Stetsons and Stakeouts Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  More from BA Tortuga

  Readers love BA Tortuga

  About the Author

  By BA Tortuga

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Stetsons and Stakeouts

  By BA Tortuga

  Gianni Cesare is a DEA agent and rancher—who also happens to be a millionaire heir to an Italian count. Running a multiagency sting out of his East Texas ranch means he needs a new foreman… preferably someone a little wet behind the ears who won’t ask too many questions.

  Gianni’s Aunt Jerilyn hires Bonner Fannin, a roughstock rider with zero ranch experience and a sister who’s pregnant with a violent biker’s twins. If that’s not bad enough, Bonner is pretending he and his sister are married to protect her and to help get him the job.

  Gianni didn’t think Bonner was the marrying type during their torrid beach affair years ago, but he’s not sure if he has time to explore that thought now, as overrun as his ranch is with drug cartels, macho government agents, and local cops. Looks like Bonner and Gianni are both in over their heads, and they may have to band together during this adventure to swim rather than sink.

  As always, to my girl. I love you. BA

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU to Lisa and Jaymi for your support. Y’all rock my world. BA

  Chapter One

  “GOD DAMMIT! Gianni, get your fucking head out of your ass! I swear to God, you keep pulling this lone ranger bullshit and I will stick my foot so far up your ass you’ll feel me tapping my toes on your frigging neck!”

  Something hard and heavy smacked Gianni, square in the chest. You’d think someone didn’t care he’d just taken a round to the vest. Uncaring, if you asked him.

  “You couldn’t wait seventeen seconds for backup? How’s it feel? A little tender? Fucker.” His partner, Alison, had that whole screaming thing down pat. Made him want to put a bullet in her brain. Problem was, she was usually right.

  “Ow,” he said mildly, knowing his calm would make her crazy.

  She kicked him, just a little on the hard side. “Get up.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  “You’re fixin’ to be more than wounded. Get. Your. Ass. Up.”

  “I’m up.” He wasn’t, but he was working on it. “Sitrep?”

  “Three enemy casualties, five wounded—not including your worthless ass—primary is gone.”

  Fuck-a-doodle-doo. What a cock-up. He let her hook his arm over her shoulders. “Time to regroup.”

  “No shit on that. Brass is going to have your balls.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yep.”

  Like she’d ever let him take the fall on his own. Alison was like a momma bear when it came to defending her team, and he was her partner. “Huh. Well, as long as they don’t put me on a desk in Cleveland.” Gianni knew better. With his dual nationalities, his Bruce Wayne type alter ego, and his connections all over the world, he was too valuable to the DEA to end up riding a desk.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She kept him walking, kept him moving to the truck. “You need to be checked out.”

  “Find me a hot little doctor who likes to bottom, and I’m there.” He teased her unmercifully about his sex life, which made her clap her hands over her ears more often than not.

  “You are gross. Gross. No one wants to know that much about anyone.”

  “You’re just a prude.” He wouldn’t argue about a doc, though. His ribs felt turned inside out.

  “Completely. Also, I’m a crotchety bitch, but I’m a better shot than you.”

  “Oh man. Hit a man while he’s down.” What an utter clusterfuck.

  Gianni could only hope their next assignment was way more cushy than this one. He could totally use a break.

  “You make such a great target, Caesar.” She drawled out his nickname.

  “Ches-er-ae,” he corrected. He was half Italian, and no one knew how to pronounce his damned last name. Or his first, to be honest. Way more “Johnny” than the Gee-ahn-eee people tended to spout when they saw how the word was spelled.

  “Uh-huh.” She handed him over to the EMTs. “Don’t hurt him too bad. I still need him.”

  “You got it.” They pulled off Gianni’s vest and draped him in a blanket. Maybe he could catch a nap.

  Hell, maybe he could pretend to be dead when his superiors showed up to ream him.

  Now that was a plan and a half.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU’RE WHAT?” Bonner blinked at his phone. It was the connection, right? He was out here in the badlands, booking it for the mountains. Santa Fe, to be exact. There was good money to be had in Northern New Mexico.

  “I’m pregnant, Bubba. I’m having twins!”

  Okay, so that wasn’t a dropped connection. “Mom’s going to hang you.”

  “Mom doesn’t have to know.”

  His head tilted so far that he damn near lost sight of the road. “Whut?” Mom knew shit before it even happened, especially if it was bad.

  “You heard me! I can’t tell her. Oh, by the way, Momma, I’m having Snake the Biker’s babies.”

  He closed his eyes for a half second. “Snake. The. Biker.” Fuck-a-doodle-doo.

  “He’s hot, Bubba. That’s my only excuse.” She laughed, but it was a watery sound.

  And people said guys thought with their crotches. “I…. So, what in the sam hell are you gonna do?”

  “I don’t know! The doc says I can’t work past about six months. I’m gonna starve.”

  “You can go home to Mom’s….” Except that Mom was living in a scary fucking roach-ridden apartment in New Orleans and reading palms in Jackson Square.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Okay. Okay, uh…. How far along are you?”

  “They keep telling me in weeks.” She took a deep breath. “Four and a half.”

  “Weeks?” That wasn’t too bad.

  “Months. I’m at nineteen weeks.”

  That was a lot of weeks. “Holy shit, Bri. I can’t even get home for a week.” Maybe ten days, if he hit a lot of rain.

  “I’m scared, Bubba, and I need hel
p.”

  “Well, I ain’t sure how in God’s green earth I can do that, but….” He sighed, rolling his eyes like thrown dice. “I’ll do my best.” If he won in Santa Fe, he might could use his cousin Skeeter’s airline miles to get home and let Bruce Johannson drive his truck back to Dallas. Nah.

  It was only twelve hours. She could hold on. She had another five months to go. “I’ll make Santa Fe my last stop for now. You start looking at the want ads.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Pregnant waitress needs sugar daddy.”

  “That works.” He chuckled. “Just look, okay? We’ll figure out something. I can wire you some money today if you need food.”

  “I’m still working at the Denny’s, at least for a few more weeks.”

  “Is that safe?” Bonner knew there was puking and all involved.

  “Shut up, Bubba. Call me when you get close to home.”

  “I will. No falling or hooking up with Snake. I love you.”

  “Love you.”

  Snake. Seriously? Who the fuck was unoriginal enough to call himself Snake the Biker? Bonner hung up with his sister, his brain going a mile a minute. Twins. Christ.

  Twins. Like as in babies. Two of them.

  Suddenly all he could see was two wee babies in diapers with nose rings and snakes and daggers tattooed on their tiny chests. The whole thing made him whoop so hard with laughter that he had to pull off at the next exit. He might as well stop at the Love’s and get a sandwich and pee anyway.

  God knew his entire fucking life was fixin’ to change somehow, without even a bit of his permission.

  Chapter Three

  “SO, IT appears as though the MI50 gang is moving the product from Mexico directly up the I-30 corridor. They’re using various private lands—mostly unbeknownst to the owners—to corral their enforcers and extra vehicles.”

  Gianni stared at the map, kinda finding it hard to believe his luck. The new task force his DEA supervisor was forming needed a base of operations smack in East Texas. Right in an area Gianni happened to be deeply familiar with. “That’s my ranch.”

  “What?” The whole room of agents seemed to hiccup, all eyes on him.

  “My ranch. You see this land—twelve thousand acres. My Aunt Jerilyn keeps an eye on it.” It had been in his family since Texas was its own sovereign nation, and it was going to be there until… well, he supposed until he passed away. Aunt Jerilyn was as queer as he was.

  “You’re Italian.” His boss, Supervisory Special Agent Thomas Lyons, stared at him as if he’d grown another head.

  “My dad is Italian,” Gianni agreed easily. “Mom? Diana Webb. Half owner of Webb Ranches Inc., Mount Pleasant, Texas. I can get us a good setup.”

  “Yep. Johnny Caesar, born with a platinum spoon in his mouth.” He was going to beat Alison with her own tongue.

  “Actually it was an entire serving set, complete with an olive spoon.”

  “See, boss? See what I have to work with? I don’t even know what a fucking olive spoon is,” Alison ranted.

  Gianni chuckled, but Tom just blinked, slowly, making Gianni think maybe he heard each lash click. “For once, Cesare, you’re not a giant pain in my ass. Call your aunt while I get your team together. We’ll coordinate with the Dallas office as well as the FBI, ATF, Border Patrol, and local LEOs.”

  “Yeah? Let me make some phone calls.” He hadn’t spent much time at the ranch since he’d joined the DEA. The rural life suited him better than it did, say, his mother, but he wanted to have as much excitement as he could before he settled down.

  Besides, Aunt Jerilyn was a competent manager, and she was extremely pastoral.

  He slipped out of the meeting, flipping off Alison on the way when she crossed her eyes at him. Gianni pulled out his phone and keyed up his aunt’s number.

  “Gianni! Sweet baby, how are you? I’ve been missing your face.” He opened his mouth to answer, but he heard, “Goddammit! I told you to get the fuck off my land, you worthless piece of shit! I swear by all I hold holy I will rip off your motherfucking head and shit down your neck! Evil bastard!” She took another breath, then continued, “So, sweet baby, when you comin’ home?”

  “Problems?” Gianni loved her cigarette-rough drawl, her tough-as-nails persona. Suddenly he needed to see her, right now. “Just a lousy foreman that thought he could move cattle behind my back. He learned better.”

  “Oh hell.” She hated to be cheated, she surely did. “Hey, I got some news you’re not gonna love.”

  “Tell me your parents aren’t coming to visit.”

  “No, ma’am.” His childhood of spending summers and two school years in Texas crept into his voice when he spoke to her. “You know I can’t talk too much about my job, but there’s a huge operation in your area.”

  “Operation? Like drugs? Is someone growing mary-ju-wana?”

  He chuckled. “No. No, someone is moving truckloads of coke and heroin through the I-30 corridor.”

  “Huh. I didn’t hear about that. We span the highway, even got the ponds running nice under that one bridge.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to borrow some space. Bring in my team. No one will think twice about me coming.”

  “Oh. Well, sure, baby boy. It’s your place, for God’s sake.” Auntie had the spread to the west, six thousand acres of her own, along with a three-story goofy-assed house that screamed redneck chic, all zebra stripe and pink rhinestones. “How can I help?”

  His mind raced. “Well, since you’re hiring a new foreman, I need you to get someone in who won’t bat an eye when I come sweeping in with an entourage and put my own people in place. Someone who doesn’t know me and won’t make waves.”

  “So not Chris or Xavier, I suppose.”

  “Oh God. Are they still in town?” Chris and Xavier had been his best American friends. He’d spent fifteen summers and two notable years of high school in Texas. They’d been the three musketeers.

  “In town? Chris is the goddamn interim sheriff, and Xavier took a bullet in Afghanistan. He’s back at his daddy’s ranch, drinking beer and pretending to ride fence.”

  “I’ll talk with them both, but no. I need someone who will believe I’m a foreigner playing rancher.”

  “Oh?” Her voice went knowing and more than a bit wicked. “Are you coming to play Massimo on a horse?”

  “I am. That will keep anyone who might be looking for trouble off guard, sì?” He laid on a thick Milanese accent.

  “Oh good Lord and butter.” Her laugh sounded like gravel in an aluminum pie plate. “I swear, you’re serious? You’re coming with all your secret agent friends?”

  “I am. There will be five, maybe six. I’ll need the house opened up.” His folks’ house on the ranch was far less bizarre than hers.

  “Of course. I’ll get the girls out to dust and get you ready. Just tell me when.”

  “I’ll call. Xavier’s daddy still have the same phone number?”

  “He does. Love you, baby boy. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Love you too. See you soon.”

  He’d call Xavier next. Xavvy would have to call Chris. Wouldn’t do for Gianni to do it and be in touch with a lawman so quick off the mark.

  “Caesar! What the hell? We’re waiting.” Alison’s voice was going a little strident with worry.

  He held up one finger, dialing Xavier’s old home number. God, he still had it in his contacts. How weird.

  It took about four rings, and then he heard a familiar voice from his youth say, “Garcia.”

  “Xavvy. Hey.” He waited, curious to see if he was as familiar.

  There was a long pause, then, “Cesare? Cesare, is that you?”

  “Yeah, man.” He grinned, waving Alison off. “Heard you took one in the line of duty.”

  “More than one, but yeah. Yeah, I did. You in town?”

  “Not yet, but I’m fixin’ to be.” Jesus, when was the last time he’d said fixin’ to?

  “Yeah? Rock on. We’ll have to get toge
ther.”

  “I’ll need tactical, actually. I’m on a job. Setting up a base at the ranch. I’ll fill you in ASAP, but can you let Chris know?”

  “Yeah. You gonna let me play too, man? I’m bored as fuck, cooling my heels.”

  “Hell yes. I can use your skills. Off the record, of course.” Alison was gonna love this guy.

  “Sure. Sure. I don’t give two fucks about the record. I just want in on the action.”

  “Junkie.” He’d forgotten how much alike they were, him and his two best friends from back when. “See you in about a week, I bet.”

  “Okay, I’ll holler at Chris. Tell me there will be a cookout at the big house.”

  “Hell yes. I called Jerilyn this morning, and I bet she’s out buying brisket as we speak.”

  “I’ll bring the beer.”

  “Just make sure it’s the good stuff.” He laughed, excited about the prospect of going home, at least to one of them, for a bit.

  “Shiner it is. See you, buddy.” The line went dead about the time a balled-up piece of paper slammed into the back of his head.

  “What the fuck?” he bellowed, channeling his Italian side.

  “We’re all waiting on you, fuckhead!” Alison never so much as flinched. “Get your ass in here, you prick.”

  “Hey, I just got us a base of operations and local LEO involvement, as well as an ex-Special Forces tactical backup.” He bent to pick up the paper before winging it at Alison.

  She caught it and tossed it in the garbage. “What? You want a medal? Come to work.”

  “I was working.”

  Their boss rolled his eyes. “Anytime you two would like to act like adults.”

  “Like Caesar there could cope.”

  He was going to beat Alison’s ass. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out and instead rattled off a rather foul string of Italian. She answered him in Farsi, which tickled the living shit out of him.

  “I can tell we’re done here for the day. I’ll coordinate with the other agencies and assemble a team. You two put in a requisition for your tech and read the dossiers on the gang leaders that we think are behind the enforcers.”