A Texas Christmas: True Blue / A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel. Diana Palmer

position, barely even aimed and threw six shots into the center of the target with pinpoint accuracy.

      His mouth flew open.

      She took the clip out of her automatic, checked the cylinder and waited for the Range Master to check her score.

      “Cassaway,” he said eventually, and hesitated. “One hundred percent.”

      Rick and the lieutenant stared at each other.

      “Lieutenant Hollister,” the officer continued, and was obviously trying not to smile, “ninety-nine percent.”

      “What the hell …!” Hollister burst out. “I hit dead center!”

      “Missed one, sir, by a hair,” the officer replied with a twinkle in his eyes. “Sorry.”

      Hollister let out a furious bad word. Gwen marched right up to him and glared at him from pale green eyes.

      “Sir, I find that word offensive and I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from using it in my presence,” she said curtly.

      Hollister’s high cheekbones actually flushed. Rick tensed, waiting for the explosion.

      But Hollister didn’t erupt. His black eyes smiled down at the rookie detective. “Point taken, Detective,” he said, and his deep voice was even pleasant. “I apologize.”

      Gwen swallowed. She was almost shaking. “Thank you, sir.”

      She turned and walked off.

      “Not bad shooting, by the way,” he commented as he removed the clip from his own pistol.

      She grinned. “Thanks.” She glanced at Rick, who was still gaping, and almost made a smart remark. But she thought better of it in time.

      Rick let out the breath he’d been holding. “She trips over her own feet,” he remarked. “But that was some damned fine shooting.”

      “It was,” the lieutenant agreed. He shook his head. “You can never figure people, can you, Marquez?”

      “True, sir. Very true.”

      Later that day, Rick noted two dignified men in suits walking past his office. They glanced at him, spoke to one another and hesitated. One gestured down the hall quickly, and they kept walking.

      He wondered what in the world was going on.

      Rogers came into his office a few minutes later, frowning. “Odd thing.”

      “What?” he asked, his eyes on his computer screen where he was running a case through VICAP.

      “Did you see those two suits?”

      “Yes, they hesitated outside my office. Who are they, feds?”

      “Yes. State Department.”

      He burst out laughing as he looked at her with large, dancing brown eyes. “They think I’m illegal and they’re here to bust me?”

      “Stop that,” she muttered.

      “Sorry. Couldn’t resist it.” He turned to her. “We have high level immigration cases all the time where the State Department gets involved.”

      “Yes, but mostly we deal with the enforcement branch of the Department of Immigration and Naturalization, with ICE. Or we deal with the DEA in drug cases, I know that. But these guys aren’t from Austin. They’re from D.C.”

      “The capitol?”

      “That’s right. They’ve been talking to the lieutenant all morning. They’re taking him to lunch, too.”

      “What’s going on? Any idea?”

      She shook her head. “Only that gossip says they’re on the Machado case.”

      “Yes. He’s wanted for kidnapping.” He didn’t add what Barbara had told him, that his own birth mother might have once known Machado in the past.

      “He’s not in the country.”

      “And how would you know that?” Rick asked her with pursed lips. “Another psychic insight?” he added, because she had a really unusual sixth sense about cases.

      “No. I ran into Cash Grier over at the courthouse. He was up here on a case.”

      “Our police chief from Jacobsville,” he acknowledged.

      “The very same. He mentioned that Jason Pendleton’s foreman is on temporary leave because of Machado.”

      “Grange,” Rick recalled, naming the foreman. “He went into Mexico to retrieve Gracie Pendleton when she was kidnapped by Machado’s men for ransom.”

      “Yes. It seems the general took a liking to him, had him investigated and offered him a job.”

      Rick blinked. “Excuse me?”

      “That’s what I said when Grier told me.” She laughed. “The general really does have style. He said somebody had to organize his mercs when he goes in to retake his country. Grange, being a former major in the army, seemed the logical choice.”

      “His country is Barrera,” Rick mused. “Nice name, since it sits on the Amazon River bordering Colombia, Peru and Bolivia. Barrera is Spanish for barrier.”

      “I didn’t know that, only having completed two years of college Spanish,” she replied blithely.

      He made a face at her.

      “Anyway, it seems Grange likes the idea of being a crusader for democracy and freedom and human rights, so he took the job. He’s in Mexico at the moment helping the general come up with a plan of attack.”

      “With Eb Scott offering candidates, I don’t doubt,” Rick added. “He’s got the cream of the crop at his counterterrorism training center in Jacobsville, as far as mercs go.”

      “The general is gathering them from everywhere. He has a couple of former SAS from Great Britain, a one-eyed terror from South Africa named Rourke whose nickname is Deadeye …”

      “I know him,” Rick said.

      “Me, too,” Rogers replied. “He’s a pill, isn’t he? Rumored to be the natural son of K. C. Kantor, who was one of the more successful ex-mercs.”

      “Yes, Kantor became a billionaire after he gave up the lifestyle. He has a daughter who married Dr. Micah Steele in Jacobsville, and a godchild who married into the ranching Callister family up in Montana.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is the general getting the money to finance his revolution?”

      “Remember that he gave Gracie back without any payment. But then he nabbed Jason Pendleton for ransom, and Gracie paid it with the money from her trust fund?”

      “Forgot about that,” Rick said.

      “It ran to six figures. So he’s bankrolled. We hear he also charged what’s left of the Fuentes cartel for protection while he was sharing space with them over the border.”

      “Charging drug lords rent in their own turf?” Rick asked.

      “And getting it. The general has a pretty fearsome reputation,” she added. She laughed. “He’s also a incredibly handsome,” she mused. “I’ve seen a photograph of him. They say he has a charming personality, reveres women and plays the guitar and sings like an angel.”

      “A man of many talents.”

      “Not the least of which is inspiring troops.” Rogers sighed. “But it has to be unsettling for the State Department, especially since the Mexican government is up in arms about having Machado recruit mercs to invade a sovereign nation in South America while living in their country.”

      “Why are they protesting to us? We aren’t helping him,” Rick pointed out.

      “He’s on our border.”

      “If