Protected Pt. 01

He smiled. "People who don't want you driving across their land, I guess. It doesn't matter. We're here and we have a job to do. Ms. Larke invited you to give her, or a guy named Harris, a call if you have a problem working with us. Now I'd rather work this out between us, and not bother anyone else, but if that's how you want to play it, we'll wait here while you make the call."

I stared at him a moment and then deflated. "No, I guess not. If she told me to call her that means she's already made up her mind, and Dad would be even worse."

"Harris is your father?"

"Yeah. Harris Alvin Larke, President, CEO, and Founder of Larke Oil."

Colton nodded. "Is there someplace we can talk? I don't want to be a pain in your ass, so if we can come to some agreement on how we can best to do our job and not be in your way, that'll make it easier on both of us."

"I still think this is a waste of time."

"Maybe, but that's not my call. We're here until Ms. Larke tells me to stop showing up."

I sighed. "Fine. We'll go to my RV so we don't bother Hank. Let me get my computer."

"Everything okay?" Hank asked as I stomped back into the truck.

"No. My aunt is being a pain in my ass, and I've got to go deal with these yahoos. I'll be back as quick as I can."

"What yahoos?"

"Some Hells Angels wannabes that Aunt Pam hired to protect me."

Hank held my gaze for a moment. "I'm not sure that's a bad idea," he said slowly. "After all, someone did take a shot at us."

I rolled my eyes again. "And we called the Sheriff."

"Yeah," he said softly.

"What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Go on. Spill it," I said as unhooked my computer.

He paused for a moment. "Are we sure he was the one that took the shot? He said he didn't."

"Who else would it be? He was the only one raising hell."

"I know... but even crazy old coots don't normally shoot at women."

"You think it was someone else, and how do you know he was shooting at me and not the thumper?"

He shrugged again. "I don't. I just know that having a little extra protection doesn't sound like a bad idea to me." He looked at me and then grinned. "If you get killed while I'm on duty, that's not going to look good on a résumé."

"Gee, thanks for your concern," I teased with a growl as I stuffed my computer into its bag. "I'll be back."

"I'll be here."

I banged out of the door and trotted down the steps. "Follow me," I said as I pulled down my sunglasses.

As I opened the door to my bright yellow Jeep, the men mounted up.

I bounced along in my Jeep, thinking about what that Colton guy had said, my mind swirling in a mixture of annoyance and frustration. What a complete waste of time and money! They'll only be in the way or slow me down. I don't have time to babysit a bunch of tenderfoot bikers if I have to go out in the field. What the hell is Aunt Pam thinking?

The recording truck moved with the thumpers as we performed the surveys since we only had so much cabling for the geophones, but my RV, once it was parked, generally stayed where it was until I was ready to return to Houston. Because it wasn't worth the hassle of moving, and then going through the trouble of leveling it every few days to keep up with the recording truck, it had to be parked far enough from the field we were surveying to make sure its generator didn't interfere with our soundings, no matter where we were. Because I had my Jeep for when I needed to into the field, I could drive back and forth. After fifteen minutes of me rattling along the dusty, washboarded road, I pulled to a stop beside my RV. During the drive, I'd decided I was going to cooperate as much as I could, but I wasn't going to let them get in my way and they'd have to keep up. I stepped out of Jeep and glanced down the road. The wannabes were way the hell back. Speaking of keeping up...

I waited until they arrived and switched off their bikes. They dismounted then spent some time positioning their bikes and checking them to make sure they wouldn't tumble to their side. I forced myself not to smile. They'd been holding back to stay out of my dust cloud, but as they slapped at themselves, it was clear that had only partially worked.

"Welcome to my home away from home," I said as I opened the door and led the men into the coach.

"Damn!" one of the men drawled. "This place is nicer than my house!"

I smiled. Everyone had the same reaction. Though not loaded with all the luxury touches, such as marble counter tops and floors, my coach was still a nice place to spend time with plenty of wood, leather, and a faux wood floor for easy cleaning.

"Have a seat. Can I get you anything? I have water, Cokes, and beer."

"Water, please," Colton said as he glanced around. "It's only eight in the morning."

I snickered. "Good point." I filled four glasses from the jug in the 'fridge and passed them out.

"Thanks. I assume you sleep here?" Colton asked as he took his glass. He was clearly the leader of this merry little band.

"Where else would I sleep?"

He shrugged. "I'm just working out details. Tell me about this guy who shot at you."

I sat down in my spot on the couch as the men scattered about the room and settled. I'd barely gotten comfortable before Mafic hopped into my lap to be petted.

"Not a lot to tell. My crew was riding across his land placing geophones, getting ready for the thumpers, when he came out in his truck and tried to chase us away. He's just a crazy old fart. They showed him the lease he signed, and I thought that was the end of it. A few days later, when the thumpers showed up, he went bonkers. Said the thumpers were destroying his house, which is total malarkey. You can't even feel the vibrations twenty meters from them, and even up close they just feel like a big truck passing by. Anyway, he was out there waving a gun around, so they called the Sheriff."

"That's when they arrested him?" the third man asked.

"No. The Sheriff got him calmed down, but the next day Hank and I started getting some anomalous readings from the geophones. We went out to check the equipment and talk to the thumpers to try to figure out what was going on when we heard a gunshot and a bullet ping off the thumper somewhere. It was just the one shot." She shrugged. "We called the Sheriff again and the guy was arrested."

Colton nodded. "And no shots since then?"

I shook my head. "No. Of course he denied shooting at the truck, but I think the evidence speaks for itself."

"Ms. Larke thinks it's drug smugglers pushing back. She may be right. We're only a few miles from the border."

I shrugged. "Maybe, but why would they shoot at us? If they were cross a section we were sounding, we'd know it, but it'd be simpler to just go around. It's not like we're hiding out here. The thumpers are big, loud, and lit up like beacons at night. Same for the recording truck."

"Maybe that's what they're afraid of, that you're tracking them somehow. How sensitive are these things?"

I grinned. "Sensitive enough to detect a jackrabbit trying to sneak past."

They stared at me. "Seriously?" the second man asked.

"I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your names," I said as I glanced between Colton's two men.

"Fish," the man who'd asked the questions said.

"Grace," the third man said.

"And I'm Colt."

I grinned. "Yes, seriously. If a rabbit were right beside the geophone, I'd know. Of course, the farther from the receiver the disturbance is, the less likely it is to pick up noise, but I can pick up a man walking at five or six meters." I paused. "That's how I knew you were coming. The receivers picked you up as you rode past."

Colt looked at Fish and Grace. "Maybe that's it."

I snorted. "We do fifteen-hundred-meter square grids. We sound that square, then pick up and move to the next one. It's not like we're strung out all across the border."

"They may not know that," Fish pointed out.

"It doesn't matter," Colt said. "Crazy old desert rats or smugglers, if they're shooting at you, you're in danger, so we need to figure out how to minimize the risk. Do you work a regular schedule?"

"Hardly. I have a special project I'm working on, so I generally work seven to four in the recording truck, but if the weather closes us down, I might work from here that day. We run twenty-four seven, so if there's an equipment problem, or we get an anomaly on the soundings, I could get a call at any time."

"That actually makes our job easier," Colt said. "The problem is, as you point out, it's wide open out here. I'm thinking the best way to handle this is to put one man on you all the time, and have another out in the field, well away from you on the most likely approach, to try to pick up a threat before it becomes a threat."

"How are you going to do that? A guy could die out there!"

"It's a problem, but since you work in the air conditioning... I assume that rig you were in was air conditioned?" I nodded. "Since you work in the air conditioning, I'm thinking the person inside and outside can change places every couple of hours. That'll give the guy out there cooking in the sun a chance to cool off and get something to drink."

"That's stupid! Do you know how hot it gets out there! It's supposed to be between ninety-five and a hundred today. You clearly have no idea what you're talking about!"

None of the men liked that, but they needed to hear it. "You let us worry about that. We've been in this part of Texas for forty years. We know what we're doing," Grace rumbled, his annoyance clear in his tone.

"I'm not going out there to rescue your sorry ass when you keel over from heat stress," I snapped.

Fish smiled. "I'll bet you a beer we can survive in the desert better, and longer, than you can."

I looked at each of the three men in turn. They seemed cool and confident in their abilities. Whether that confidence was earned or misplaced remained to be seen. "Who are you guys?"

Fish and Grace looked away from me, almost as if they were embarrassed, though Colt didn't blink with the question. "We're members of the Buitre del Demonio Motorcycle Club. That's Tom Fisher, my Sergeant-at-Arms, and Chuck Grace, my VP."

That explained the bust of a horned devil with a skeletal vulture sitting on his shoulder on the back of their leather jackets. "The Devil's Vultures Motorcycle Club, huh? Are you kidding me? Does Aunt Pam know who you are?"

"She knows."

"What possible experience can a bunch of Hell's Angels wannabes have protecting someone?" I was trying to be polite, but it was hard. This time Colt did react, just as Fish and Grace did, and I could tell they didn't like my attitude a bit.

"We've provided security services for over thirty years, making sure high value merchandise arrived at its destination," Colt said, his voice firm.

"What high value merchandise? Drugs?" When none of the men answered, I knew the answer. "You're drug runners?" I cried. "Get out!" I snarled while pointing at the door.

"We'll leave, but we're still here to guard you. You can either accept that and work with us, or you can make it harder on everyone. It's your choice," Colt said, his voice just as hard as before.

"I'm not having a bunch of druggies guarding me! There's no way Aunt Pam knew that when she hired you!"

"She does, and she did," Colt said softly. "We're out of that business, and have been for a couple of years."

"I don't believe you."

Colt shrugged. "You know how to reach her. Ask her yourself."

I pushed Mafic out of my lap, stood, pulled my sat phone from the computer bag laying on the counter, and dialed Aunt Pam's private number. The phone rang three times. "Willow? Is everything okay?"

"I'm here with the security detail you hired. Did you know they were a motorcycle club and drug runners?" I waited on the delay that was always present when using a satellite phone.

"I knew."

"You knew... and you still hired them?" I all but yelled into the phone.

"I did."

"They run drugs!"

"Not anymore."

"I don't care! I don't want them here!"

"Listen to me, Willow. You'll either cooperate with these men as much as you can, and allow them to do their job, or you can come back to Houston. Your choice."

"I'm calling Dad!"

"Go ahead. He'll tell you the same thing. I cleared this with him before I called Mr. Arne."

I fumed a moment. "You'd pull me out of the field when I'm so close to proving the software?"

"I will, if you force me to."

I paused. "I don't believe you."

"Hand the phone to Mr. Arne. I'll have him escort you back to Houston. Make sure the RV is ready to travel. Todd will be by to pick it up and drive it back to Houston this evening."

I held the phone but said nothing, waiting to see if she'd back off. I should have known better. "You'd really do it," I finally growled.

"Without a moment's hesitation. What you're doing is important, but it isn't worth your life."

"It's been handled!"

"When Mr. Arne tells me it's been handled, then I'll believe it. Until then, you're under his protection if you want to remain in the field."

I was gripping the phone so tightly my fingers were starting to hurt. "Fine. Whatever." I ended the call before she could respond and tossed the phone onto my computer bag. "Looks like I'm stuck with you."

Colt nodded but at least he didn't gloat. "Now that we have that cleared up, can we work together to make this as painless as possible?"

I sighed. "Looks like I don't have any choice."

"Okay," he said. "As I said, two-man teams. One close by you, the other out in the field. If you have to go out in the open, we'll pull the other man in so you'll have two guards. We'll stay out of your way as much as possible, but you have to understand that you don't go anywhere without telling us first, okay?"

"Fine."

He nodded then turned to look at his men. "I'll take the first watch. Fish, when you get back to the clubhouse find out who's available to join me, then get the next watch set up. We'll work out a schedule tonight."

Fish and Grace nodded and rose. "You sure you don't want me to stay?" Grace asked.

"No. I can cover it until someone gets here." He turned back to me. "Do you have a radio or something I can give the guys, so they can call when they get to the road, so we won't mess up your recording when we come and go."

I rummaged in my computer bag, pulled out my radio, and handed it to Colt. Once we got out of this section, we'd be far enough from the road it wouldn't matter, but until then, at least they were trying to minimize their pain in my ass.

"Thank you," Colt said, taking the radio and then handing it over to Fish. "Can I get one of those, too?"

"There are some extras in the recorder truck."

Colt turned to Fish. "Make sure whoever you send calls when they reach the gate." He glanced at me. "Make sure they understand they have to get the okay before passing the sign."

"You got it."

"I need you to follow me back to the truck before you leave," I said. "We need to stop sounding so you don't hose the data again."

All three nodded. "Willow, I know you don't want us here, but we'll work with you as much as possible," Colt said, obviously trying to smooth things over.

"Whatever," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Let's go."

As the men prepared to ride, I got into my Jeep and raced away, throwing dirt everywhere as I spun the tires, taking my annoyance out on the vehicle. I still wasn't pleased he was part of a club that once ran drugs, but he wasn't anything like I imagined a drug runner to be. When I thought of a drug lord, I thought of Al Pacino in Scarface. These three guys were about as far from that as they could possibly be. Except that Colt wore a leather jacket instead of a cowboy hat and boots, and rode a motorcycle instead of a horse, I could see him as a cowpoke.

He was tall and lean, standing around 1.9 meters in his boots, well-muscled, and he certainly didn't look like someone who was always strung out on drugs. His jeans and shirt fit him just right, and his piercing blue eyes seemed like they'd seen a lot even though he was probably no older than my own thirty-one years. I also liked that he, that all three of the men, carried themselves with a quiet confidence, as if they had nothing to prove. I also appreciated that he hadn't tried to hide what they did and answered my questions openly and honestly.

With his quiet confidence, body, eyes, dirty blond hair, and strong cheekbones and chin, he was sexy as hell, and I had a hard time seeing him as a bad guy. I wondered if that was part of the reason that I'd given in so easily to Aunt Pam. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It didn't matter. I was stuck with them, at least for now. So long as they stayed out of my way, and didn't bring any drugs onto my site, I didn't care what they did... or used to do.

.

.

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COLT

"That could have gone better," Grace grinned as we watched Willow race away, a billowing cloud of dust marking her progress.

"Could be worse," Fish snickered. "We could have to be here with her. I don't envy you having to deal with her until she cools off."

"Thanks, guys," I growled. "All we can do is try to stay out of her way while we do our job. It sounds like this is going to be pretty easy if it really was just some crazy old fart shooting at her. I hope so anyway."

"How are we going to handle the guy out on the parameter? She's right in that it's going to be hotter than hell out there," Grace asked.

"I know. If we got one of the Ghillie nets we used to camouflage a drop, we could set it up on a stand for some shade, plus it'll be hard to spot. If we got a low chair, a cooler full of ice, and some drinks, I think we can handle it for a couple of hours at a time, don't you?"

Fish bobbed his head as he thought. "If they let us use their truck to run the guy out there and pick him up, it might not be so bad. Do you think you can put together a light frame to hold the net?" he asked Grace.

"Sure. I probably have enough scrap aluminum lying around to do it. I'll knock that together this afternoon. I'll give it a really wide and low footprint so the wind won't knock it over and to provide plenty of shade."

I nodded in agreement. "Now that I think about it, just hold off on sending someone back today. No point in frying someone out there if we don't have to. If you two can get the outpost setup with what it needs, I'll cover this afternoon alone. To start with, what do you think about running the shifts seven to seven?"

"Sounds fine, but where are we going to sleep?" Grace asked.

Fish leaned over like a hunchback, twisting his hands around each other like an evil henchman. "I know where I want to sleep," he slurred, then cackled wickedly.

I snickered. "Would you stop? Jesus, you act like you never get laid," I growled as I mounted up.

Willow was stunning. There was a strong family resemblance between her and Pam, but Willow was a bit taller with a more athletic build, probably from hiking in the desert rather than sitting behind a desk. Her sun-bleached brown hair was short, fell to the middle of her neck, and was worn in a messy is sexy style. Dressed in shorts, hiking boots, and a loose men's style button front shirt with the Larke Oil logo on the left breast, I certainly understood why Fish said what he had.

"Well, I certainly don't get it as often as Grace."

I snickered again. "Yeah, but who does?"

-oOo-

I was sitting in the shade on the steps leading into the recorder truck, watching the road, when the door hit me in back. From my perch, I could see a dust cloud from an approaching vehicle long before it got close enough to be threat, plus it gave Willow some space. I didn't expect to see anything or anyone, and I hadn't.