Read Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) for Free Online Page A

as ever, but changed in
other ways. Confusing ways. In the old days, the princess, as her granddad had
called her, wanted for nothing. If she asked for a pinto pony or a new saddle
or God knew what, the next day one appeared as if conjured by a genie.
    After she flew off to pursue her photography career,
the headline jobs landed in her lap. She flitted to more countries than Holt
could name. Yet she arrived in Rangewood practically empty-handed. All she
claimed to have was her fancy camera case, a laptop, and a big duffel bag. When
he drove her to town to pick up her things, she directed him past the motel to
the garage where her Range Rover sat out back, waiting for the mechanic’s
verdict. An older model, more truck than SUV. She said she’d checked out of the
motel because Faith’s friend in town rented rooms and she planned to go there
later. A lie, he suspected, confirmed by what he saw in the back of the Rover.
She tried to block him, but open and stuffed into a corner was a sleeping bag.
    Something was eating at her, some secret. She was as
wary of him as a green colt, so her agreeing to stay awhile came a mite too
quick to make sense. But he had his own mystery to handle without pursuing that
one, so he’d let it go. For now.
    The highway snaked through the high valleys past gates
that led to neighboring ranches. Not much traffic this morning, except for the
black pickup behind him. He’d seen no one in any direction when he left the
Valley-D. Then out of nowhere the black truck appeared. He didn’t recognize it
as belonging to anyone he knew, couldn’t see the driver clearly. Too far back
to read the license plate.
    He jabbed fingers through his hair, knocking off his
hat. Hell, too many years watching his back had him imagining a tail. Probably
some kid tooling around in a hot rod jerry-rigged of spare parts. That’s why he
couldn’t recognize the make.
    By the time he hit Rangewood’s Pike Street, the black
truck had disappeared. Along with that, Holt relegated Maddy to the back of his
mind.
    Other than a few residential avenues, Pike was the
only paved street in the quiet, friendly town. He pulled up to the curb and
turned off the engine. As he exited the Silverado, the last person he wanted to
see sauntered down the sidewalk toward him.
    “Well, Holt, not too often you tear yourself away from
that ranch to come into Rangewood.” Edgar Patterson, Bobby’s grandfather, stuck
out his hand.
    Reluctantly, Holt shook it. “Edgar.”
    “Ranch that size takes full-time work to make it pay.”
With a meticulously manicured hand, Edgar smoothed his graying hair, its long
strands coaxed to conceal growing baldness. His tan twill business suit matched
his sharp amber gaze.
    The dig hit its mark, but Holt had spent too many
years dealing poker-faced with street slime to let on to the banker. “You’ll
get your loan payments on time. Don’t worry.”
    “Oh, I’m not worried. Not a bit. The wife’s concerned
you can’t do right by our grandson. Financially, I mean.”
    It was all Holt could do not to grab the older man by
his chicken neck and shake him. “Bobby’s well taken care of.”
    “By the way, where is the little guy?” Patterson
peered in the truck window. He fixed a probing gaze on Holt, a hawk sighting
vulnerability in his prey. “Left him at home? Espie must be there today.”
    Holt didn’t intend to be the hawk’s hapless rabbit. He
smiled. Now was the time to drop his news. “No, a...friend is staying with me
for a while to care for the baby.”
    Patterson gave an indignant huff. “Not that old
reprobate Bronc Baker?”
    “Bronc lives on the Valley-D, but no. It’s Madelyn
McCoy. She used to spend summers on the Circle-S with her grandparents. Grew up
with Rob and me.”
    “McCoy?” Edgar’s eyes narrowed with speculation. “She
the one who jilted Rob?”
    Holt shifted his feet. “That was a long time ago. We
were all close. She’s good with Bobby.” Patterson might buy that