Desert Heat. Kathleen Pickering

first out-of-town consultant to make a complete ass of himself at first sight. Well done,” she said.

      He popped the hat back on his head. Damn cowboy hat. Hated them, but it was part of the getup. He stole a quick glance at the two men clearly enjoying the spectacle he’d created. Winning over the men wouldn’t take long. Cracking Meg Flores? Now, she would be a challenge.

      Meanwhile, he could benefit from regaining some semblance of dignity. He hadn’t expected that he’d have so much trouble with the horse. When he’d come up with the plan, he’d imagined that the horse would behave and not have a personality completely foreign to him. And he wasn’t kidding about thinking anyone could simply jump on a horse and go. Damn. He’d ridden before. That beast was more of a bitch to ride than a rigid-frame chopper on city streets. He hesitated about claiming the reins from Meg, who already seemed to have tamed the animal. Yet, from the look on the detective’s face, he just might prefer to take his chances with the horse.

      He reached for the reins. A smirk crossed Meg’s face as she handed them over. The horse turned his head away in total disinterest, pulling at the reins as if testing Tico one more time. Tico held firmly. The horse got the message and stood still. Looking the horse in the eye reinforced his earlier thoughts about riding. He’d never trade his Harley for a horse.

      He cleared his throat. “I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Eric Longwood.”

      One of the men, who looked to be of Mexican descent, thumbed toward the newly renovated precinct. If memory served Tico from the files he read, this was Jose Lopez, the rookie detective on this case.

      Lopez gestured over his shoulder. “Inside. Chief’s expecting you.”

      Tico made sure to have eye contact with each of them. “Thanks for the reception.”

      Meg planted a hand on her hip. “We got a call that a circus act was riding in. Couldn’t resist.”

      Ignoring her dig, he looked around. He wasn’t finished working the joker card. “Where does one park a horse around here?”

      Meg shook her head. “Idiot.”

      He liked the challenge in her derision. When she didn’t answer, he said, “I heard your precinct had a mounted unit. Can my demon on four legs hang out with your horses until I’m done?”

      She gestured to the corner. “Stable is behind the building.” She glanced at her watch. “Better get a move on, cowboy. Eric doesn’t like to start late.”

      Tico walked the horse away, leaving a wave of chuckles behind him for not mounting to ride. For once, Diablo followed dutifully behind him. The beast was probably glad he didn’t have to deal with Tico again. He rounded the corner to the stables. In any other city they could have been mistaken for a four-bay garage with doors that swung open instead of up.

      The renovated police station reflected the wealth that funneled into Adobe Creek from the celebrity resort nestled in the foothills. While the rest of the city maintained its historic Southwestern architecture, the modern brick precinct looked out of place amid the older adobe and wood buildings and outdated warehouses farther down the narrow street. Adobe Creek needed about fifty years to catch up with the rest of the world.

      Tico looked around with a sense of disbelief, unable to accept he’d taken this job. Yet, here he was, his hip already hurting from his two throws, facing off with the squad team that wanted nothing to do with him, and wondering what Meg Flores looked like when she wasn’t angry.

      His reception had proven to be more or less what he’d expected. What had surprised him was the gut wrench that hit when he’d ridden his Harley past the Judumi reservation outside of Adobe Creek. His dad had told him stories of the Judumi tribe, but any group that had spit out his dad and forgotten about Tico, even though they knew he existed, was no group he ever wanted to join.

      Yet, he’d come, even though he didn’t relish the meeting with Chief Eric Longwood and the detective team. Under other circumstances he’d bet Meg Flores could have been a friend, along with the rest of her team. But, no. Once again, he had to be the hired gun. He arrived as the threat to their reputations because they couldn’t move this investigation forward. None of them wanted him here. Diablo snorted behind him, pulling on the reins as if punctuating his thoughts. Tico picked up the pace. The sooner he unloaded this animal, the better he’d feel.

      Did the team know that Tico had originally refused the job? It wasn’t until the man behind Longwood’s request had called him and explained the personal investment he had in solving this case that Tico did some soul searching and accepted the assignment. The huge pay hadn’t hurt either, but refusing would have been morally wrong.

      He’d done stings similar to this before. He’d never tackled a group as far-reaching as the Mexican Carlito cartel, but stopping their drug and human trafficking ring in Adobe Creek outweighed his personal desires never to set foot in this part of the country. Diablo’s hooves clicked on the pavement as if counting out the seconds that would lead to the hours and then days he would spend in Adobe Creek. He’d get the job done as quickly as possible and get the hell out of town. Maybe take a long vacation. Ride his Harley up the Pacific coast. After fifteen years, he needed a break. He was so damned tired of playing the tough guy with his peers.

      An older man with a day’s worth of stubble stood in the door of the stables. He took one look at Tico and began to laugh.

      “Long ride from Tombstone, son?”

      Another joker. Yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken this job, even if he did set himself up as a fool. Why was he always right?

CHAPTER TWO

      MEG SAT IN the conference room with her team members, Bill, Jose and Mitchell, awaiting her boss and the Rattlesnake—Tico Butler’s nickname in the underground world, according to his profile.

      She swallowed a gulp of coffee with disgust. Wasn’t it her bad luck that even though he arrived dressed like a clown riding down Main Street, Butler looked like someone she’d find attractive? She’d worried about that since seeing his photo. Almost forty years old, Butler had a tough look, his face chiseled by a life lived hard, but there was something strong, magnetic and downright sexy about the expression in his eyes in the profile photo. His features smacked of his Judumi heritage. Her family ranch sat adjacent to the Judumi reservation. She’d been friends with the tribe her entire life.

      She’d learned that Tico Butler’s father had belonged to the Judumi tribe. Her most trusted teammate, Bill Mewith, was also from the Judumi and had been her childhood friend. She glanced at him sitting beside her now. He’d mentioned that he was curious about the tribesman they were about to meet who’d never known his heritage. Meg had always admired everything about the Judumi native culture. She might be Mexican-American, but she’d spent her childhood with her Judumi neighbors and felt like one of them.

      Bill caught her glance. “So, what if we’re wrong about this guy, Butler? I could see my brother pulling a stunt like his this morning.”

      At Bill’s words, Jose sat back in his chair as if expecting bullets to fly.

      Palms flat on the table, Meg leaned closer to Bill. “After all we discussed, you’re caving?”

      “Not caving, girl. We have a serious issue here. Maybe we should rethink our opinion of him.”

      “Because he made an ass of himself for all to see?” She waved in the direction of the street. “You don’t know who he is. I do. I did my research. Did any of you? That whole show was to get you on his side. And you’re playing right into his hands.”

      Jose whistled softly. “Cojones, man. His must be made of steel.”

      Bill chuckled. “Especially with the way he was riding. An insult to his heritage, for sure.”

      Meg cringed. She didn’t mind the slang. She minded that they were admiring Butler when they’d all agreed to be unified in their attempt