Chang Soo quickly reported that all hands were accounted for.
A few minutes later, Josh Greenlea called in on the radio. “I’m on my way to the ranch, and I found Mrs. McGarrett’s car.”
“Where?”
“On the side of the road, just a few miles outside of town.”
“Any signs of what happened?”
“Miss Landon’s purse is on the front seat. Money’s still in her wallet. Credit cards, too. And the fuel gauge is on empty.”
Ross stifled a curse. He never had been able to get his grandmother to keep her car gassed and ready, even though the pump was right there at the garage. Whenever Fiona started out anywhere, Ross, Chang Soo or Buck had to remind her to fill up her tank. Jessica had probably borrowed Fiona’s car and not bothered to check the gauge. When she ran out of gas, someone had probably offered her a lift to a gas station and abducted her instead.
Ross’s thoughts flew in every direction, returning always to the question of why Jessica had left without saying where she was going. Or goodbye.
Their lovemaking last night had been satisfying, exciting, the best sex he’d ever had—because he’d had it with a woman he loved. He’d thought Jessica had felt the same. She’d even said she loved him. So why had she fled the Shooting Star at first light?
Focus, dammit, he swore at himself. He’d never find Jessica alive if he didn’t concentrate on the facts and keep his feeling under wraps.
What if she’s already dead?
He refused to consider that possibility.
So what did he have to go on? After picking her up on the highway, her abductor could have headed north through town. No, Ross shook his head, talking to himself. That wasn’t right. The kidnapper had had to travel south to leave the message in the mailbox by the gate.
Ross keyed his radio mike and spoke to the dispatcher. “Check with the post office. Find out who’s making deliveries on our rural route today. Have a deputy track down the letter carrier and ask who he’s seen on the road between here and town this morning.”
“Yes, sir. We’re on it.”
Ross took the coffee Chang Soo handed him, sat at the table and studied the note. Whoever had composed it had to live nearby. Unless the abductor had known in advance that Jessica would be stranded on the highway so he could be ready to grab her, he’d had to return someplace to put together the letter he’d then left for Ross. And he hadn’t had time to travel any great distance.
Jack Randall and Carson Kingsley came to mind. Both were neighbors. Both had been in the café the day of the bank robbery and were potential suspects in the attack on Jessica’s rental car.
Or both his neighbors could be completely innocent, and Jessica the victim of a killer hired by Dixon Traxler, one who’d cleverly tried to pin the blame for her disappearance on the local pain-in-the-ass militia group.
There was only one way to find out. Ross didn’t like the task that faced him, but with Jessica’s life on the line, he had no choice.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, having driven to town at speeds over ninety miles an hour with lights blazing and sirens wailing, Ross entered the interrogation room of the county jail. Miles Garrigan, the man who had robbed the bank the day of Jessica’s arrival in Swenson, sat at a table.
Dressed in faded blue prison-issue clothes and slippers, minus his Santa beard, suit and padding, the man seemed shriveled, smaller than Ross remembered. And several days in jail had sapped his cocky attitude. This time Miles greeted Ross, not with his usual sneer, but with an apprehensive look.
Not liking what he had to do, but determined to follow through, Ross removed his gun, his watch, his ring. He handed them to the deputy on duty and dismissed him.
“You hear anything coming from this room, ignore it,” Ross said, “unless it’s my voice calling your name.”
The deputy nodded grimly, left and locked the door behind him.
Ross strode to the table, flattened both hands on its surface and leaned until his face was inches from the robber’s.
“We can do this easy,” Ross said with a scowl, “or we can do it the hard way.”
Garrigan squirmed in his chair. “What are you talking about?”
“SCOFF,” Ross said.
Garrigan’s eyes flicked to the side, refusing to meet Ross’s glance. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Unwilling to reveal his regret at the man’s answer, Ross deepened his scowl. He’d never hurt a prisoner, didn’t believe in strong-arm tactics. But Garrigan didn’t know that. Ross intended to scare him within an inch of his life to make him give up what he knew. Right now Garrigan was his best hope of finding Jessica fast.
Crime techs were dusting the car and note for prints and checking the paper and envelope for possible suppliers, but following those leads could take days. Ross wanted to find Jessica. Now.
He grabbed the prisoner by the front of his shirt and practically lifted him from his chair. “My gut tells me you know all about SCOFF, and my gut’s never wrong.”
Garrigan’s face was turning red from lack of air due to Ross’s twist on the man’s collar. But he said nothing.
“You’re already in a heap of trouble,” Ross said, dropping the prisoner suddenly back into his seat. “Guess you’re not worried about murder. Or the death penalty.”
“Murder?” Garrigan licked his dry lips and rubbed his neck where his collar had choked him.
“SCOFF’s already killed once. And they’re prepared to kill again.”
“Don’t even know what SCOFF is,” Garrigan insisted, but not very convincingly.
“Guess you’re not concerned about your family, either,” Ross said.
“What about my family?”
“The sheriff of Grange County’s a friend of mine. Wouldn’t take but a nod from me for him and his deputies to make your family miserable,” Ross lied. “Parking tickets here, moving violations, tickets for disobeying zoning regulations. Maybe even arresting your teenage son as a juvenile offender—”
“Wait,” Garrigan cried, “you can’t do that. My wife’s upset enough already—”
“You think I give a damn?” Ross shouted in the man’s face, lying again, turning up the pressure. “Someone in SCOFF has abducted the woman I love and threatened to kill her. I should be concerned about your wife?”
Garrigan shrank in his chair.
“In fact,” Ross continued with his charade of abuse, “nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to beat the crap out of you now and make your family miserable for the rest of their days.”
“You can’t do that.” Garrigan seemed to regain a fraction of his courage. “It’s against the law.”
“In this county, I am the law.” Ross drew back his fist as if ready to strike. “Now what’s it going to be? Answer my questions or get the beating of your life?”
“Stop!” Garrigan threw his arms in front of his face, indicating what Ross had instinctively known. The man was all bravado, a coward at heart. He’d probably sell out his best friend to save his own skin.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” the prisoner whined.
“That’s better.” Ross dropped his arm. He yanked out the chair across the table from Garrigan, turned it backward and straddled it. “Now, we’ll start with SCOFF. Who’s in it and where can I find them?”
JESSICA STRAINED against the ropes that tied her to the straight-backed chair, then stopped in frustration. Her movements only drew the bonds tighter. She had to face reality. There was nothing she could do. Unless someone showed up to rescue her, she was at her captor’s mercy.
And he’d already promised to kill her.
Carson Kingsley sat in his easy chair in front of the fire, sipping whiskey and ignoring the sandwich he’d fixed himself for lunch. He hadn’t offered her anything. Not even a glass of water for her parched lips.
She prayed for Ross to come, but she didn’t have much hope. He wouldn’t have a clue where she was. No one would suspect Ki
ngsley, especially after his generous gift of the Madame Alexander doll to Courtney. After all, he was merely a grieving and eccentric widower to most people, nothing like the agitated man with a maniacal gleam in his eye who was planning to kill her.
He’d seemed harmless enough when he’d stopped his battered station wagon beside Fiona’s car on the highway.
“Need a lift?” he’d asked.
Jessica had been overcome with relief at his appearance. She was anxious to make her escape before Ross passed her on the road on his way to work.
“Out of gas,” she replied.
“Station in town’s not open yet,” Kingsley said.
“I don’t want to go back to the Shooting Star.” If she returned, she’d succumb to the emotion welling in her now, an incredible desire to throw herself into Ross’s arms and never let go, never leave.
“I’ve got gas at my place,” Kingsley said. “We can run back there and pick it up. Have you on the road in no time.”
“You’re a good neighbor,” Jessica said.
“Try to be,” he’d said with a smile and gallantly opened the passenger door for her.
Everything had seemed fine until he pulled into the barn next to a large black pickup truck. Its right side was battered and scraped and bore traces of paint the same color as that of the car Jessica had rented. His gaze followed hers.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Wish you hadn’t seen that.”
Sudden realization grabbed her by the throat, squeezed the breath from her lungs. “You’re the one who ran me off the road. But I’m sure it was an accident,” she added quickly and with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.
“Had to teach Ross McGarrett a lesson,” Kingsley muttered. “Thought he’d get out of government after his wife died. He’d be a good man if he stuck with ranching. It’s them government types. Can’t trust ’em. Bleed you dry.”
The man’s crazy ramblings accelerated her fear. She tried to stay calm.
“I’m not that far from the Shooting Star.” She tried to keep her voice reasonable and steady and grabbed the door handle. “I can walk back from here. Thanks for the lift.”
“Stay where you are.” Kingsley reached beneath the seat, pulled out a revolver and aimed it at her. “And do what I tell you.”
He’d brought her into the house, tied her up and then sat at a table with paper, scissors, an old copy of Time and a bottle of glue. After constructing some kind of note and sealing it in an envelope, he left.
While he was gone, Jessica had too much time to think. And all she could think of was Ross. His courage, his dedication to duty, his slow, sexy smile, the excitement of his touch. The more she thought, the more she realized there were worse things than loving and losing someone. The very worst was never having the chance to love at all. Her eyes misted with tears. At least he’d know how she’d felt about him. Earlier she’d regretted admitting last night that she loved him. Now she was glad she’d said the words aloud.
Kingsley had returned, too quickly to have made a trip into town, and Jessica could only surmise that he’d left the note he’d constructed from magazine letters at the Shooting Star. But even though the man seemed crazy, he was too wily to have let Ross know who he was, where he was. After all, Kingsley had managed to elude the entire Swenson County Sheriff’s Department for over a year.
While Carson muttered into his drink, Jessica studied the room, hoping to find a means of escape. Every surface was stacked with pamphlets and flyers, all antigovernment propaganda from various militia groups, judging from the ones closest that she could read. Her abductor obviously hated anyone and everyone connected with government.
“Did you start the fire at the Gibsons’ last night?” she asked.
Carson nodded glumly. “Botched that job. And set my own shed afire by accident when I came home and was putting away my tools and gas can.”
“The house is a total loss.”
“Did they all die?” His eyes lighted in anticipation.
Jessica shook her head. “The dog warned them. The whole family got out in time.”
“Thought about the dog. Considered killing it, but couldn’t do it. I love animals.”
Jessica closed her eyes. Carson Kingsley was clearly out of his mind. After what he’d done to Kathy McGarrett and the Gibson family, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, too. Her only hope was to keep him talking, keep him from acting until someone figured out where she was—or stumbled onto her by accident.
Her gaze lit on an object on the mantel. A Lladró figurine of a young woman with a flock of geese at her feet. “You broke into Judge Chandler’s house.”
“Yep.” Carson sipped his drink. “Harry’s part of the government, too.”
“But Julie isn’t. Why torment her?”
“To teach Harry a lesson. I could have killed her, but the time wasn’t right yet.”
“Right?”
“What’s the good of just killing somebody if they don’t suffer first? You just put ’em out of their misery.”
“Did you steal the judge’s rifle?”
Carson looked smug. “The night of the party. Everybody was so blamed busy socializing, I just waltzed it out practically under their noses.”
“Why?”
“To throw Ross off the track. The man’s too smart. Had to make him think that smart-mouthed author might have been the shooter.” He laughed softly to himself. “Yes, Ross has to suffer. They all have to suffer.”
Jessica swallowed hard against the nausea rising in her throat, wondering if Carson intended to torture her before he killed her. She wiggled her feet and hands to drive away the numbness from restricted blood flow and tried to keep him talking.
“You’re the secret Santa, aren’t you?”
He looked at her as if she were the crazy one. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“The notes. The flowers.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hold with such foolishness.”
Jessica’s mind whirled. If Carson hadn’t put the flowers and messages on her pillow, who had? If she didn’t keep him talking, she wouldn’t live long enough to find out.
“Did you shoot at me that morning in the solarium?”
“Naw, not at you. I’m a good shot. Could have killed you or Ross that morning if I’d wanted to.”
“But why me? I’m not connected to the government.”
“Because hurting you hurts Ross. I heard Madge at the café say you’re a friend of his. And I saw how he looked at you that night at Chandlers’ party. Like a man with his heart in his eyes. Same as at breakfast the other day when I brought the doll. The man loves you. It’s written all over his face.”
Jessica remembered Ross’s expression when they’d made love the night before. More than anything in the world, she wanted to see that look one more time before she died.
Keep talking.
“Why bring his daughter a doll if you hate Ross so much?”
Carson’s face softened with a smile. “Susan loved children. We could never have them. That’s why she started that doll collection. They were her babies.”
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Shut up!” Carson pushed out of his chair and grabbed his gun from a nearby table. “It’s time Ross McGarrett experiences again what it’s like to lose someone he loves.”
Jessica closed her eyes. The end was coming. She thought fleetingly of Max and Miami, but her heart was centered on Ross, the man she’d never have a chance to love.
At Carson’s gasp of surprise and an unexpected burst of cold air, she opened her eyes.
Ross stood in the doorway, gun drawn, his face tight with anger.
“Put the gun down, Carson.”
Carson didn’t lower his weapon.
“You all right, Jessica?” Ross spoke to her but kept his sights fixed on Kingsley.
“I am now.” She didn’t know how he’d found her, but it didn’t matter. Everything was going to be fine with R
oss in control.
“Glad you’re here, Ross,” Carson said with a maniacal cackle. “Now I can kill you both.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Ross said quickly. “The place is surrounded by a SWAT team. One move other than to drop your weapon and a sharpshooter will drill you right between the eyes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.”
Carson’s gaze flicked to the window. Jessica followed his glance. A black-clad rifleman stood out starkly against the snow-covered field, the sun glinting off the glass of his scope.
The older man must have retained some vestige of sanity, or at least hadn’t developed a death wish. Slowly, carefully, he laid his gun on the table and raised his hands.
Then all hell broke loose.
The SWAT team, their faces covered by black ski masks, their bodies armored with helmets and bulletproof vests, burst into the room from the kitchen and through the door behind Ross. In seconds, they had Carson handcuffed, had read him his rights and cut Jessica’s bonds.
The instant she was free, she leaped into Ross’s arms and kissed him with all the pent-up longing for the lifetime she’d feared she would never have. He held her fast, as if he never wanted to release her, and returned her kiss with a fervor that left her weak.
After a moment, he drew back, his eyes shining, his endearing grin wreathing his face.
“That was some kiss,” he teased. “Good thing you don’t get emotionally involved. The impact might have killed me.”
She returned his smile, her heart soaring. “You want emotional involvement? I’ll show you emotional involvement.”
She kissed him again, so wrapped in his love she barely noticed the cheers and applause of the surrounding SWAT team.
Epilogue
“For someone who hates Christmas,” Ross said softly, somehow managing to nibble her ear at the same time, “you seem amazingly content.”
Jessica snuggled closer, cuddling against him on the sofa in front of the blazing fire. The only other illumination in the room came from the tiny white lights twinkling on the nine-foot decorated tree in the corner beside the hearth.
The Christmas Target Page 17
