her career.

  "Bum luck to show up in town for a new job and get shot before you even get started," Matt said.

  "Do you have many drive-by shootings around here?"

  "Never. This makes no sense at all."

  And she could tell from his tone and expression that he liked things to make sense. She suspected he also liked being in control. He'd certainly taken over here quickly enough.

  "I'll let Mom know not to expect you tomorrow—if ever. I can see how a welcome like this might convince you to turn around and go back home."

  Nothing would make her willingly leave before the investigation was completed, but her supervisor was not going to like this development. If the shooting wasn't a random act of violence, then someone had to know who she was and why she was here. In that case, she'd be jerked off the assignment before she even made it to Jack's Bluff Ranch.

  A siren sounded and a sheriff's squad car pulled up. A couple of uniformed lawmen jumped out, and the bystanders who had gathered around her all started talking at once.

  "A bullet hit the car and..."

  "No one saw the shooter, but he was in a sedan..."

  "Okay, let's try to talk one at a time," one of the lawmen said. "Did anyone get the license plate number?"

  "The car was a black, late-model Ford Fusion, but there was no license plate," Matt said.

  "Did you see the whole thing?"

  "No, I was inside the cafe when the shots were fired, but I raced to the window in time to get a good look at the back of the vehicle before it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight."

  The lawman put up his hand to signal for quiet. "Did anyone get a look at the shooter?"

  "I came running out of Flora's Antique shop when I heard the shots," an overly plump woman with heaving bosoms offered. "All I got was a glimpse of the back of the car."

  The others shared similar accounts.

  The lawman doing all the talking turned to Shelly. "Did you get a good look at him?"

  "No. The second I saw the gun, I ducked out of the way." Which meant there were no eyewitnesses, ju
st as the brazen shooter had no doubt intended.

  "Could be some kind of gang-related initiation," one of the young cowboys who'd been sitting with Matt in the cafe said. "Same thing happened in New Orleans when I was there a few months back helping rebuild a church lost to Katrina."

  "Well, hells bells, Charlie. This ain't New Orleans."

  The ambulance arrived, and two paramedics jumped out and ran toward her. One started tending the wound that was now only oozing blood. The other commenced with a series of routine questions about the injury and about any allergies she had.

  "Let's just hold on here a minute," the lawman-in-charge interrupted. "I need the victim to answer a couple of questions before you go rushing her to the hospital, seeing as how she's not in dire need of emergency medical care."

  He introduced himself as Sheriff Ed Guerra, and she told him her name.

  "So, Miss Lane, do you know why anyone would be taking pot shots at you?"

  "Absolutely not. I don't know anyone in Colts Run Cross except the people I've met over the last four days. They were all very friendly."

  "So you just moved here?"

  "I've been staying at the motel on the highway, but I came here to work for the Collingsworths. I'm a physical therapist."

  The sheriff and Matt exchanged glances.

  "She's supposed to work with Jeremiah," Matt said.

  The sheriff nodded and nudged his cowboy hat back a bit farther. "Where are you from?"

  "Atlanta."

  "That's a long commute."

  "I needed a change of scenery and I've always wanted to visit Texas."

  "How did you hear about a job at Jack's Bluff Ranch?"

  "I found the Houston Chronicle classifieds online and saw the Collingsworths' ad."

  He nodded and scratched his clean-shaven chin. "Guess that makes sense. The rest of my questions can wait until you get that arm cleaned and stitched." He nodded to the medics. "She's all yours."

  She let them load her into the ambulance. Her arm still hurt, but her biggest problem right now was finding out who had shot at her and why—before her supervisor determined she wasn't the person for this assignment.