The Specialist. Dani Sinclair

      Prologue

      Silence stilled even the chirp of crickets. Whicker suddenly lifted his head and stared into the darkness. The creak of leather cracked the silence as Rafe Alvarez sat up straighter in the saddle, coming fully alert. He stroked Whicker’s sleek neck and whispered softly, instantly quieting the massive gelding.

      For months the rustlers had seemed to know exactly when and where to strike. They either had the luck of the devil, or they had inside information on the placement of the ranch hands.

      Rafe set his jaw. The possibility festered in all their minds. After what his fellow Texas Confidential agent Jake and his wife Abby had gone through because of a mole inside the FBI, tension was heightened for all the agents at the Smoking Barrel Ranch. This was, after all, the headquarters of Texas Confidential, a quietly secretive government organization. Protecting the cattle around the clock on a ranch this size was impossible, especially since the Smoking Barrel was being deliberately and systematically targeted. No doubt Tomaso Calderone, the drug lord they’d been trying to nab for months, was behind the problem, but that begged the question—who else was on his payroll?

      Backing his horse into a stand of scrub pines Rafe waited, his hand hovering over the rifle stock. He welcomed this instant rush of adrenaline after the tedious hours of waiting and watching. Rafe liked being a working cowboy, as well as a Texas Confidential agent. So did his colleagues. And none of them liked the strain they’d been working under lately. Rafe welcomed action at this point—any action that would result in the capture of the men responsible for the systematic raids and bring them one step closer to Calderone.

      Any moment now, the rustlers would break out over the ridge and be silhouetted clearly against the cooperative moon before the encroaching clouds could darken the landscape once more.

      The sound of a hoof striking rock gave him final confirmation. Whicker took several mincing sidesteps, sensing Rafe’s tension. He, too, was eager for action. Rafe soothed him silently as they waited.

      A horse and rider abruptly broke the ridge in an easy, almost sanguine canter. Rafe frowned. Rider singular. And this would-be rustler was entirely too confident. Rafe watched him come to a stop at the top of the ridge, pausing to survey the cattle below as if he had every right to be there. The man sat tall, his hat pulled low. With the moon at the stranger’s back, Rafe couldn’t make out any features, but he did catch a reflection beneath the brim. The man wore glasses.

      The wind abruptly shifted. The rustler’s paint picked up Whicker’s scent. The smaller horse whinnied a greeting, alerting his rider. The man swiveled to peer at the lone stand of pines.

      Rafe dropped his hand from the rifle butt and gently kicked Whicker into a gallop. The well-trained cutting horse gathered himself without effort and sprang forward, even as the rustler whirled, urging his horse into a reckless plunge back down the incline.

      Was the fool trying to kill himself?

      The rustler had the advantage of the lead, but Whicker’s training and much longer stride made the outcome a given. The smaller paint didn’t stand a chance of outrunning him, though his rider tried. The distance between the two horses closed quickly. It was obvious that the other rider wasn’t going to stop as the two horses thundered dangerously down the embankment, right toward the grazing cattle herd.

      A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening the night as Rafe pulled alongside the other rider. The rustler twisted around for a look just as Rafe came abreast. Rafe kicked free of the stirrups and lunged. Like a choreographed movie stunt, momentum carried both of them to the hard-packed earth in a bone-jarring fall. Hats went flying as they rolled several feet before coming to a stop.

      Rafe found himself lying full-length along the other’s skinny form. His hand had come to rest inside the intruder’s open jacket front. He was stunned to recognize the softly rounded curve beneath his hand for what it was.

      “A girl?”

      She gave him a shove. “A woman,” she corrected with haughty disdain.

      Her voice flowed over him like warm brandy as she tried to adjust the glasses that were hanging half off her face.

      “Rafael Alvarez, I presume?”

      Stunned, Rafe could only nod.

      Her mouth tightened in a line of anger right before her fist landed against his jaw with enough force to hurt more than his pride. She scrambled out from beneath him, rising to her feet.

      “Next time, watch where you put your hands.” She regarded him with narrowed eyes and began dusting off her jeans.

      “Who are you?” he demanded.

      “I’m Kendra Kincade—your new partner.”