Page 4 of Summer with a Ranger

Keeping my eyes fixed firmly ahead I couldn't help my gaze wandering towards the perfect pair of hips that swayed gently as she walked.

Okay, so I lied to myself earlier. Not everything was hard about her.

CHAPTER TWO

HUDSON

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"You'll get your product.” Tag, the Mexican dealer contact Acher sent me to find nodded, his arms folded over his chest. "When I can confirm who you are from California. Got a few connections there I might check in with, seeing as you’re new blood to the area and all." Sweat glistened on his pock-marked face as he leered at me.

I tried not to look at the sores decorating his skin, or the decay in his mouth when he offered me a too-wide smile and an expulsion of tepid air.

My stomach turned as I eyed the plethora of designer drugs laid out on the folding table in several assorted baggies, trying not to belay my disquiet. Here’s hoping Acher’s got someone good on the other side of the country. Because if the dude looked me up, he’d find a fairly clean man with no criminal history and no trust factor, leaving me a buck shy of the drugs I was meant to take back to Texas.

"Take your time." I leaned against the doorway, scratching my shoulders on the hard ridge, and tried not to panic.

Breathe. Archer wouldn't have sent you in if he didn't have faith in you.

Or backed me up. Unless there was an initiation ceremony I missed.

A slightly smaller man with dark hair perched at the other end of the short table counting money and drinking straight from the tequila bottle at his side. The man had a barrel chest that looked like he could cripple a bear with a one-armed stranglehold.

"Got some friends in SoCal, we do." Tag turned to the man counting his money. "Don't we, Angel?"

Angel nodded, not raising his head from his counting and scribbling something on a pad beside him. I took in as much detail about the room as I possibly could. What sort of weapons they both carried, the size of the stacks of bills on the table, and the number of drugs in their possession.

I knew narcotics tracking was a huge part of Archer’s unit and prevented them from entering the US. That and human trafficking seemed to be his main focus from the short rundown I got in his office.

That was five days ago, and it suddenly seemed like months.

Angel offered me the tequila. I took the bottle with some small reservations, wiping the lip with my shirt and slugged two solid mouthfuls before handing it back. The Patrón burned its way down my throat and numbed my lips.

Angel didn’t so much as look up as I handed the bottle back, but I could swear the man smiled.

"So, who you gonna call?" I lifted my lips at my own joke, though Tag looked at me curiously. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I'm heading back in a few days. Had a long damn night." I tacked on the information that wasn't entirely false.

I spent the night watching the storm roll through and a pair of long legs that appeared over my veranda at the back of the cottage, the sounds of the beach filtering through the still night. Turned out my beach babe took the room next to mine. She had perfect toes and perfect feet too, setting off a fetish I didn’t know I had until then.

Skye. I discovered her name on my second day on bodyguard duty at the beach. Not that she said much to me since then. My time in this shithole of a building was almost up, and I was determined to at least get myself a decent kiss from the girl, refusing to leave Tijuana without one.

I inclined my head, trying to focus back on my job and not perky tits and pink painted toenails that matched her laptop case.

Fuck me. Or her. Either way, I was good with it.

I shifted discreetly to adjust my reaction to the thought. “Anyway. Let me know if you want me to take anything back, or when I head back next time I'm down."

Tag looked at me sharply. "You said take your time."

I shrugged again. "You can take all the time you want. This trip, next trip, whatever. I ain't going anywhere."

"Except back to SoCal," Angel broke his silence.

I nodded. "Except for that."

Tag folded his arms, his fingers jittering against his ribs. A side effect of using his own drugs? "Come back tomorrow," he said finally.

"Yes, ma’am." I ducked out the door before he realised what I said.

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