by B. J Daniels
“I’m not.” He sounded whiny. She could see why Naomi had dumped him. But he must have been the closest thing she had to a friend she could confide in.
“Why didn’t you tell Naomi to give the money back right away?” she asked.
“I did. She wouldn’t listen. She really thought she could get away with it.”
Frankie shot him a look. “Kind of like you.”
“Hey, what could I have done? They didn’t know about me. I didn’t know them. Naomi was dead. I knew where the money was hidden. So I waited to see what happened. Nothing happened. Until you showed up.”
“You could have gone to the cops,” she snapped. And then none of this would be happening. Hank wouldn’t be in serious trouble back at the cabin and she wouldn’t be racing out of town with two guns, one actually loaded, with a man handcuffed to the car and only a hope and a prayer that he wasn’t lying to her.
She glanced over at Butch. He looked scared. That, she decided, was good. “I have to ask. Why did you wait to get the money?”
He turned to look out his side window. They’d passed Gallatin Gateway and were almost to Big Sky and Cardwell Ranch, where he swore Naomi had buried the money. “I had this crazy idea that they were watching the place where she buried it, you know, just waiting for me to show up so they could kill me like they did her.”
Frankie thought about telling him what Darrel had said about Naomi’s death. That was if he was telling the truth. Either way, Butch might have been able to save her—if he’d gone to the cops right away.
Nor did she point out that there was little chance Darrel would be watching the ranch 24/7 even if he knew where the money was buried.
She turned onto the dirt road into the ranch, her mind racing. What would she do when she found the money? Hank had been right. She couldn’t trust Darrel to keep his word. He said she wouldn’t be followed. A lie. Once she handed over the money...
As she drove into the ranch yard, Butch pointed in the direction of a stand of trees. The land dropped to a small creek. Frankie groaned inwardly. She just hoped that Naomi was smart enough to bury the money where the rising water didn’t send it into the Gallatin River. It could be in the Gulf of Mexico by now otherwise.
“Tell me exactly where it is,” she said as she brought the car to a stop at the edge of the incline to the creek.
“There’s a statue or something, she said, near the water.”
Frankie frowned. “A statue?” she asked as she looked down the hill and saw pine trees and a babbling brook but no statue.
“Maybe not a statue, but—”
“A birdbath,” she said, spotting it in a stand of trees. She quickly put the keys in her pocket, opened the door and, grabbing the shovel she’d taken from his garage, got out. As she did, she glanced toward the house and saw no one. Maybe she would get lucky. She needed some luck right now.
It was a short walk down to a stand of trees on a rise above the creek. Someone had put a birdbath down here. Near it were two benches as if someone in the family came down here to watch the birds beside the river. Dana? She couldn’t see the marshal sitting here patiently.
The birdbath, apparently made of solid concrete, proved to be heavier than it looked. She could have used Butch, but she didn’t trust the man. She tried dislodging it and inching it over out of the way, wasting valuable minutes.
Finally, she just knocked it over, which took all her strength as it was. Then she began to dig. She wondered how Naomi had managed moving the birdbath and realized it had probably been her idea, the benches and the birdbath—after she’d buried the rest of the money.
The bag wasn’t buried deep. Frankie pulled it out, sweating with the effort and the constant fear of what might be happening back at the cabin. The bag looked like one used by banks. It was large and heavy. She opened it just enough to see that it was stuffed with money, lots of money in large bills, and quickly closed it.
Leaving the shovel, she climbed back up the incline. As she topped it, she saw Dana standing by the side of the car.
* * *
WHEN J.J. CAME TO, he was lying on the grass with a monstrous headache. His gun was gone. So was Frankie and the car and its driver. All she’d left behind was the cowboy’s pickup.
J.J. limped into the house through the open garage door. The house felt deserted. He was moving painfully through the living room when he thought he heard a car door slam. Was it possible Frankie had come back? He couldn’t believe she’d left him passed out on the concrete and hadn’t even called an ambulance. But she’d managed to take his gun.
He pressed himself against a wall out of sight of the hallway as he heard footfalls in the garage. One person moving slowly, no doubt looking for him. Why had Frankie come back now? It didn’t matter. He was ready for her.
He smiled to himself as he waited to pounce. She wouldn’t know what hit her.
As a figure came around the corner, he lunged. He didn’t realize his mistake until it was too late. The figure spun as if sensing him coming and caught him square in the face with his fist. As he took the blow, he realized that the figure was way too large to be Frankie, way too powerful and way too male.
“Who the hell are you?” he heard the man say as he crashed on the floor at the man’s feet. Before he could answer, he heard the man pump a bullet into his gun. He rolled over, struggling to pull out his badge, when he heard the first shot echo through the room. The burn of the bullet searing through his flesh came an instant later.
He tried to get up, tried to get his badge out. The second shot hit him in the chest and knocked him back to the floor. As the big man moved closer, J.J. saw that it was the tough guy who’d searched the pickup earlier at the cabin.
“You’ve really screwed up now,” J.J. managed to say as he felt his life’s blood seeping from him. “You just killed a cop.”
* * *
“I’D LIKE TO tell you that this isn’t what it looks like,” Frankie said as she approached Dana. She saw that the woman had her cell phone clutched in her hand and knew at once that she’d already called the marshal.
“I thought you and Hank had gone back to Idaho,” Dana said. Her voice trembled as her gaze took in the weapon Frankie had stuck in the waist of her jeans. Her shirt and jacket had come up during her battle with the birdbath.
“How long before Hud gets here?” Frankie asked.
“Where’s Hank?” the older woman asked. She sounded as scared as Frankie felt.
“He’s in trouble. I need to get back to him, Dana. I’m a private investigator. It’s too long a story to get into right now. I need to leave before Hud gets here.”
Dana shook her head, tears in her eyes. “I knew something was wrong. But I hoped...” Inside the car, Butch began to yell for Dana to help him. “That man is handcuffed and you have a...gun.”
Frankie knew she couldn’t stand here arguing. She started past Dana when she heard the sound of a siren. Moments later she saw the flashing lights as the SUV topped a rise and came blaring into the ranch yard.
She let out a shaky breath and felt tears burn her eyes. There was still time before sundown. But that would mean talking her way out of this, and right now, covered in mud, holding a bag of even dirtier drug money, she wasn’t sure she had the words. All she knew was that she had to convince the marshal before sundown.
* * *
HUD SHUT OFF the siren. As he climbed out, he took in the scene. The man handcuffed in the car tried to slide down out of sight. Dana stepped to Hud, and he put his arm around her before he turned his attention to the young woman his son had fallen in love with. “Frankie?”
She held out the bag. “It’s the drug money. They have Hank. If I don’t give the money to them by sundown...” Her voice broke.
He nodded and stepped to her to take the money. “And that?” he asked, tilting his head toward the man in the car.
“It’s Butch Clark, Naomi’s old boyfriend. He’s known where the money was buried all these years.”
Hud nodded and glanced at his watch. “We have a little time. Whatever’s happened, we will deal with it. You say they have Hank.” She nodded. “Tell me everything,” he said as he walked her toward the house.
“What about him?” Dana asked behind them.
“He’s fine where he is for the time being,” Hud said without a backward glance. Inside the house, Frankie quickly cleaned up at the kitchen sink as she told him about the man stumbling out onto the highway, being taken to the cabin, the demand for the money and Hank being injured.
Dana gasped at that point, her eyes filling with tears, but she held it together. Hud had to hand it to her—she was a strong woman and always had been. Her son was injured and being held by drug dealers. It scared the hell out of him, but Dana fortunately wasn’t one to panic in a crisis. He appreciated that right now.
“Okay,” he said when Frankie finished. “You say Darrel gave you an unloaded gun.” He picked up the Glock he’d taken from her. “This one is loaded.”
She nodded. “J.J. must have followed us. He was hiding in the back of the pickup. He tried to stop Butch when Butch was attempting to flee. He was hit by the car, but he was alive the last time I saw him.”
Hud studied the woman, amazed by her resilience as well as her bravery. “You don’t think Darrel will let the two of you go when you take him the money, right?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t want to kill us, but...”
“What will you do?” Dana asked her husband.
“The first thing is read Butch Clark his rights and get him locked up in my jail so he’s not a problem.” Hud pulled out his phone and called a deputy to come handle it. As he hung up, he looked at Frankie. “I need to take you back to Hank’s pickup. There’s time before sundown. Then you drive back to the cabin with the bag of money.”
“Where will you be?” Dana asked.
“In the back of the pickup. I’ll need to grab a few things and have Bozeman backup standing by.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go get Hank.”
* * *
HANK WATCHED DARREL pace the cabin floor and worked surreptitiously at the thick tape binding his wrists behind him to the chair. He’d made a point of acting like he was still dizzy and weak from the blow, mumbling to himself incoherently until Darrel had removed the duct tape.
“Water,” Hank had mouthed. “Please.”
Darrel had gotten him some, holding it to his lips so he could take a few gulps. “She’ll be back,” Hank said when he took the water away. “With the money.” And that was the part that terrified him the most, because he had no doubt that his former classmate would go back on his word. No way were he and Frankie walking out of here alive. “She does what she says she’s going to do.”
Darrel had started pacing again. Hank saw him looking out the window where the sun was dropping toward the horizon at a pace that had them both worried. Now the man turned to look at him and laughed. “You sure about that? If I were her, I’d take the money and go as far away from here as I possibly could.”
“That’s you. Frankie isn’t like that.” But right now, he wished she was. At least she would be safe. He’d gotten her into this. He deserved what he got. But Frankie... He couldn’t bear to think of her being hurt, let alone—
“You’d better be right.” Darrel sounded sad, as if he would be sorry for killing him. “I hate the way this whole thing spiraled out of control, and all because of that girlfriend of yours.”
Hank couldn’t argue with that. “I fell in love with a woman I didn’t know. She hid so much from me, including stealing your money.”
“And you think you know this one?” Darrel scoffed at that. “All women are alike. You really haven’t learned anything since high school, have you. They will double-cross you every time. I knew this one—” He stopped talking to turn and look out the window again. He’d heard what Hank had.
The sound of his pickup’s engine could be heard as the truck approached the cabin. Frankie had come back with the money. And before sundown.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Hank. This woman really is something. If she’s got the money, then I’d say this one is a keeper.”
“Keep your promise. Let us go. We want nothing to do with any of this and you know it.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Darrel said, actually sounding as if he regretted what was going to happen next. “We’re going to have to talk about that.” He stepped over to the bed and kicked the end of it. Les stirred from a deep sleep. “Wake up. We’ve got company. Go out and make sure she’s alone.”
“Me? Why do I have to—”
Darrel cuffed the man on the head. “Go!”
Les stumbled from the bed, clearly still half-asleep, and headed for the door. Darrel stood at the window, his back to him. Hank worked feverishly at the tape. Just a little more. He felt it give.
* * *
FRANKIE DID AS Hud had told her and parked next to the panel van, out of sight of the cabin. She stayed in the pickup, sitting behind the wheel, after she’d turned off the engine, waiting.
She desperately wanted to see Hank. She had to know that he was all right. But the marshal had assured her—Hank was safer if they did things his way.
She wasn’t going to argue. She was thankful that she wasn’t facing this completely alone. Because she had a bad feeling that once she got out of the pickup with the money, both she and Hank were as good as dead.
Les frowned as he saw where she was parking. He walked around the front of the vehicles to stop in front of the pickup. “Get out!” he ordered, still frowning. He looked as if he’d just woken up, which made her heart race. What had Darrel done with Hank after she’d left that he’d let Les sleep?
When she didn’t get out, he stepped up to try the door and, finding it locked, glanced back at the cabin before he began to fumble for his gun. That was when Hud rose and coldcocked him with the butt end of a shotgun. The man dropped between the pickup and panel van without a sound.
As the marshal hopped down out of sight of the cabin windows, Frankie opened her door.
“Leave the bag with the money here,” Hud said as he cuffed and gagged Les before rolling his body under the pickup. “Go into the cabin to check on Hank. When Darrel asks, tell him that Les took it from you. I need to know how many men are in there.”
She nodded and whispered, “Trent was following me. I don’t see his vehicle, so I don’t think he’s back yet. It should just be Darrel.”
“Let’s hope,” Hud said and motioned for her to go before Darrel got suspicious.
Frankie headed for the cabin, praying with each step that Hank was all right. As she pushed open the door, the first thing she saw was Darrel. He had a gun in his hand, pointed at her heart. Her gaze leaped past him to Hank. She saw pleasure flash in his blue eyes at seeing her, then concern. He was still in the chair, but he seemed to feel better than the last time she’d seen him.
“Where’s my money?” Darrel demanded, already sounding furious as if he’d worked himself up in the time she’d been gone. The door was open behind her, but he was blocking her from going to Hank.
“Les has it. He took it from me.” She could see that he didn’t believe her. She described the bag. “I didn’t touch the money, but the bag is heavy, and when I looked inside... I think all but the five grand she used for a down payment on the house is in there. Or at least enough to get you out of hot water. Now let us go.”
Darrel shook his head, still blocking her from going to Hank, and yelled, “Les!” Not hearing an answer, he yelled again. “Bring the money in here.”
She looked past him and saw Hank slowly pull his wrists free from behind him. He shook them out as if he’d lost all feeling in his arms after all this time of being taped to the c
hair. She gave a small shake of her head for him not to move.
“Les is probably out there counting the money,” Frankie said, hoping the man would step outside, where the marshal was waiting. “Or has already taken off with the bag.”
“On foot?” Darrel demanded and grabbed her as they both heard the scrape of chair legs on the floor.
* * *
HANK MOVED QUICKLY. Darrel was right about one thing. He’d always been better at sports than his classmate. Fortunately, that athletic prowess benefited him now when he needed it the most.
As Darrel turned, there was a moment of surprise, a hesitation that cost him. He was about to put the barrel of the gun to Frankie’s head when Hank hit him in the side of his head with his fist and grabbed the gun. Darrel staggered from the blow but didn’t go down. His grip on Frankie seemed to be the only thing holding him up.
Hank twisted the gun from the man’s hand. The two grappled with it for a moment before Darrel let out a cry of pain. Frankie shoved him off her and pulled the Glock from behind her to point it at the drug dealer as he went down. She looked over at Hank, who stood beside her, the gun in his hand pointed at Darrel’s heart as well.
Behind them Frankie heard the marshal say, “Well, look at the two of you. It appears you didn’t even need my help.” There was a smile in his voice as well as relief as he reached for his phone to let the cops know that he’d take that backup now. “I have two perps who need to be taken to jail. Also going to need a medic as well,” he said, looking at the dried blood on his son’s temple. “And I’m going to need a ride back to Big Sky.”
“We could have given you a ride,” Hank said after his father cuffed Darrel and read him his rights. Frankie could hear sirens in the distance. She leaned against Hank, his arm around her. She told herself that all she needed was a hot shower and she’d stop shaking.
“I thought you two might like some time together. But I guess you know this means you can’t leave for Idaho for a while,” the marshal said.
