Wyoming Bold. Diana Palmer

bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.

      They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”

      “You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”

      “You’re good,” Tank mused.

      Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”

      “Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.

      Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.

      Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his silence.

      “Sorry about that,” Tank said gently.

      Rourke shrugged again. “No big deal. I can go later. It’s not as if the war will be over in a day or two. Sad case. The president of the country is Harvard-educated, he’s brilliant and he has a feel for politics. His opponent comes from some dusty backwater village and he can’t even sign his own name.” His expression became grim. “He’s ordered women and children butchered for daring to help the government forces, in ways I can’t even tell you about. It’s like tribal warfare back in the 1800s, only worse.” He looked at Tank. “Even having been in a war in the Middle East, you have no idea how warfare is conducted in such places. I’ve been shot at by eight-year-olds with AK-47s.”

      “Child soldiers.” Tank’s expression was eloquent. “People who employ them should be tried and shot.”

      “They will be, when the president is back in his office. And he’ll prevail. I’m certain of it. He has the backing of most of the Western nations.” His smile was sarcastic. “His country is almost floating on oil, you see. Some of his advisors are spec ops people from a country I won’t name.”

      Tank sighed. “At least he has help.”

      “A lot of it. But meanwhile, whole villages are being burned out, their populations decimated. Crops are destroyed before harvest, so the refugee population grows daily. Borders are closing around the country, so there are tent camps set up everywhere. It’s the most heart-rending thing I’ve ever seen.”

      “War is ugly,” Tank agreed. “Thanks for taking care of the bugs,” he added, changing the subject. “I was starting to twitch every time I looked at the phone.”

      Rourke smiled. “I know that feeling.”

      He turned. “I’ve got to talk to our electrician. I want him to go over to the Baker house and fix an electrical problem that the squirrel caused.”

      “Is the squirrel returning when it’s mended?” Rourke wondered.

      “Nah. Greg’s going to release it a few miles north.”

      Rourke pursed his lips. “Does a squirrel have built-in GPS?”

      Tank burst out laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe I should look that up before he has time to release the varmint.”

      “Not a bad idea,” Mallory added. He made a face. “I wish Morie and my son would come back. I’m lonely.”

      “I imagine Cane is, too.” Tank chuckled. “He’ll be missing Bodie, especially since she’s pregnant. He paces and paces, worrying about her.”

      “Shopping trips.” Mallory shook his head. “I don’t know why they can’t shop in Catelow.”

      “Big Paris fashion boutiques and fancy baby boutiques on the go in Catelow, are there?” Rourke asked with a bland expression.

      “Well, not so much,” Mallory replied with twinkling eyes.

      “Good point,” Tank replied. He was thinking of Paris fashions and how they’d look on Merissa, with her neat, trim figure.

      “You need to bring Merissa to dinner when they get home,” Mallory commented as they wandered out of the house toward the bunkhouse.

      Tank’s heart jumped. He smiled. “That’s a good idea.”

      Mallory just laughed.

      * * *

      THE ELECTRICIAN WENT to the Baker home, but midway there, he hit something and had to pull off the road. He got out to see what had stopped him and found, of all things, a spike strip, like policemen used to trap fleeing criminals, lying across the asphalt. He pulled it to the side of the road and left it, then called Darby Hanes.

      “Can’t you just change the tire?” Darby asked, surprised.

      “I’ve got four flats,” the electrician, Ben, muttered. “I don’t carry four spare tires on this thing.”

      “Good Lord, what’d you hit?” Darby exclaimed.

      “A spike strip,” Ben said disgustedly. “I can’t imagine why the police left it here for people to run over!”

      “What police? You’re out in the country. And I haven’t heard anything about a chase.”

      “I know.”

      “Call the wrecker. I’ll be right there.”

      “No need, Darby. I’ll go with the truck and wait while they get the tires on it. I’ll phone the Bakers and explain.”

      “Well, okay. That might be best. While you’re there, get them to check the battery. Replace it if you need to. Truck’s been hard to start lately.”