Hide the Child

by Janice Kay Johnson

  * * *

  TRINA DIDN’T KNOW what had gotten into her. This was ridiculous. She and Gabe had had great sex. Why not have more of it? She’d known from the beginning that she’d be risking heartbreak, but would another night, even another week’s worth of nights, leave her more wounded than she’d already be?

  Probably not. An involuntary sigh escaped her as she sank down on the edge of the tub and started the water running, then poured in the fragrant liquid that immediately frothed into giant, iridescent bubbles.

  “Where’s my mermaid?” Chloe stared in dismay at the array of toys in the basket beside the tub. Her worry ratcheted up. “I want my mermaid!”

  For a man who’d never had kids or, from the sound of it, a little sister, Gabe had flawless taste in toys and clothes. Chloe loved everything he’d bought her. Trina might have suggested going for somewhat less girly, but then he’d brought the barnyard and alphabet puzzles. Before their ride this morning, he’d said in a low voice, “Do you think she’d like cowboy boots?”

  Trina had rolled her eyes and said, “Is pink her favorite color?”

  He’d laughed, the wonderful, deep rumble that had begun to sound less rusty than it had when they first came here.

  Oh, heavens—were there such a thing as pink cowboy boots? Of course there were.

  Trina delved in the basket, spotted a bit of yellow—why did mermaids never have plain brown hair?—and plucked out the rubber mermaid. “Voilà!”

  Chloe seized her toy and stood obediently still while Trina peeled off her sweatshirt and pink overalls. Lifting them, Trina took a whiff. “Do I smell horse?”

  The three-year-old giggled again. “I rode Mack today!”

  “So you did. Hmm. Do you think I smell horsie?”

  Chloe leaned toward her and sniffed ostentatiously. “Uh-huh.”

  “I bet Gabe does, too.” Trina wondered if he’d shower before he went to bed, or wait until morning. She might discourage him. Horse was a nice addition to essence of man.

  Chloe climbed into the tub and played contentedly while Trina watched her and tried to figure out what she could do or say to persuade her to talk about what she’d seen when her father was killed in front of her hideout.

  What if, after all this, she said she’d seen a man, but she didn’t know him? Maybe offered a vague description of brown hair that wasn’t almost black like her daddy’s, except, well, she couldn’t really remember?

  Except... Trina didn’t believe that’s what would happen.

  Hearing a murmur of voices, Trina tensed, then realized Gabe must have turned on the TV. To watch the local news, undoubtedly. She made a habit of diverting Chloe so he could watch. The last thing they wanted was for her to see a recap of the awful crime that remained unsolved and had people in Sadler double-checking the locks on their doors.

  Maybe Detective Risvold was right, and she should be pushing this child harder than she had been. Her instincts said no, but... Chloe had bounced back remarkably well, was exceptionally verbal for her age and seemed to have emerged from the shadow of fear.

  Tomorrow, Trina decided. She’d come right out and ask. Did you see who hurt your daddy?

  * * *

  GABE FROWNED AT the television, entirely missing the byplay between the local news anchors. The pain that arced from one hip to the other told him he’d pushed too hard today in his workout. The last time he’d seen the physical therapist, the guy had lectured him.

  “Some pain is productive, Gabe, but not all. You can do damage if you don’t listen to what your body tells you.”

  He was damned if he’d listen. Because what his body was telling him was unacceptable. He’d worked through pain plenty of times before, and he would again this time.

  A segment on the news caught his attention. A car had been turned into an accordion by a telephone pole. No way anybody in that vehicle had survived.

  “Police don’t yet know whether alcohol or drugs played a part in this tragedy,” the reporter on scene told them earnestly. The flashing lights on police cars gave an eerie look to the backdrop. She gestured toward the torn hunk of metal that hardly resembled a car anymore. “It seems likely the driver far exceeded the speed limit, perhaps reaching eighty to a hundred miles an hour. As you can see—” the camera panned to the empty highway “—the road does curve here, which may explain why the driver lost control.”

  Gabe would have felt more pity if he hadn’t thought how lucky it was that the dead man hadn’t hit another car when he was flying down the highway. At least he hadn’t killed anyone else.

  Nothing else of interest came up. He paid attention to the weather report, but it held no surprises. He turned off the TV just as Trina hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

  “Come and sit with me,” he said.

  She did, settling down on the sofa within the circle of his arm. Relieved, he bent his head to nibble on the rim of her ear. “Something’s bothering you tonight.”

  “Oh... I guess I’m just frustrated.” She told him what she’d been thinking, about pushing Chloe harder.

  Gabe couldn’t disagree, even as he felt reluctance he didn’t understand. He wanted the two to be safe...but once an arrest was made, they wouldn’t need to stay with him. His bodyguard stint would be done.

  Or would it? Troubled, he thought about how ruthless drug trafficking organizations tended to be. Even if the killer was arrested, the trial wouldn’t happen for months to years. What about the men who’d tried to shoot Gabe and his passengers out on the highway? He doubted the killer had been in that helicopter, either. Would those men ever be identified? There was some serious money behind this hunt for the little girl who could put away a man willing to murder to protect his illicit profits.

  Assuming, he reminded himself, that the trafficking theory was accurate.

  “What are you thinking?” Trina asked.

  “If these are drug traffickers, I’m concerned that arresting the one man Chloe saw won’t be enough.”

  He was sorry he’d said anything when he saw her face...and when his own thoughts took him to a logical conclusion.

  He made sure he held Trina’s gaze when he said, “I take that back. If we’re right that Pearson, Stearns or anyone else at Open Range is involved in transporting drugs, the traffickers will fold up their tent and find another way to move the drugs to markets. Right now they’re trying to protect the guy who was useful because he’d developed a slick operation that may have been working for a long time. Who knows? Maybe even years. But reality is, once he goes down, the DEA will be all over O.R.E. The traffickers may already be trying to erase any footprint they’ve left there, just in case. If Chloe speaks out and can identify her father’s killer, it’s all over.”

  Trina’s body jerked. “Maybe I should go wake her up and demand answers right this minute. Take her by surprise.”

  Gabe turned enough to wrap both arms around her. “You’d scare her. That wouldn’t be a good start, and you know it.”

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall against his head. “I know. I keep thinking about this, though. If she’d seen a stranger, I’ll bet Chloe would be able to tell us. She’s talked about some really scary stuff.”

  “I think you’re right,” Gabe said. “On some level, she’s torn. Whoever she saw, he’s been around enough that she can’t make herself believe—or accept—that he would hurt her daddy.”

  “Or she.”

  He inclined his head. “I may go back and talk to the neighbor who’s attended parties at the Keifs’ before. Who from O.R.E. was a regular at that house?” He remembered the woman saying that Ron Pearson had been at one time—but not recently.

  Trina stirred. “Given that Michael fired him, probably not Russell Stearns.”

  Gabe made an acknowledging noise in his throat, even as he wasn’t thinking as sharply as he’d like. His ha
nds had started roving, and he wanted to kiss her instead of continuing to talk. Would Trina be offended if he silenced her with his mouth?

  With a small cry, she turned in his arms, pushed herself up so she was kneeling and pressed her mouth to his.

  Urgency rose in him, hot and fast. He felt the sting of her teeth on his lip, and returned the favor. He gripped her butt and lifted her to straddle him. When she whimpered, he found her breast and kneaded. Damn, he was ready. It was like body-surfing a tsunami. Too powerful to be denied. Resenting any delay, he found himself struggling with the button and zipper on her chinos. He could free himself in seconds, but he had to get her out of her pants...

  With a raw sound, Gabe ripped his mouth away from hers. “Chloe would see us if she came to the top of the stairs.”

  Those haunting eyes dazed, Trina blinked. Comprehension appeared slowly. “Oh, no.”

  “We have to make it upstairs.”

  She sat back on his thighs and traced the ridge under his zipper with one hand. “Think you can make it?”

  When he snarled, she laughed.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he muttered, rising with her clasped in his arms.

  Her legs locked around his hips. “That sounds like fun.”

  He kissed her and, somehow, strode toward the stairs at the same time. If there was any buried pain left from his brutal workout, he didn’t feel it.

  * * *

  EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Trina sat at the kitchen table rather than in the living room. She’d just put Chloe down for her nap and didn’t want her voice drifting up the stairs to wake her.

  Gabe had given her one of his burner phones, deciding it would be safe for her to make some calls with it, so long as she didn’t contact the detectives. “Or,” he’d added sternly, “anyone else who might possibly feel obligated to call them.”

  She knew he was restless. He wanted to be out there investigating in person, rather than from a distance. Prowling the trucking division of O.R.E., for example, or interviewing the woman who’d lunched with Russell Stearns. He had succeeded in identifying her from a photo on the company website. Julie Emmer, thirty-five, blonde and buxom, worked in accounting, a position that suggested the possibility she was using her creativity to disguise costs and income that the IRS, among others, might question. Trina had pointed out that Julie wasn’t in a position to have masterminded illegal use of the trucks. If Michael had suspected she was up to anything, why would he have hesitated to confront her, fire her—and call the cops?

  Gabe hadn’t disagreed. “When the feds step in, they’re going to find a nest of vipers,” he said. “No one man—or woman—is making this happen.”

  When he’d started pacing that morning, Trina suggested he borrow yet another vehicle and go do some detecting.

  “We can’t keep on this way, doing nothing but waiting,” she’d exclaimed in frustration.

  He’d scowled. “I don’t see you leaning on Chloe yet.”

  “I just...had second thoughts.” After last night’s vehemence, she was embarrassed to have backpedaled today. “But when I see the right moment, I will.”

  “We’ve done more than wait,” he argued. “I’d say we’ve made significant progress. Anyway, detectives spend most of their time on the phone and computer, not busting down doors or slamming suspects into walls.”

  Trina rolled her eyes. “At the very least, maybe you should talk to one of our favorite detectives again. You could tell him what you suspect. They might be willing to open up to you.”

  His scowl deepened. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  Two hours later, he produced the phone. “Let me know the minute you’re done. I’ll destroy it.”

  She knew he’d talked to Boyd this morning, too. Boyd had been willing to be Gabe’s legs on this, but they shared the concern that either could unintentionally lead the cops, if not the bad guys, right to the ranch.

  Trina decided to call Vanessa again to ask about the helicopter. Gabe had determined online that the company did own two for the use of executives. He’d been unable to find a photo or description.

  “The helicopters?” Vanessa sounded momentarily surprised. “Does this have anything to do about the one buzzing ranches?”

  “I’m probably freaking about nothing, but when I saw the uproar on the morning news, I had to wonder if it could have anything to do with Chloe. You know why I’m worrying.”

  “I’ll check with Bob and get back to you,” the other woman said without questioning her further. “Oh, speaking of the news. Did you see anything about the guy who died when his car smashed into a telephone pole? He’d been a truck driver for O.R.E., and had quit his job that day. They’re talking suicide.”

  “Really? There wasn’t much of an update this morning.”

  “Online, there is. I saw his supervisor being interviewed by a reporter with News Channel 21,” Vanessa informed her. “The supervisor tried to sound sorrowful, although I couldn’t tell if it was genuine. He claimed Glenn Freeman had had an apparent breakdown, storming into the offices, talking wildly, threatening to kill himself and quitting. He acted like he was either drunk or stoned on something. The supervisor insisted he’d called Freeman’s wife to express his concern. It was such a tragedy that the man took his own life before he could get help.”

  “Wow. I saw a mention of his death but not where he worked.” Coincidence, anyone? “What did the wife have to say?”

  “She was outraged. Glenn had been angry about something the previous evening, but he wasn’t a heavy drinker and certainly didn’t do drugs. She didn’t believe for a minute that he’d have killed himself. Of course, spouses always do say that.”

  “True. It’s interesting, though.”

  That was big enough news that Trina ventured out to find Gabe. Apparently, Boyd had produced the mysterious somebody who’d arrived this morning to replace the shattered window in Gabe’s truck.

  The two stood out by a white pickup talking. Boyd caught a glimpse of her coming out the back door and made a quick gesture. She retreated inside before the other man could see her.

  She heard the sound of an engine, and Gabe followed her into the kitchen a minute later.

  “Wasn’t he supposed to see me?” she asked.

  “I’m sure he’s a good guy, but there’s no point in taking chances.”

  Fine. “I just learned about something I thought you should know.” She took a soda from the refrigerator and popped it open as she reminded him who Vanessa was, then asked if he’d read or seen anything about the high-speed car accident.

  His attention sharpened. “I did last night, yeah.”

  “Well, Vanessa says he worked as a truck driver for O.R.E. The supervisor says he threw a scene when he quit, like he was drunk or on drugs. Now there’s speculation that he drove himself into a telephone pole on his way home.”

  “That could be convenient for somebody.”

  “Apparently, the wife says he wasn’t a heavy drinker, didn’t use drugs and wasn’t suicidal. She claimed he’d been upset or mad about something the evening before.”

  “Damn. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Surely she’ll tell the police if she knows anything. Plus, won’t his car be examined to be sure it hadn’t been tampered with?”

  “It was destroyed. A mechanic might have trouble so much as finding a brake line.”

  “But why would he have been driving so fast?”

  “I can think of a good reason,” Gabe said softly.

  Her breath caught. “Someone was in pursuit.” She remembered the high speeds Gabe had reached, before he realized the enemy was in front of them as well as behind.

  “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Given whatever he likely spilled when he came in to quit, they couldn’t afford to let him even make a phone call.”

  The poor man. Or maybe
she should save her pity. It was possible he’d been knowingly transporting illegal drugs but made his employers mad by demanding more money, and even been foolish enough to try to blackmail a dangerous organization.

  Her phone rang. Surprised, she saw that the caller was Vanessa. She mouthed the name to Gabe, who nodded.

  “I made an excuse to call Bob,” the other woman said, without preamble. “I mentioned what I saw about a helicopter flying low over local ranches and stampeding cattle, and he said the pilot must have been crazy to fly that low. I wondered where the helicopter could have come from, and he said, well, not from O.R.E. He’s used company helicopters a couple of times to get to meetings in Portland. Theirs are white with the logo covering both sides.”

  Trina had seen the logo plenty of times. It had what looked like a Texas longhorn bursting through a circle. “Um...he didn’t get curious about your interest?”

  “No, he kind of volunteered the information. Besides the search and rescue and medic helicopters, the only other one he knew of belongs to the company that takes tourists sightseeing. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  “I’d forgotten, but yes. It was painted bright orange, as I recall.”

  “Really garish,” Vanessa agreed. “Listen, if there’s anything else I can help with...”

  They ended up leaving it at that. Once Gabe trashed this phone, Vanessa would have no way to reach her again. Of course, Trina hadn’t told her that.

  Setting the phone on the table, Trina said, “It has to be about O.R.E., doesn’t it?”

  “It’s looking that way.” His blue eyes never left her face. “You know what you have to do, Trina.”

  “Can we go see the foals first?” she begged. “Once she wakes up?”

  He’d made excuses not to ride this morning. Out of Chloe’s hearing, he said, “They’re zeroing in on us. I’m reluctant to take you and Chloe out where you’d be exposed.”

  Now she thought, Open range. There was an irony.

  After a moment he nodded. “I did offer. But...do you really expect her to be that traumatized by a few questions?”