Page 47 of The Undercover Cowboy

“You sure about this?” Nash asked.

“Yes,” she said and there was something in her voice that made him sprint to the side door.

He was buzzed in almost before his hand reached the handle.

He took the elevator up to Shelby’s penthouse office and was relieved that he didn’t run into anyone he knew along the way. His hand paused mid-knock on the mahogany door to Shelby’s office, the brass nameplate catching the afternoon light. The door swung open before his knuckles could land.

Nash swept his gaze around Shelby’s office, taking in the rustic touches—a cowhide rug, a framed sketch of wild mustangs, the rough-hewn beams spanning the ceiling. It suited his sister, grounded yet elegant. Shelby sat behind an antique wooden desk, her brown hair twisted into an elegant chignon. But it was the man sitting across from her that made Nash stop cold.

Miles Garrett swiveled in his chair to face Nash, a smug smile stretching across his angular face. He stood and brushed a hand down his designer suit—Armani, if Nash had to guess. Sameoverpriced Italian leather shoes. Same Rolex peeking out from under a crisp white cuff.

The arrogant prick looked every inch the career FBI agent. And he had the balls to reach out his hand for Nash to shake.

Trying not to grind his teeth, Nash forced himself to shake his ex-partner’s hand.

“Nash. It’s been a while.”

“This is a surprise,” Nash said.

“More than you realize. You know Hector, right?”

Nash realized that there was someone else in the room. He had been so focused on Garrett, he hadn’t seen Hector Ortiz seated next to him.

“What the hell is going on here?” Nash asked.

Garrett closed the door and then perched a hip on Shelby’s desk. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair he’d just vacated.

“I’ll stand,” Nash said. He exchanged a glance with Shelby. She looked confused and scared. Nash’s hands clenched into fists. If Garrett was threatening her…

“Hector isn’t who you think he is. He’s actually an undercover DEA agent nearing the end of a three-year-long operation,” Garrett continued, his tone dripping with patronizing patience. “Normally, as you know, we wouldn’t be offering up this information, but I’m afraid you’re going to screw things up for us. We’re trying to bust the Jaripeo Ranch for smuggling, and the new shipment of fighting bulls coming in from Mexico to Laredo’s rodeo next week could be the big break we’re looking for.”

Nash’s pulse quickened. He didn’t like the idea of working with Garrett again, but if it could bring closure to Shelby, he’d do it. “What about Jackson Blevins? Do you have him on your radar for being involved in the smuggling?”

A condescending smirk played at the corners of Garrett’s mouth. “We don’t have anything that points to either of the CEOs, your sister or Blevins, as being part of smuggling illegal goods in from Mexico.”

Nash was already shaking his head. “Blevins just got carried out of here on a stretcher after being worked over. Where I’m sitting, it looks like he is up to his eyeballs in something dirty.”

Garrett waved a dismissive hand. “Maybe yes, maybe no. We’ll look into it, sure. But our priority is shutting down the cartel’s connections. If we stop one avenue, we save lives.”

“You can save the rhetoric. I’ve heard it. My investigation, though, revolves around uncovering if Jackson Blevins is involved in anything illegal. Have either of you got anything on that?”

Hector and Garrett exchanged a look. “Nothing concrete.”

“Can you point me in a direction?”

“No,” Garrett said shortly.

Meaning yes, but he wasn’t going to tell Nash anything.

“Do you have anything for us you’d like to share?” Garrett asked.

“No,” Nash said with the same tone and expression.

Garrett’s face darkened. “If you have anything you’re keeping from us or if you get in the way of what’s going down in Laredo, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

Nash thought about telling him about Jaripeo subcontracting other stock contractors for the bulls. He was used to being a “snitch” after all. And yet because of the way Garrett was acting, Nash didn’t say a word.

Garrett straightened his tie, the fabric slipping through his fingers with practiced ease, his gaze steady on Nash. Hector, standing just a step behind, shifted his weight from one foot to another, a subtle dance of impatience on the worn carpet.

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