“Right,” Annabeth muttered. “So why didn’t you tell me a whole bunch of calves were missing?”
“I only want to find one—Casper.”
“Casper, huh? Maybe he’s a friendly ghost,” she wisecracked. When he didn’t return her unexpected smile, she said, “Ghost, as he’s really here but you don’t see him?” He merely raised his eyebrows and her grin faded. “Okay. Look, I don’t know where he is right now, but when I get done—”
“Maybe you just misplaced him.”
That stopped her cold. She gave him an intent look. “You mean, as in me, personally?”
“You don’t seem overly enthusiastic about this job, so perhaps—”
“So perhaps what?” she asked, an indignant rise to her voice. “I’m automatically irresponsible?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Whipping around so fast that her ponytail nearly snicked him in the face, she started for the exit. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“To find your calf.”
Keeping his gaze pinned to that swinging ponytail rather than a certain part of her anatomy that was far too distracting, Neil started after her. “You think he’s in one of the other barns?”
“All the calves are supposed to be in this one,” she said, sailing through the open barn door. “But it won’t hurt to check with Lloyd before sorting through these, looking at ear tags for the one with the number nine.”
“Lloyd?” he echoed.
“Lloyd Wainwright, the stock contractor!”
That’s right, she’d already mentioned him, Neil realized. He also recognized the fact that he was off his game. That Annabeth had distracted him from his purpose. And now he was practically jogging to keep up with her.
What in the world was wrong with him, giving her such a hard time when she was just trying to do her job?
Thinking he’d tell her to forget it, that she had enough on her plate to worry about, being short of help and all, he reached for her arm.
“Wait a minute.”
The second his fingers came in contact with her flesh, his head seemed to explode…
Annabeth stands stock-still, big blue eyes wide and staring at something he can’t see. Her breath comes in short spurts and she licks her lips once.
A trickle of sweat runs down the side of her forehead, trails her cheek and glistens along her jaw.
He can hear the beat of her heart…ba-bump…ba-bump…ba-bump…as palpable fear emanates from her in waves.
…Neil swayed and stumbled back.
“Hey, are you all right?” Annabeth stopped, her features softened by what looked like concern for him. “You’re not sick or something, are you?”
“No, I’m fine. Just had a clumsy moment.”
His heart thudded against the lie. He wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.
What the hell had just happened to him?
“You look like you really have seen a ghost,” she said.
Or had some premonition.
The McKenna Legacy?
“I think I’m due for some food,” Neil muttered. “But that can wait.”
“No, really. You look all pale—”
“Let’s go find Wainwright.”
Annabeth gave him a doubtful expression but started off again, this time slower.
And Neil gave himself an internal shake. Just because he’d hit that magical thirty-third birthday didn’t mean his grandmother’s legacy had kicked in. He wasn’t like his siblings or his McKenna cousins.
He was the pragmatic one.
Neil had always prided himself on being a straight shooter and hard worker with no illusions and, maybe regrettably, no sense of whimsy. He couldn’t see through other peoples’ dreams, wasn’t empathic, didn’t have an invisible connection with his animals.
So what the hell had just happened? he wondered again as he followed Annabeth through the crowd.
Though he’d been set to tell her to forget about Casper, now he couldn’t, not until he’d figured it out. He’d seen Annabeth frightened. In danger. She’d been wearing the same yellow T-shirt and her hair had looked exactly the same, too, down to a yellow ribbon tying the ponytail. So if he really had experienced some kind of premonition, that probably meant danger wasn’t far off.
“There he is,” she said, pointing. “The big guy is Lloyd Wainwright.”
A large, middle-aged man in an embroidered cowboy shirt and gray Stetson glanced over his shoulder as if looking for someone, while huddled in conversation with two others. An intricate squash-blossom necklace of silver and turquoise hung around the neck of one of them, an elderly Native American whose long steel-gray hair hung around his broad shoulders. The other man, a Hispanic, wore a fancy charro suit with engraved silver conchos. Neil guessed both of Wainwright’s companions were connected with the rodeo somehow.
“What happened to them missing steers?” asked the Native American.
Drawing closer, Neil spotted his identification naming Peter Telek as the head of the rodeo committee.
“Can’t really tell you, Pete,” Wainwright said. “Flabbergasted me to hear we got some strays. I thought all the trucks came in, but maybe one broke down on the road and the message didn’t get passed along like it should have been. I’ll need some time to look into it.”
Strays…Casper? Neil wondered.
The man in the charro suit muttered, “I hope there’s no problem—no dead or hurt stock—or the animal rights activists will be after me.”
Before Neil could figure out who the smaller man might be, Annabeth softly asked, “Lloyd, can I talk to you just for a minute?”
Wainwright turned toward them and gave them a big friendly smile. His pale gray eyes crinkled behind metal-framed glasses as he stepped closer.
“Annabeth, honey, what can I do for you?”
“More bad news for you, I guess, considering the conversation. We seem to be missing about a dozen calves, too,” she said, just before all hell broke loose.
An explosion of sound behind them was topped by a booming voice. “Stop, thieves! Stop right where you are!”
Feet pounding the pavement warred with a distressed woman’s wail.
Neil whirled around to see a middle-aged woman on the ground, a man trying to lift her, and three masked men waving handguns coming straight at them. Following a dozen yards behind were two uniformed Chicago police officers, both with guns drawn also.
“All of you!” The man who seemed to be the leader of the thieves swept the barrel of his revolver to cover Neil, Annabeth and the three men. “You’re coming with us inside.”
Wainwright demanded, “What’s going on? Who in blazes do you think you are?”
“The man with the loaded gun.” He put the tip of the barrel right up in the stockman’s face, then took a nervous glance behind toward the policemen. “Don’t give me a reason to use it and no one will get hurt. Now move!”
No one seemed inclined to argue. They moved.
“Don’t do it!” one of the officers yelled. “Taking hostages is a lot more serious than armed robbery!”
But the thieves ignored him.
Neil’s pulse thudded as the masked men swept them into the nearby press office without even hesitating. The room sat empty but for a single desk, several chairs and a telephone. The leader shucked off loaded saddlebags from his shoulder and deposited them on the desk.
As if he couldn’t believe this was happening to him, the Hispanic asked, “Wainwright, are these men part of the rodeo entertainment?”
“Yeah, of course we are.” The leader of the thieves answered and gave the Hispanic man a once-over. Then he waved a gun at the man’s feet. “You, too, Pancho. Next thing you know, I’m gonna have you do a fancy dance for the crowd.”
Dark eyes blazing, the man bristled as he seemed to grow an inch. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”
“Naw, go on and tell me.”
“Alderman Salvador Lujan.”
“A politician?” The thief snorted behind his mask. “I hate politicians. But thanks for the heads up. You may come in handy during the negotiations.”
“What negotiations?”
“The cops are multiplying out there,” said the thief closest to the windows.
“What do we do now?” the other asked, sounding panic-stricken. “How did we get into this mess?”
“Calm down. We need to keep our heads,” the leader said.
This couldn’t be a good thing, Neil thought—the criminals arguing among themselves. And the other men were getting restless, too, as if they had ideas about wrangling with the thieves whose attention was divided between them and the windows. He hoped no one was going to be so foolish as to try to be a hero. They could all be killed.
He glanced at Annabeth, not exempt from the consensus. She was trembling and staring at the masked leader as if she wanted to pummel him.
“Let’s keep it together,” he said in his most soothing voice.
Though he was really talking to her, he included the men by looking at them all.
Wainwright especially appeared steamed. Neil guessed he wasn’t quiet by nature and it was taking some effort for him not to challenge the thieves. Before the stockman could lose his temper and blow up, Neil stepped in front of him, effectively placing himself square in the middle of a potentially explosive situation.
“Excuse me, but what is it that you want with us?” Neil asked the thief leader.
“Hell,” the man said with another snort. “You’re gonna be our hostages!”
Chapter Two
Hostages!
The very word struck fear into Annabeth’s heart.
Already feeling that she was a hostage of this city that had stolen so much from her personally, she wasn’t about to accept this situation lying down. Tough because life had forced her to be, she refused to give in to her fear and cower in some corner as if she was helpless. Instead, she decided to do what she could to help the police catch the thieves and bring them to justice later, after this was all over.
To that end, Annabeth surreptitiously eyed the three villains.
“More cops arriving,” said the shortest of the thieves, his accent heavily Hispanic. He turned from the window, his eyes above the mask so dark a brown as to look black. “Won’t be long before they call in the SWAT team. Then we’re done for.”
The barrel-chested Hispanic looked strong enough to bring down a steer in record time, Annabeth thought. He wore his shirtsleeves partially rolled up so that she spotted a tattoo on his left forearm. All she could see was the bottom of the design—a red rose.
“I can’t go to jail again,” complained the second man, a slender African American whose café au lait coloring and hazel eyes showed above his bandanna. “I can’t do more time. Uh-uh. Can’t be locked up again, not ever.”
The nervous Nellie’s free hand continually stroked the barrel of the drawn revolver that was, at the moment, pointed toward the floor. If he wasn’t careful, Annabeth thought, he would shoot himself in the foot. She gave his spanking-new boots a once-over—the way he was rocking on the sides of his feet, they were hurting him because they weren’t broken in. And possibly because they weren’t a proper fit.
Which made her think that he and his cohorts were probably city boys playing dress up.
“You won’t go to jail,” the leader said, as again he swept his revolver around the room at his hostages. “None of us will, not as long as we have them.” His skin was fair, almost pasty, and his pale gray eyes held a glint of sheer meanness. Obviously agitated despite his seeming confidence, he went to look out the window himself, muttering, “Keep them covered.”
Annabeth estimated him to be six feet tall—about the same height as Neil Farrell—and figured the thief worked out a lot to get that musculature in his arms that showed through the sleeves of his shirt. Neil undoubtedly got his whipcord-hard build from years of tough ranch work, she thought, glancing from one man to the other and making comparisons. They seemed nearly evenly matched, the thief having the slight edge of showy muscle over the rancher.
Yet she suspected Neil was as strong as they came.
“If we don’t do something, they’re going to kill us,” Telek suddenly whispered.
“They wouldn’t dare kill an alderman!” Lujan returned in an equally low voice. “That would be suicide. The mayor would have every policeman in the city after them, with instructions to shoot to kill.”
An exaggeration, Annabeth thought, no doubt prompted by the man’s inclination to self-importance.
Lloyd wiped flop-sweat from his face with his bare hand and moaned, “Oh, Lord, how did this happen? I can see it coming. We’re all gonna die.”
“Not if we don’t do anything to upset them,” Neil said, his manner reasonable, his stance oddly relaxed.
She wouldn’t count Neil out, Annabeth decided, considering his calm, quiet air of authority. He might be afraid or angry on the inside, but he wasn’t wearing either emotion where anyone could see it and use it against him.
“It wouldn’t be in their best interests to add five murders to whatever else they’ve done,” Neil added.
His gaze strayed over to the desk where the dumped saddlebags still sat.
Annabeth contemplated the contents of the leather pouches—money, obviously.
Armed robbery, one of the policemen had shouted.
From the criminals’ appearance—the new cowboy duds—they no doubt had dressed up to be inconspicuous when they hit the rodeo bank. But then the robbery had somehow gone bad, turning the tables on them.
And on the five people who just happened to be in their getaway path, a thought that rankled Annabeth.
When would the bad luck stop? she wondered.
She was tired of the fates dealing her a rotten hand every time she turned around.
Enough was enough!
“Don’t let your fears get to you,” Neil went on with sufficient confidence that he earned the attention of the other hostages. “Just keep calm, and everything—”
The lead thief suddenly tore away from the window, saying, “All of you, listen to this guy. He’s talking sense. You don’t give me no trouble and I let you walk outta here with us, skin intact, and then let you go when we get free of the cops. Is that a deal, or what?”
“Yeah, sure, sounds good to me,” Peter Telek said.
“I’m for it,” Lloyd mumbled.
Alderman Lujan muttered, “You better let us go or it’s on your heads.”
“What did you say?” the leader asked, drawing closer. “Was that a threat?”
“No!” Neil quickly placed himself between the thief and Lujan. He glanced over at the big-mouthed politician and gave him a look that kept him silent. “No threats here. We all want the same thing. To get out of this alive.”
To all appearances, Annabeth thought Neil was in control of the room, at least of the other hostages, who were all looking to him for leadership now, as if he was their protector. And Neil didn’t even have a weapon.
She inspected him more closely, noticing for the first time that the face below the brimmed tan hat was ruggedly attractive. His mouth was wide, his lower lip full. Sexy. And his eyes were an unusual shade of pale brown. Amber with yellow flecks, reminding her of a wolf’s eyes.
The thought slid along Annabeth’s spine, made her shudder slightly, as she considered the raw power of his personality, until now hidden by his calm demeanor.
And as if he could feel her reaction to him, Neil Farrell turned his head slightly and locked gazes with her.
For a moment he held her fast, unable to blink, unable to breathe, unable to think.
Her body wasn’t frozen of feeling, however. She felt seared from her toes to her scalp, not to mention all the delicious places in between. The connection seared her nerves, too, and made her itchy to move.
To do something.
Annabeth forced her lashes down so she didn’t have to look
at Neil anymore. With effort, she even sucked in some air. The release from tension wasn’t immediate, but she felt her control return.
What the heck was she thinking, getting all weak-kneed and goo-goo-eyed over a man, when she needed to be stronger than ever?
The fates weren’t going to get her this time! she vowed, again surreptitiously focused on the men holding them hostage.
“So, what are we gonna do?” asked the one with the tattoo. “How are we gonna make a break for it?”
Before the leader could answer, the telephone shrilled, sending Annabeth up on her toes. She wasn’t the only one startled, she noted. Every man in the room seemed just as shaken by the unexpected ringing.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked, heart tripping a beat.
“What makes you think it’s for me?”
“How do you know? Maybe someone out there wants to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“She might be right,” agreed the Hispanic thief, who was staring out the windows. “A truck just pulled up out there.”
“They give us a way out, you take it,” said the other man, still fondling his gun as the phone continued to ring. “No way am I gonna sit in no jail cell, even if I gotta shoot my way outta here.”
“No one shoots anyone or anything until I say so!” the leader snapped. He looked at Annabeth and indicated the telephone. “You answer it.”
Annabeth looked to Neil. He nodded.
She approached the desk, making certain she did nothing he could interpret as suspicious. Willing her hand to remain steady, she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear.
“Hello?” she whispered.
Suddenly her throat didn’t want to cooperate. It felt dry and raw as if scraped by something harsh. And her heart, it felt as if it were trying to pound its way out of her chest.
“This is Sergeant Michael Hartmann,” came a man’s voice, deep with authority. “I’m with the police negotiations unit. Is everyone in there all right?”
“Yes, so far.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Let me talk to one of them—whoever seems to be in charge.”
Cowboy Protector Page 2
